GEORGE
Last Sunday when I got to church George gave me a hug, like he has pretty much every Sunday since I've known him, which is getting close to seven years now. When we left, we
said, "See you next Sunday!", like we did pretty much every Sunday since I've known him. As it turns out, that's not going to happen, after all.
My buddy, Ron, and I were talking about it when we heard the news. "There aren't a lot of people I admire," he said, "but George was one of them." I get that.
I read his obituary this afternoon. I don't know who wrote it, but it began with the usual information one is forced, through tears, to put on a piece of paper when this day comes, followed by the "about" memories. I knew the facts the writer included and they drew a clear and happy picture of George in...
I sell houses to support my farming habit. To call myself a farmer would be an insult to all the real farmers since the Lord "put Adam in the Garden of Eden to till it and keep it." To the men and women who have, and do,
eke their living from the ground, I tip my pink camo Tractor Supply cap. I wish there were more like you; we'd be a better nation, a better world.
But I've had my share of planning, planting, struggling, sweating, nurturing, joy, wonder, loss, and failure, followed by mustering strength and hope, and trying again. Each fall, the old farmer saying, "There's always next year," has consoled me when little went as I'd planned.
I planted my first 83 apples trees here at Zion Heritage Farm in the fall of 2013. It took me three days. When the last tree went in the ground, I could barely st...
It's been a year since the passing of my friend, Bob Wilcox. As I prepare to graft 60 trees, this article from my 2015 archives is both a "how-to" refresher and nod to Bob. The 25 trees mentioned in the article are all going strong. I moved them from the garden bed to the orchard late last fall, and they're preparing to spend their first year in the U-pick. A tern has made her nest at the foot of one (look closely!); she and her mate vigilantly guard their unhatched charges. That, too, is a nod to Bob who knew every bird by their call alone and loved spending summer evenings on the porch looking up at the orchard. A year has passed, my friend, but you are not forgotten.

Farmdog Finn says he's not convinced it's worth eating.
I am always amazed at the amount of wild edibles growing within the boundaries of my little 8-acre farm. Even this time of year, there is foraged food to be found. The patch in this photo is located about 100′ from my back door – you can't eat much more local than that!
Sheep sorrel, a close cousin to the French sorrel used by five star chefs, grows here and there all over the farm. If you like arugula and other interesting greens in your salad you will love sheep sorrel. It has a delicate, lively, lemony flavor, a bit on the tangy side, but not at all bitter as arugula can be.
The tender, bright green leaves are generally small, and sha...