Cradle-to-grave pollinator gardening. This spring I planted a bed of parsley, partly for myself but mostly for these little guys: black swallowtail butterfly caterpillars. There are at least ten of them out there now, bulking up.

I don’t expect my (human) neighbors enjoy the partridge peas as much as they do the cosmos and the coneflowers, but I like them and the bees like them, and I’ve been glad to see so many of them blooming this summer.

If American Catholics dressed up like birds, I’d be a heck of a lot more likely to convert. I’m not saying I’d do it, but I’d have to seriously consider it.

If your employer is so odious that you feel compelled to publicly insult it or create an app to undermine its work, is it maybe, just possibly, time to quit your job?

Rose pink.

Saw the neighborhood green heron again this week. A great blue heron was stalking something only a few yards away, but separated by brush, and I don’t know if they were even aware of each other. The difference in scale was fascinating.

Facebook Marketplace just sent me an email suggesting I might want to buy a 1963 Chevy Impala. Should I be insulted?

Think of craft as a pearl, which begins with a novel irritant but is built by patient accrual into something rare and beautiful.

What I’m working on carving this week: six panels, 15”x18”, custom handmade frame. The smaller panel of leaves took close to four hours, or roughly one baseball game and half an opera.