August 2009
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It seems so allegorically named, late blight, especially appropriate to your septuagenarian gardener. But it's more than symbolic — late blight is here and it's real. It's official name is phytophthora infestans. It's a noxious fungus and it appears just when you're about to start harvesting your abundant tomatoes. Late blight blackens and putrifies leaves,…
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Richard Poirier died last week at age 83. The New York Times paid tribute with a long obituary and an appreciative essay. Poirier was a "distinguished man of letters" and also a Professor of English. In 1960, as the juniorest and least-sophisticated graduate student in the history of the universe, I enrolled in an AmLit…
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As far as I can tell, the deer generally keep clear of the back field where the Morgans and the Scottish Blackfaces are pastured. Perhaps it's because the domestic animals eat down the grass, or perhaps the deer just don't like company. But a few days ago, I watched four white-tailed deer — a doe…
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In our part of Vermont, the common wisdom is, "never keep your car unlocked in August, because someone will open your door and throw in a couple of zucchinis." Like most local gardeners, I'm drowning in the squash. We can't eat our zucchinis fast enough. And no matter how vigilant I am in picking them,…
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Last week, we had a great blue heron act in a most unheron-like way. The great blues are ordinarily skittish birds. We can't get closer than fifty yards before they're up in the air, beating their slow, graceful, pterodactyl wings. But this guy kept us company even with the grandchildren floating on the plastic boats, squealing…
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The word "ligaw" in Pilipino, a language of which I am totally ignorant, apparently means both "totally lost" and "courtship." And therefore the adjective "ligawin" refers to someone who is both "directionally disabled" or "directionally dyslexic" and also "attractive to persons of the opposite sex." What a wonderful correspondence, especially to those of us who…
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Two more Updike novels down the hatch. The first, Seek My Face, published in 2002, is an extended short story rooted in the author's prodigious knowledge of the contemporary art scene. It's casually written — as if Updike didn't try very hard. Should I be insulted that Updike didn't extend himself to invent a plot? The…