Peckerwood!
Tom and I spent an amazing 24 hours with an old friend, John Fairey, outside of Houston. John’s been there, gardening in the same place since the early 70s, but he says he’s still a South Carolinian.
He named his garden after the fictional Beauregard Plantation in Auntie Mame (or if he needs a sweeter story of naming, after the woodpeckers who inhabit the garden).
There are pictures from our trip. And a complete blog about the place. But first, as much as I like going, I like coming home; here’s a cheesy poem about being home;
Lying in the dark embraced by Tom and the TempurPedic,
I see out the window a little bit of morning light peeking over the horizon.
Gray.
When breaks the day, I hear the donkeys bray,
and the owls hoot, “get up son, that donkey wants you to feed it.”
Gray.
When breaks the day, I hear the donkeys bray,
and the owls hoot, “get up son, that donkey wants you to feed it.”
