Hi everyone

SANDY and I, with ROBIN, TIM, and JEFF, decorated family graves over the weekend and gathered later for a pool party and burgers on the grill in our back yard. To top it off we made homemade ice cream, a rare treat.

Standing at gravesites always brings back memories of loved ones no longer with us. As Sandy and Tim washed the Kennon headstone, my thoughts turned to her father, RALPH KENNON, and his love for the soil and his vegetable garden. I wrote a poem about that a long time ago. It was published in The Purchase of Small Secrets in 1998. Still thinking about my father-in-law, a good and gentle man, I came home and reread the poem.

By David L. Harrison

fingers lingering
over wondrous gifts,
he contemplates with satisfaction
the completed act.

“Nothing beats home-grown,”
he says.
“You won’t find corn this sweet
in any store.”

Another platter,
meaty red slabs
surprisingly heavy
on white china.
“Try these tomatoes,
tell me these aren’t
the best you ever tasted.”

Sweet onions
served with garden talk,
language of the soil,
wisdom of grandfathers.

Golden ears dripping butter,
spinach wrinkly tender,
delicately green,
cauliflower better than expected,
green beans
demanding to be bragged on . . . 

“You won’t find these
in any store,” he says
to heads bobbing
over full plates.

He nods,
agreeing with himself.
I smile and think,
“Nothing beats home-grown.”


Hi everyone,

I was delighted by all your warm birthday wishes yesterday, both here and on Facebook. Thank you so much. I tried to keep up all day but some came in after I went to bed at midnight. I couldn’t have asked for a better day, surrounded by three people I love so dearly.

I’ve been thinking about the poem, “Friends,” that I posted for March, and decided it needed a middle stanza to develop the stone’s presence. I’m reposting the result here. I hope you enjoy it.


A thirsty root, in search of nourishment,
to fill a singular need of hers alone,
edged deeper down through dark unknown,
anticipation growing as she went,
eventually encountering a stone.

Isolated there since eons gone,
the stone perceived her presence underground.
felt her touch with gratitude profound.
Though powerless to impede her moving on,
remembered well a time that meant so much.

The root, seeking sustenance for her soul,
moved away, inching past the stone,
but meeting as they did by fate alone,
each became a part of something whole,
friends from time and place that need had sewn.

(c) 2023 David L. Harrison, all rights reserved


The routine

Hi everyone,

Yesterday was productive though short. Daughter ROBIN has now joined us so we have both of our beloved children with us for a while. It doesn’t get any better than that.

This is my quiet time of the day. After a while, Robin will come out of her bedroom on bare feet, kiss me good morning, pour her coffee, and find a comfortable chair to do some writing in her journal or catch up on email. Later, SANDY will emerge from our bedroom. I’ll greet her, she and Robin will talk in low voices, and I’ll take her a cup. JEFF is the late sleeper. He won’t come out of his room before noon, maybe later. Someone needs to make a grocery run. All in good time.

Guard your sources

Hi everyone,

At my age, discovering new ideas can be a challenge. I admit that on occasion I seek advice from those who view the world a bit differently than I do.

As luck would have it, JEFF brought his dog, PETEY, to Florida. What Jeff doesn’t know is that I’m picking up a lot of new ideas from Petey. The trick is to show respect and listen carefully.