When is plagiarism only sort of plagiarism?
Is reading fiction really that important?
Are some books too sad to be required reading?
Tomato fortresses, catnip, fat cucumbers, more beans…
When it’s hot enough outside to melt iron, my perverse instinct is to play with yarn.
Zucchini suicides, strawberry thieves, mystery beetles: never a dull moment.
Headaches, horrors and hurrahs in the summer garden.
When it comes to college readings, how cautious do we need to be about graphic sex?
New things appearing in the garden.
When does it make sense to turn tail and run?