Henry Chappell

You’ll find more fine shotguns and rifles at Gordy & Sons in Houston than at Purdey, Rigby, and Boss in London. Russell Gordy invited me into his vault. I’ve got your story.

I’ve always wanted to visit Maine.

This song was ripping through my head when I wrote a certain scene in The Callings. (Actually a rawer version by Julie Miller, but I love this version too, and Buddy and Julie are there with Emmylou.) Nowadays when I hear "All My Tears" I can't help but think of two teenagers grappling with hope and death on the Canadian River in late autumn of 1873.

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Texas has been awfully good to us these past 35 years, and we're here for the long haul. Still, I can get awfully homesick for Kentucky.

Blackberry Winter on the Blackland Prairie. Temperature dropped into the thirties this weekend in North Texas. Tomato and pepper plants and onions came through Friday's hailstorm okay. Pulling winter mulch off bean, pea, cucumber and cantaloupe beds so the soil can warm for planting later this week. We'll see if I have enough ambition today to go ahead and erect lattices.

In the 35 years I've rambled around rural parts of Texas, I've never heard mention of Blackberry Winter. Is it just a Kentucky thing?

The Estimable J. reorganized the freezer yesterday, and I couldn't help but notice how many pints of blackberries can be produced by a small, coddled blackberry bed. (Only a small part of ours is pictured. I'm a little embarrassed by the unruliness. I never got around to my customary pruning.) Much to my anticipation, J mentioned that we need to be making room for this year's blackberry crop.

Cobblers forthcoming.

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