On the backside of summer.

Out walking early with my good dog Ernie this morning I was reminded that summer is slipping away. I did not wear a sweater but could have. It was still quite dark at 6 am when we headed out. Orion was well overhead as was Jupiter. It was not long ago that the sun was rising at six. It still feels very much like summer once day has gotten underway.img_7105.JPG



The long hours of late afternoon are getting shorter too and the shadows longer.

The best thing about this time of year is the table fare. It reminds me of why I make pots and garden.





The Spring City Bluegrass Festival was held a couple of weeks ago from noon until 10 pm on a Saturday. It was all this and more.


About the time of the bluegrass festival the man who built this wall and carved the stone crossed over to sit with the grandfathers. Benson Whittle was as good and kind a person as I have known. Ben made art passionately all of his life working in many mediums. A few years ago Lee and I got to take Ben on the Colorado River with us. It was a high point for all three of us.
THe leaves have not started to turn yet, perhaps because the summer was so late in getting here. It will happen soon. The peaches are on and that is a sure sign.

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2 Responses to “On the backside of summer.”

  1. Don Wagstaff Says:

    To whom it may concern,

    It was probably back in ‘97 or so that I drove up to the house there in Sanpete county, well hidden on the hillside, with my friend Connie Disney to meet Benson. It was a wintery day and he was just having parting words with his brother who was driving out. We were invited inside through the kitchen and into the sitting room where the fire was going and were sat down to drink tea. The woman and new baby down in the alcove sat on the bench that he and a joiner friend of his from England had made from cherry wood. After a while I asked him if I could smoke a cigarette and he invited me out into the workshop and joined me in rolling some tobacco. After a short tour of the house, him pointing out the stone wall the woman had built herself, it seemed it was time, all
    to soon, to go.
    Later, after I had returned to my home in the Netherlands I heard from Connie that Benson was sick. Even still, and having only met him the one time, I was struck because of the deep impression that evening had had on me in the time I was learning a trade of my own. His influence has stayed with me and I have often thought of that evening and so I was struck again in finding that he has passed.


    Don Wagstaff

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