So that’s what they’re called

I first met the beautiful little marsh St. John’s wort (Hypericum virginicum) last year when I was in a kayak and I remember what a time I had getting a photo of them. This year though I found them growing in the wet soil at the edge of a pond. I still got wet knees […]

via Mid August Flowers — New Hampshire Garden Solutions


Time to grow up, indeed

Photo Credit: O.K., First things first, I voted for Bernie in my states Primary. Again, I would have liked to see him go farther, I liked his ambition and what he had to say, but I’m not sure if the electorate as a whole is ready to embrace that kind of radical changes. Bernie […]

via Bern Baby Bern! a Follow Up — Republicans Annoy Me!

Have We Lost Our Touch With Nature? — Highland Imp

With the rise in technology and the growing trend of social media popularity, people are going outdoors less and less. A life enhanced by tech and science is pushed as the ideal – for example, in sci-fi films where everything is connected to the net (Ghost in the Shell springs to mind) and the existence […]

via Have We Lost Our Touch With Nature? — Highland Imp

No winter here, not this year

Yes, the early forecasts have predicted a heavy snow season here in New England, but we’re going to try to ignore that here at the Chicken Farm. As far as the daily photo postings go, I’m declaring 12 months of summer.

The decision started over at my primary blog, Jnana’s Red Barn, which this year is featuring an example of Dover’s architectural history every Wednesday. As that project takes shape, so does a resolve to post additional samples here at the Chicken Farm. In reviewing my collected photographs, I realize they’ve all come from warm weather strolls. If I were truly ambitious, I’d return to the scene so that snow or fall foliage would be present to match the date of the posting. But it’s hard getting around a New England city when sidewalks are buried under three feet of snow for months on end or there’s no place to pull over on the side of the road, thanks to the snow banks. Besides, your fingers quickly freeze holding the camera. So here we are.

In continuing to plan for the new year, I feel additional scenes from across New England would fit into the emerging theme. Again, though, they’ve been shot in the summer. Maybe in the depth of winter, they’ll inspire us to look ahead with hope.


You may have already noticed a shift in contents here at the Chicken Farm. My intention of having an original profile of a writer every Wednesday and a (likely retired) hippie each Saturday just never took off the way I’d desired. For starters, the project demands more attention that I’ve been able to muster, and then, to my surprise, many individuals I approached were simply too timid to participate.

The questions, though, have shifted to you, the readers, and are open to your comments – as are the daily photo postings.

The Talking Money series continues to investigate the emotional sides of personal finance, including time, wealth, labor, jobs, faith, values, and more. Again, your insights are reactions are invited.


One thing that’s not changing is our counterculture experience, even if it does take some unfamiliar twists as the year progresses.

Looking ahead, you can expect to meet Bill, Boss, Manny, and Fran beginning in mid-May. And they’ll take over the spotlight through the remainder of the year.

Please stay tuned. Or, as we said, Turn on, tune in, drop out (of the mainstream).

Seven Questions with Jnana Hodson

With my gratitude …

Word and Spirit

I began this blog without really knowing what I was doing, which is the only way you can start some things. The blogosphere is a diverse and often perplexing place, but you can meet some interesting, creative, and kind souls. It’s sort of like the “real” world that way.


One such person I bumped into is Jnana Hodson, who blogs at Jnana’s Red Barn — a Quaker, novelist, poet, and as it turns out, a retired newspaper editor. (His novel, Hometown News, captures the small Midwestern newspaper experience so well it’s a little scary.) At right is his novel, Promise, described as a romance that leaps from the Midwest to the desert country of the Pacific Northwest.

After graduating from Indiana University-Bloomington in 1970, Jnana’s four-decade journalism career took him to newspapers in Ohio, Indiana, upstate New York, Washington state, and New Hampshire, which is where he lives now…

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A little tidier, we hope, this year

Entering our third year here, Chicken Farmer I Still Love You continues to evolve. Shucks, it’s life, after all, and this is the time when many of us sit down to peruse seed catalogs and imagine new varieties and tastes with the garden.

We’re hoping to be a little tidier around the place this year, so here’s the plan of action:

  • Monday Eye will typically feature photos and slideshows. Some will be encores from the first year, in case you missed them.
  • Tuesday Q will present a few questions or a good quote – something quick and meaty.
  • Wednesday Writer will profile a poet, novelist, or other wordsmith – especially those working in the small-press scene or in fields that don’t immediately come to mind when “writer” is mentioned.
  • Thursdays we’re returning to the Talking Money series, this time in an encore presentation of shorter, more frequent offerings than we considered the first time around.
  • Friday Payday will move into the newsroom at the local paper, drawing on my novel Hometown News. When it comes to office life, this one’s Dilbert on steroids.
  • Saturday Hippie, meanwhile, will shift gears to profile everyday folks who were – or still are – part of the counterculture movement.

Like all things around a farm – even a little city farm like ours – it’s enough to have me wondering if I’m tackling too much again. But that’s life. Hope you enjoy stopping by.

I KNEW there was something DIFFERENT about me…

As I’ve been saying, hippies still come in all varieties.



In an interview, artist Jean-Michel Basquiat was asked why people were drawn so crudely in his work. His answer, “I think people are generally crude; I don’t know many refined people.”

Imagine sharing Basquiat’s thoughts as an eight year old little girl.

Imagine that he could have possibly said those words the day I was born.

I am weird. I have known this for quite some time, possibly since I was eight years old. I was led to believe that I had to “fit in” and “be a certain way” or people “would talk about me”. The irony was I didn’t like most people.

When I was a kid, “fun” for me was finding a secluded place to wander off to, put a blanket down, look up at the sky, and make words out of the negative spaces between tree branches.

I still like doing that.

Told you I am…

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