Bob's

Little

Acre

May 5, 2020

Note to readers: This article is a fluffy feature and possibly a complete waste of your time. But it is, anyway, not about COVID-19.

I'm too good for television.

That's snotty and snobbish and anchored at the core of my being, ever since I was a sophomore at UGA and a professor referred to me and my classmates as "the TV generation." I treated that with the contempt it deserved. What else could you expect from a fossil of 40? I...

March 17, 2020

This coronavirus shutdown is one of the more peculiar periods of history I've lived through, and I'm old enough to remember dancing the Pogo. It was the only dance I was ever any good at--you just jumped up and down. You want to know, the whole decade of the 1980s was seriously weird. But this is weirder. 

Sometimes it feels like we're all playing "tin-like," what little kids call using their imaginations, as in: Tin like the f...

February 19, 2020

Robindon has officially ended, which means we're overdue for one of my periodic columns on health, beauty and Timeless Wisdom.

The Holy Month of Robindon, when I fast and pray and try to lose the weight I've gained in the summer drinking beer and in the holidays eating chocolate, usually coincides with the calendar month of January. This year it was late, owing to social obligations heedlessly entered into by my spouse.

(D...

July 22, 2019

Happy Monday. This is a vintage Bob's Little Acre, a repeat of possibly the only noir detective fiction ever published in a garden column. My detective was Jack-in-the-Pulpit. Jacks are one of my favorite wildflowers but actually they remind me more of perv flashers than of "tecs." But both of them wear trenchcoats, I guess, and I thought calling my hero "Sam Spadix" was a little obscure...

The Flowerbed was not my regular habi...

July 15, 2019

Readers, time for a repeat! The Planet was obliged to rise this morning at 4 a.m. to accompany the Art Department on a routine medical screening. This not only afforded The Planet the opportunity to observe the homocidal/suicidal driving patterns of those workers--doctors? nurses? Waffle House waitresses?--who commute at 5 a.m. but to consider age-old questions such as: Why do people work so hard to get into, and out of, medic...

May 30, 2019

Last week, I was delighted to attend the first event organized as a joint effort between the Dade County Public Library and "the Dade Treehugger," Jennifer Blair (right in photo), on the subject of composting. I am proud of Jennifer for stepping up to raise eco-consciousness in Dade and I'm proud of the Dade and Trenton gummints for taking her seriously. I am always proud of our valiant little library and the myriad feats it h...

March 17, 2019

This “tater treatise”  was the first Bob’s Little Acre that was ever published, if not the first ever written. (That was “The Great Lies of Gardening.”)  The then-editor of the Dade County Sentinel, Chris Conley, wanted a few columns in reserve before he printed any, and by the time he got around to it, it was St. Patrick’s Day and he started with this one. So it was my inaugural piece, in March 2005. I take time out from my p...

February 14, 2019

I didn't have time to write a Valentine's Day piece this year so I am rerunning this one from 2014 or '15. The idea is to remind those who are feeling sorry for themselves that this is a day EVERYBODY drowns in self-pity. Only the merchants are happy! 

I am rushing this piece out before Valentine’s Day to make sure we have time for a straight up-down vote on abolishing the whole thing. 

But don’t panic, merchants!  Wha...

One recent day the sun was shining—for once!—and I was trotting around the Four Fields track chanting under my breath:

And we run because we like it ‘neath the big blue sky!

That’s what you inherit when your old man was an English teacher, not trust funds like some of ‘em but disjointed scraps of poetry and a deplorable habit of spewing Shakespeare at inappropriate moments (such as when you are writing articles about the local g...

Let me tell you about my colonoscopy.

Ha ha. Not really. I just couldn’t resist the line. Sucks you in, doesn’t it? Like after that, what choice do you have but to go ahead and read the rest of the article?

Actually, it’s January, "the Holy Month of Robindon," when I gird my loins and charge into my annual war on fat (“fat-wah,” get it?). So what I really want to tell you about today is my diet—though I really am going to start...

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