tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4130421352415377273.post8908023269332574415..comments2024-03-28T16:31:23.093-07:00Comments on Books in Northport: A Scent of the PastP. J. Grathhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12693462910472164289noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4130421352415377273.post-4697021584931222462016-06-05T11:46:06.165-07:002016-06-05T11:46:06.165-07:00Oh, Gerry, you have added so much with this luscio...Oh, Gerry, you have added so much with this luscious comment! I did not say that we had the weeds also in our Illinois driveway, and they were a succulent addition to many mud pies "baked" on a cement strip that was the only remaining bit of a former garage. I am so glad we share happy memories of pineapple weed!P. J. Grathhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12693462910472164289noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4130421352415377273.post-68737142838217012462016-06-05T11:42:01.301-07:002016-06-05T11:42:01.301-07:00And back I fly in memory to Rhinelander . . . . Pi...And back I fly in memory to Rhinelander . . . . Pineapple weed grows up in the hard-packed, sandy gravel at the side of the road and in the parking lot at Amanda's father's boat rental and tackle shop. We nibble on the buds like young rabbits. They do not taste like pineapple at all, but they taste good. We make bouquets of clover. We learn about bees. We pull a petal from the clover and chew on the base, looking for honey. There is no honey, but there is sweetness. Daisies fill the meadow where my grandmother walks with me, holding my hand, keeping me from falling into the creek. Grasshoppers clatter up from the grass. The sun is so warm. How can anything bad ever happen? Even now a whiff of any of these roadside weeds can make me feel at peace. Even the memory of the scent, on a rainy morning in Michigan! Thank you, PJ!Gerryhttp://torchlakeviews.wordpress.comnoreply@blogger.com