Hey, Phot:

Sure, we're always open for business. Last year, I asked several people for advice on trimming my small corner of black raspberry bushes. My natural approach to bushes is to trim the Hell out of them (graciously, of course.) Nothing is more assured than that bushes will grow back. Last fall, I cut my little stand of raspberry bushes back (partly out of self-protection as they were invading our little deck.) This spring, the bushes sprung to life and were in such heavy bloom that it looked like it had snowed. Now I am withing a week of harvesting a major crop of raspberries. I may need some assistance in eating them. I'll have them on cereal for breakfast, and make ice cream sundaes with the rest.

Hey, Will Fly: Thanks for stopping by the table. Grief is funny (I know, that sounds stupid.) Maybe I should say it can be puzzling and seemingly unrelated to how closely we knew someone. A year ago, I was walking up the steps into the Post Office and did a double take. Walking towaward me was someone I hadn't seen in close to thirty years, Marty Passaro. The last time I'd seen him was when he worked for me teaching little kids at the Museum where I was Director. Marty was taking a year off of college before going into Optometry because he didn't have the money. Ht was working in the museum's maintenance department, but there was something special about him that caught my eye. He was a real aw shucks,bashful, enthusiastic kid and we had an opening in our nature department teaching little kids. Marty had never taught before but he had enough of a biology background that I thought he could do a good job. He was a real natural. The kid's loved his enthusiasm and childish innocence. He just taught classes that summer and then went back to college. I didn't see him again until I saw him bouncing down the steps that day. His crew cut had gone gray but he hadn't lost any of his exuberance, and even though it took him a moment to know who I was, he was very excited to see me. We promised to have lunch together, but it never worked out. Marty had kids the age he was when I'd last seen him, but there as an immediate connection as if he'd just stepped out of the room for a minute, twenty five years ago.

Two or three months later, I tried again to set up a lunch together and his daughter answered the phone. Marty had died in his sleep a couple of nights earlier. He was in his early 50's and seemingly in fine health. He went to the gymn to work out regularly and appeared to be the same kid he was that summer when he taught at the museum.
I was in a state of shock, talking with his daughter. I'd never met her or any of Marty's kids, but I talked for awhile about what a gifted teacher he was. It still hurts that he's gone and on one level you could say, Marty, I hardly knew ye. I just knew him that one summer, and not as a close friend. Some people touch you so deeply that you miss them far beyond the small amount of time you knew them. I still feel a pang in my heart walking up the steps to the Post Office.

Jerry