story by Michael Holahan | illustration by Andy Hood
As a shopkeeper in the Reading Terminal Market, any busy day is a good day. But after 25 years at the Pennsylvania General Store, my favorite is the day before Thanksgiving. The energy inside this more-than-a-century-old public market is unlike any other time of year. Thanksgiving is
by Bernard Brown
I waded in from a rocky bank in the mountains of Schuylkill County and quickly forgot what I was looking for. My plan on that hot afternoon had been to snorkel for turtles, a pursuit that involves actively investigating underwater boulders and snags. Instead, I watched the fish and rocks on the bottom
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essay and illustration by Jacob LambertEnvironmentally speaking, there are a few things i’d like to experience before I die. Hopefully, the coming decades will bring a collective snubbing of our oil-centric exurban lifestyle. A move towards energy creation that doesn’t involve strip mines and cluster bombs would be also encouraging, as would genuine mainstream interest
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The Adam and Eve debacle notwithstanding, I never thought that eating fresh local fruit could be so controversial. I also assumed that, with seasonal farmers’ markets sprouting up all over Philadelphia, it couldn’t be that much work to bring one to my suburban neighborhood.
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Some people geek out over wine. Others, old vinyl. For me, it’s cheese. The stinky stuff. Stilton. Fontina. Époisses. When I meet a strong cheese, it stops me cold, the way hearing a new song on the radio can make you pull over the car, motivated by a desire to really listen. You don’t forget
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by Ann Cohen
With tax abatements and breaks galore, 2010 is a great year to move into an energy-efficient home. It was a little bit different 30 years ago, when I built the first passive solar house in Philadelphia.
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My neighbor is standing at my back fence, looking at my ripening tomatoes. “I wanted to ask you something,” he says. “Every year, you work so hard to grow them. So why don’t you ever pick them?”
Hmmm… I was hoping nobody had noticed.
I could tell him I’d been too busy. I could tell him it’s
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by Dee Dee RisherEven though I’m not a big consumer, from mid-November well into January, I feel like a recovering alcoholic stocking a liquor store. I’ve painstakingly retrained my U.S. consumer brain to evaluate my needs and wants.
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by Judy WicksI had just turned six when my family moved to the small town where I grew up in western Pennsylvania. On the first day in my new community, I collected all the extension cords I could find and connected them down the driveway, where I set up my child-size dining table with two
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A legion of Mr. Hydes await their holidayby Jonathon McGoranAfter all the stories of apples with razorblades and drug-laced cookies he’d heard growing up, Greg was surprised the notion of trick-or-treating had survived for his son Duncan to partake in.
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