Peevish Pen

Ruminations on reading, writing, rural living, retirement, aging—and sometimes cats. And maybe a border collie or other critters.

© 2006-2018 All rights reserved

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Location: Rural Virginia, United States

I'm an elderly retired teacher who writes. Among my books are Ferradiddledumday (Appalachian version of the Rumpelstiltskin story), Stuck (middle grade paranormal novel), Patches on the Same Quilt (novel set in Franklin County, VA), Them That Go (an Appalachian novel), Miracle of the Concrete Jesus & Other Stories, and several Kindle ebooks.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Manure Happens

I found these mushrooms growing in the pasture last Saturday morning. They’re almost works of art—so unexpected and arising from manure deposited by one of my mares.

Many folks consider manure a smelly, undesirable substance best not mentioned in polite company, but manure has its place and its purpose. Manure makes makes good fertilizer. My husband, for instance, grows impressive tomatoes in rotted manure.

When manure—either literally or figuratively—is dumped on us, the thing to do is rise above it. A little manure can have spectacular results.


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