Word: cottonwoods
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Third-generation corn farmer Paul Siegel says working the land will always be his true love. "There's nothing like planting a seed, nurturing it and harvesting it," says the owner of Siegel's Cottonwood Farms in Crest Hill, Ill., near Chicago. But Siegel admits that it is his annual Pumpkin Fest that keeps his farm afloat. Started in 1990, with a pumpkin patch and hayrides, Siegel's fall festival has mushroomed into a full-fledged theme park complete with haunted barns, a petting zoo, a 10-acre corn maze and snacks such as smoked turkey legs, kettle corn...
...Platte near Kearney measured almost a mile wide. The sandbars in mid-river, annually scoured by ice and high water, were just the way the wary cranes like them: free of predator-concealing vegetation. Today those same sandbars have developed into large islands overgrown with brush and cottonwood trees. Around them the water, only half a mile across, flows in narrow channels too deep for cranes. The result: where the birds used to spread out over 300 miles of river, they now congregate in one 80-mile stretch. As they crowd ever more densely together, thousands could be lost...
...France, but I have seen Amelie and been to Disney World. These two experiences, I think, amount to all I need to judge Metro’s authenticity. The mosaic-tiled floor, big windows and lots of light wood are charming and airy, a contrast to the more moody Cottonwood Café that used to occupy the space. Deep red pleather booths and chairs are cute, but the Art Deco lighting (in addition to Art Deco everything) is too new-looking and the “tin” ceiling and the huge mirrors are obviously and poorly...
...first I was skeptical about the not-quite-deli, not-quite-coffee bar that moved in to replace The Cottonwood Cafe, a TexMex, blue cheese salad sensation. But I quickly found that a fabulous French deity has descended to grace the pantheon of restaurants situated on Massachusetts Avenue in Porter Square...
...shoots out to point at the different kinds of oaks, the elm and the hackberry. There's an overwhelming brownness as you look out over large portions of his land, which have the texture of a worn brush. He stops the truck to show us a rare cottonwood and make sure we can all see the white-tailed deer hiding in the trees. "Motts are what they call those groupings of oaks," notes Bush. He catalogs every stream crossing, every canyon and the precise number of cows, bulls and calves that he lets graze on his land. There's Ophelia...