Lo, my front yard's bounty.

As a matter of policy, I don't let my dog eat from my plate. He gets his
food in his dish, only when the humans are done. But in a rare moment of
weakness, I shared a strawberry smoothie with him. It was such a gorgeous
day.

Oh, how I tremble with anticipation! Why am I so obsessed with food that is clinically proven to be gross?

Fruit of Gods: The pickled egg. This is one day in beet juice and distiled white vinegar. About a week longer is perfection.

I think driving with the foot is what sank the Edmund Fitzgerald. If we go down, here will be the record. Please write a drinking song about it. The boat is the Diamond Queen, I am young and fair, even a lass if you like, and I died with a stone in my heart... That's why I sank or something.

Just before we passed under the bridge, we passed over the Windsor-Detroit Tunnel, which is kind of a scary place.

The sky is beautiful right now, but it's cold out on the river. Windy too. I'm catching a lot of ginger ale in the face.

The bridge is privately owned by a shipping magnate.