Purple blossoms in Washington Square. Gorgeous, but the bane of Scott’s allergy-prone existence.

Salt preserved limes.

A ruler I’ve had for years and years.

Putting together jars of jelly for book press packets.

On the dining room table.

That’s my book. There are no words.

The steeple of the Philly Unitarian church in the light of sunset.

Fresh eggs from a canning student. A few times in life, people have given me eggs straight from their hens and I’m always thrilled by it.

A demonstration of just how insane my jar habit is.

Dusk in Rittenhouse Square.