Stacks of locally grown, peak-ripe produce are about to appear at farmstands and markets — then disappear for another year.

We're standing about 80 feet from the stage, hemmed in by another group of girls with their boylets on the right, and a group of boys who are checking us out on the left.

“But I have known men sing out dreadfully when punished; if they had got enough of rum, it would have supported them, and they would not have sung out.” “Not one drop for me, Charley Hunter; I shall not sing out, I promise you, if they cut me to pieces

This property goes all the way to the state line.