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Letter from the Editor

Welcome to Palmer Grove. Within these pages you will find the beginning of what promises to become a large, intimate community. This issue represents a place where aspiring writers, journalists, artists, photographers, and enthusiasts can congregate in an atmosphere of acceptance and understanding. It is here that we have the opportunity to put our hidden talents on display and test out new and experimental works. The fact that the staff of Palmer Grove has chosen to release its premier issue on Independence Day is no coincidence. We have specifically chosen this date as a metaphor for what we hope to achieve. Our primary mission is to declare independence from what is expected and accepted in modern periodicals. Within our features you will not find any propagation of the mainstream. Instead, you will find common people expressing their interest in very uncommon ways. This expression is not limited to this publication. On our website you will find expanded content for all that is included in the following pages. As time progress, we will be adding discussion forums where you can communicate directly with the authors and artists featured within the magazine, video interviews and instructional, pages where you can get to know the staff and communicate directly with them, and much, much more. As we continue through this summer and enjoy our vacations and holidays, let us also maintain our focus on the everyday areas of our lives. Each day find a little time where you can try out new hobbies or venture deeper into ones you already enjoy. Keep your childlike wonder a part of all that you take joy in. It is in these moments that we most experience joy, contentment, and fulfillment. Over the next few months, Palmer Grove will begin to compile our Holiday Issue. As we do so, we need your help. We need you to help spread the word about Palmer Grove and this community. We need more artists and writers to bring their work to the table. If you or someone you know has anything that they would like to contribute, visit to submit it for inclusion in the next issue. Also, visit the site each week for updates from the Palmer Grove staff on the current issue, upcoming events, and other goings on. Thank you for choosing to be a part of this momentous journey and we welcome you to the Palmer Grove community.

Palmer Grove Staff Brian A. Palmer Editor in Chief

Carri Paolucci Bonner Editorial Director

Rebekah Slotterbeck Artistic Director

Bethany Schoeff Columnist

Rachel Ann Flesch Graphic Designer

Aaron Smith Administrative Assistant

Company Contact Information P.O. Box 91286 Columbus, Ohio 43209 P. (614) 285 - 4314 E.

Sincerely, Brian A. Palmer Editor in Chief Palmer Grove

Cover Artist: Benton J. Mays The cover art for our premier issue was submitted to us by Benton J. Mays of Logan, Ohio. He is a factory worker and composes his works in his free time. Jones specializes in fantasy art and has won awards for his editorial work. The cover piece is a pencil sketch entitled ― Summer Oak.‖ Each issue of Palmer Grove will feature work from local artists featuring our trademark Oak Tree. For more information on cover submissions, please contact us at 2 | Summer 2011

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Table of Contents

pg. 7

Freedom from Big Box Shopping


Life Upon the Wicked Stage


Rule #1: Do What You Have to for Family Comes First


Emily’s View


The Feminist Fight: Who Really Wins?


Time for Change


Chez Chef Schoeff


The Best Sauce


The Little Lost Elf


Minor Progressions


The Message Jar


Jesus Saves




Last Stands


The Calm






The Last to Know




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Freedom from the Big Box Shopping By Carri Bonner, Editorial Director Struggling to balance climbing prices with eating healthier, many consumers are stepping outside the big box stores to find affordable and delicious produce. Traditionally summer brings relief to this effort by bringing a variety of community Famers Markets. This trend is climbing all over the nation as smaller farmers reach out and take control of selling their product as opposed to relying on the commercial grocery stores as their only outlet for sales. The United States Department of Agriculture reported an amazing jump of 16% from 2009 to mid-2010 of farmers markets operating throughout the nation. There were 6,132 farmers markets nationwide last summer and this summer proves to be driving those numbers even higher as climbing gas prices force farmers to sell closer to home. In addition to the remarkable number of summer markets available, winter markets are becoming more popular, even in colder climate states. Last year offered over 900 winter farmer markets with late year and greenhouse grown produce still bringing plenty of fresh offerings to our dining room tables. Here in Columbus, there are a number of offerings available for community farmers markets. These markets are not simply about fruits and vegetables, but offer meats, cheeses and home-made products that are grown, created and sold right here in Central Ohio. Each of these markets has their own unique flair and give their community a sense of personality and togetherness that draws people to them weekly. Remember to bring plenty of grocery bags to carry your items and, if buying meats, a small cooler or thermal bag is always useful if you plan on browsing the market for a while. Also, most markets operate on a cash only basis (it saves the farmers from paying credit card fees to the card companies) however, check the websites as there are a few that do accept credit/ debit cards. The Olde Worthington Farmers Market ( offers a variety of products from fresh produce to landscaping and garden plants to home-made food stuffs including pies and jarred honeys and syrups. According to reviews given, this is one of the highest consumer ranked markets in our area with comments ranging from ―great variety‖ to ―very affordable‖ and ―great family fun‖. It was established in 1987 and is one of Ohio’s largest markets with over 70 regular vendors. It operates on Saturdays from 9 am – 12 noon and is located in the heart of downtown Olde Worthington on High Street. Parking is available just one block south of the intersection of Routes 23 & 161 behind the Worthington Inn and Methodist church. The Olde Worthington Farmers Market also features a solid winter market available one Saturday a month in November and December and every Saturday (10 am - 1 pm) January through April in the Griswold Center. The Clintonville Farmers Market ( is another one of the larger markets in the area featuring fresh produce, cut flowers, meats, baked goods and jarred honeys and syrups. The Clintonville Farmers Market has been established here in Columbus for over 9 years and features a variety of producers from the surrounding Ohio countryside. According to reviews, this market is better for meats and produced products and less about the fresh produce. Several consumers commented that they get several items here but head to Worthington for their produce. The Clintonville Farmers Market is available Saturdays from 9 am – 12 noon from April 30 through October 29. It also features a Harvest Market on November 19 this year. The summer market is found on North High Street between Orchard Lane and West Dunedin. The winter market ( is located at Clintonville Women’s Club at 3951 N. High St., Columbus. The Granville Farmers Market ( is the second largest market in Central Ohio. This market features gluten free items and vegan items as well as the standard farmers market fare. They have several vendors offering local cheese and meats. They also offer landscaping and garden plants as well as homemade items. Reviewers love the variety at this market and the small town feel. All vendors are confined within two blocks and while according to reviewers, it can be crowded, it does keep the feel small and compact. The Granville Farmers Market is available on Saturdays from 8:30 am – 12 noon in the two Continued on page 26.

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Life Upon the Wicked Stage By Doug Joseph For a variety of reasons, (enough to fill another article at a later date) I had retired from local/community theater. And then a couple of years back, I was once again bitten by the bug. I wanted to perform again and do musical theater! Now in the forgetful memories of the Columbus theater community, this is sometimes easier said than done! At one point, when I arrived for an audition, I would most likely know the majority of the people in the room, and could feel with some certainty that I might just be offered a role. (does anyone still remember ―Bye Bye Birdie at Schiller park?) But when you walk away for as long as I did, you can’t expect the hands on the clock to simply stand still, and they don’t. Suddenly, I was the new (older) kid on the block having to prove myself all over again. I had a few near ―hits‖ on some juicy roles, but they ultimately went to some wonderful performers whose work was more on the forefront of things. Walking away from an audition and a callback empty-handed hurts. Rest assured of this and believe me. So, I knew that I needed a fresh start with a fresh look and a new attitude! The smile needed some work, and a couple of thousand of dollars later….voilà! (can we all say ―cheese‖?) Next was the waist line. Honestly, there are plenty of guys my age who look like ―guys my age,‖ so I worked really, really hard and melted 45 lbs off of my body. I wasn’t obese mind you, but well, thin is in. Once my fantastic hairdresser Tristan magically turned my silver into gold so to speak, I felt like a brand new me. My confidence was back (even if my 20’s where long behind me!) My first success came in the form of being cast as Dr. Frankenfurter in ―The Rocky Horror Show‖ this past fall. I wanted that role more than anything, and knew that I could sing the pants off of it if they would only give me the chance……and they did. I was confident. I was prepared. I was ready!!!! But when opening night finally came, I was a basket case! What had I done? Who did I think I was? For an hour or so, I went from Tim Curry’s clone (in my mind) to Tim Conway!!! I cried in the parking lot to my partner Bryan that I had made a terrible mistake! But then I made my entrance. And I was a hit! I (and my very capable cast) received numerous kudos from everyone that saw the show. It was a thrilling ride and one that I will never forget. Friends teased me that I was now going to be famous, but alas with all the make-up and hair that makes Frank well Frank, only one person has recognized me, and that was because he heard my speaking voice. So, there have been parts since and there will be parts again. But it’s nice to be back on that wicked stage. Oh so nice!

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Rule #1: Do What You Have to for Family Comes First By Jeff Lafferty, Columnist My name is Jeff. I am a father of three children. I am a husband. I am a glass is half full vs. glass is half empty type of person. I am a big fan of music, movies, and television shows. I am a huge hockey fan. I am also a four-time cancer survivor. I’m the proud father of three living children and one that passed when she was newborn. On September 24, 1996, I lost a daughter when she was an hour and a half old. She rolled over onto her umbilical cord and her lungs filled with meconium. It was rough; however, we lived through it. Thankfully, none of our three children born after that experienced that issue. I chose then to live life to the fullest and appreciate what is given to us in life. While I me-co-ni|um: mourned her, I also learned from her and these lessons that I learned from her have helped me get through the last six years. the greenish fecal matter in a fetus, forming I was diagnosed with a form of cancer called Chronic Lympho- the first bowel movement of a newborn infant cytic Leukemia on May 15, 2005. I have been evaluated and so far unsuccessfully been able to find a bone marrow match for a transplant because my mother is Puerto Rican and my father is Irish German. I am very passionate about mixed marrow donating because of the struggle I’ve had with it. I’ve been evaluated at the Mayo Clinic and in June 2009, I had an aortic aneurysm. I am being monitored every six months in the event the aneurysm grows to where it needs to be surgically repaired. Because of my health issues, I started a journal online about two years ago to share with friends and family because it gave me a great place to tell them what was going on. It also gave me a much needed outlet for my struggles, a place to be frustrated, a place to be happy, a place to share my life. As you will come to find in these columns and from my journals, I will be very honest because I believe that honesty is the only way to truly convey the trials and triumphs of the journey I have been on since first being diagnosed with cancer. Some people say that between the cancer and losing our baby, I have been through a lot. I feel that everyone has their own set of positives and negatives that they have had to deal with in their own lives. I believe that everything happens for a reason. Nothing just happens because of something else and if you believe that then let me know and on your tombstone, I will have the Latin phrase ―post hoc ergo propter hoc‖ written. Don’t know the phrase? The translation is ―After therefore because of it‖, and in reality it rarely happens at all. I believe, in Everyone has a story to tell. And in these columns, I’ll share mine and my rules for life. As I said I’m just an ordinary guy. I love television shows with one of my favorites being this day and NCIS. Onbefore, this show, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, played by Mark Harmon, has a set of rules that he lives by that he learned from his first wife, Shannon. I believe, in this day and age, that everyage, that body should have a set of rules to follow. More importantly for a father of three who is looking at everybody shorter life span, it’s important to leave a list of guidelines and rules to follow for the future. first rule ―Do what you have to do for family comes first‖. I believe that this has to be the should have a first ruleMy because a large number of people have forgotten how important family should be. This is a set of rules to lesson that I learned very young and it’s something that I am always reminded of when I think of my sister in England and my brother who is moving to Florida. follow. When I was younger, my father always told me that no matter what happens in life that people may come and go but in the end you are only going to have one sister and one brother in your life and that you need to have an unconditional relationship Chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL) is a with them if you want to have them in your life. We all have dysfunctional relationships with family members. It’s type of cancer of the blood and bone marrow just to what level of dysfunction that it can become. Do you talk to — the spongy tissue inside bones where blood your brother/sister once a week? Every other day? Or do you not talk to cells are made. them at all? My brother never came to my high school graduation and graduation party. Most people would have been upset and hurt by those actions. A few weeks later he asked me to help him move out of his apartment. I told him ―Sure, no problem.‖ My friend says ―Jeff, why are you doing that? He didn’t go to your graduation and graduation party?‖ I told her, ―He is the only brother that I have and if he is in trouble, I would make sure that I would be there to help him.‖ It’s always been the one thing, during the good times and the bad times, family will be there, or they should be there to support you and be there for you in times of trouble. Especially nowadays, many parents are working different hours, sometimes different shifts and nobody seems to work a 9-5 Monday to Friday schedule. It’s appears that the family fabric is going away and the closeness that people had are no longer there as well. It’s important to understand, now more than ever, family has to come first.

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Emily’s View The photographs on this and the next two pages were submitted by Emily Marie. ―Front Yard‖ (This page, top) Canon PowerShot ―Steady Faith‖ (This page, bottom) Canon PowerShot SD850 ―Amina‖ (Next two pages) casual photo taken with Canon PowerShot SD850 Emily Marie is an independent photographer who is available for senior portraits, family portraits, engagement and wedding photos, etc. To view more of Emily Marie’s photography or to contact her, she can me found on Facebook.

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The Feminist Fight: Who Really Wins? By Carri Bonner, Editorial Director Fact: 50% of marriages now end in divorce Fact: Women still make less in the work place Fact: Gender roles are now interchangeable While I am a supporter of women striving forward to be treated with equal respect, I am not a supporter of women being treated equally as men. Now, before you get up in arms and write the magazine to tell me how wrong I am, hear me out. I’m not talking about women being abused or mistreated, but simply women being treated as men, not equally like men, but as men. I’m talking about how the feminist movement has blurred gender roles to the point that some men no longer feel they have a place in our society. I’m talking about how women are pitted against each other in a constant competition in order to ―prove‖ that they are indeed the better woman. I’m talking about how, unless you’re out in the workforce or had been in the workforce before becoming a wife and mother, then you’re incomplete, simple, and obviously abused by men. I’m talking about the death of chivalry and a dance between men and women that no longer has a partner to lead it. For literally thousands of years, women had a very distinct role in our societies. We have been nurturers, gatherers, teachers, and the doers in our tribes and societies. Men had the roles of hunters, protectors, mentors, and ultimately, dominance, in our tribes and societies. For generations, through evolutionary periods, through strife and turmoil, males and females alike stepped up and filled in the other’s gender counterpart roles as necessary, but for the most part, drew their strength and fed our societies with strength from their known roles. For centuries, the two genders were allowed to be separate and supported by each other in mutual respect. The feminist movement started in the early 1900’s with women’s suffrage: earning the right to vote. I can agree with this movement completely. Women are intelligent creatures who have opinions and should be allowed to express them. This movement focused first on giving rights to women that were not available to them before. There were still clear cut gender lines at this point. Women were still cherished and protected, men were still protectors and breadwinners. While the early suffrage, in a nutshell, helped advance women’s equality with men concerning major decisions, it did not blur the gender lines that had ruled for centuries. The second wave of the feminist movement was born in the 60’s and pushed through to the early 80’s. This wave gave countless women the right to be treated equally in the work place, to make their own decisions concerning marriages, their bodies, their politics. In my opinion, this is the wave that was the most destructive to a gender-role based society. If a woman wanted or needed to work, then yes, they should be treated equally to the men in the work place. However, in this push to receive this equality, many women forgot that men deserve equal rights as well. In pushing to obtain these rights, men began getting pushed aside. In pushing to make sure that everyone was equal, the very women fighting for these rights began treating their own kind with disdain if they chose to be happy at home taking care of the family. As this fight pushed on, more and more women hit the workplace, pushing aside the need to care for family first. As the third wave pushed forward in the 90’s, this wave of feminists pushed for more equality in income levels amongst women. The previous two waves had affected mostly middle and upper class women. This wave pushed to bring equality to all women and was a bit more supportive. However, this wave was also about women empowerment and pushed the fact that women

I’m talking about the death of chivalry and a dance between men and women that no longer has a partner to lead it.

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were so empowered that men, more than ever, began to doubt about their place in such a women-driven society. This wave pushed to women that a marriage that didn’t make her happy immediately wasn’t worth working for at all. This wave pushed the competition amongst women, to have the best homes, the best children, the best husbands and most importantly, the best jobs. Anything less than perfection in all 4 categories was considered a fail. But who has won the feminist fight? The clear answer is that a large percentage of women seem to have won this fight. They are living the dream right? If so, then why are 50% of marriages ending in divorce? Why do women’s magazines focus on diets, looks, sexual tricks, fashion to make a woman ―better‖ instead of accepting and loving herself? Why is it that men have become afraid of treating a woman like a woman? While women have gained near equality in the workplace (although women still consistently make less than men), and have gained control over their choices, whether political, religious or personal, women have lost some of the charm of being a woman. Women who are feminine, who like to look pretty because it’s just fun, who like to be cherished, who excel at being amazing mothers and wives but nothing outside the home, are treated like pariahs, simpletons who don’t know any better. Worse, they sometimes get treated as lazy and are accused of hurting the women’s rights movements by being just who they are. Our society today has pushed women’s empowerment and rights so much, that a teenager who simply wants to get married, have children and a happy home after college is frowned upon. A housewife who is happy being a housewife gets told how there’s so much more ―out there‖. Children are being raised by nannies, teachers and at after-school events which have less and less to do with being a kid and more and more to do with pushing for that never-ending goal of perfection. Men, who have for centuries, protected and cherished women, are now considered ―oldfashioned‖ if they open a door for a woman or offer to pay for dinner on a date. And where does a man stand nowadays? Once the rulers of the household, men, who are for the most part, naturally dominant, are now being told that their natural traits are undesirable. That being dominant is almost equal to being abusive. Is there no middle ground that can be reached? Are women so far to one side that we cannot meet in the middle and accept that instead of competing with each other, we should be able to support each other? That a mother and wife are just as important ―jobs‖ as working in the outside world? Can we not teach our children that gender roles are ok, and in fact, important to deciding who we want to be? I’m not implying that children that blur gender roles should be punished, or women who are happy being the breadwinner and main supporter in their family are less woman, more man. I am simply asking, does roughly 45 years of feminism destroy the ability and right to be enjoy a traditionally feminine role? Slowly, women are stepping up to reclaim the right to be feminine and taken care of. Women are talking about and reveling in the fact that they are indeed happy to be homemakers and allow their men to rule the roost. Women are submitting to their husbands or lovers by choice, not because it is demanded of them, but because, it is indeed, what makes them happy. Women are now struggling to go back a few decades and embrace what marriage and home life was before the second wave of the feminist movement. They are intelligent, strong women who are reveling in ruling the homestead instead of the board room. While I appreciate the struggle, effort and fight that the pioneers of the women’s movement have made toward equality in the workplace, society and religious worlds, I also appreciate the women who have stood up and said it’s ok to be exactly who are you. CEO, Housewife, Mother, Doctor, Teacher … it matters not what title we wear but that we are supportive of each other. It’s ok to revel in painting our toenails and fixing our hair before our man comes home, it’s ok to pass the jar you can’t open to him rather than using a tool to open it. It’s ok to remind men that they are indeed needed and appreciated without giving up our own strength, our own feminism. It’s ok to have a difference between men and women and accept it with open arms. Not everything need be a struggle. Sometimes, it’s just good to be a girl.

Sometimes, it’s good to be a girl.

Enjoy what you are reading? Have an idea for a story? Want to have your voice heard? Your work can be included in our next issue. Visit to submit a work today!

Palmer Grove | Read, Write, Discover Palmer Grove

Summer 2011 | 11

Time for Change By Heather Richers We have come to a time in this country that demands change, a time to declare our independence from the ordinary, the mainstream, and even the outdated idea of the American dream. Our government recently surpassed its legal debt limit of 14.3 trillion dollars, adding stress to the already shaky economy. Many, many Americans are also up to their eyeballs in massive debt, struggling to pay bills every month and still afford life’s necessities like food, shelter, and clothing. This is the time to make changes that will improve our finances and make our lives better; it’s time to escape from the conventional and disempowered masses, to find freedom as an empowered individual. Disempowerment is the feeling that we are not as good or worth as much as someone else. More often than not, we let our self-worth be defined by our possessions, our clothes, our appearance, and how much money we make or have. Suze Orman, a financial expert sums this up perfectly, ―We spend more when we feel less.‖ We as a society and as individuals can experience true happiness and enlightenment when we fully realize and accept that not one person one this planet is or ever has been better than any other. We must embrace the understanding that no amount of money or possessions can bring love or happiness into our lives. The best things in life really are free. Empowerment is the key to experiencing love, joy, excitement, passion, and happiness. In its absence, we experience powerlessness, jealousy, fear, loneliness, anger, hate, and other harmful, destructive emotions and behaviors. It is not possible to feel happy or empowered while in a state of depression, insecurity, guilt and fear, and it is not possible to change the circumstances of your life or create the life you want while in a state of powerlessness. Man or woman, young or old, rich or poor, all of us that share this planet earth, we are all the same; we desire and seek out love, happiness, and acceptance above all else. We all want a place where we belong, a place to call home, surrounded by people who love, respect, and accept us for who we are. Empowerment lets us feel unlimited in all aspects of our life with no limits on what we can do, have, be, or experience, create, and achieve. The disempowered masses, our peers, and multi-million dollar corporations demand that we spend money that we don’t have on things we don’t need like the most popular and expensive brands of shoes and clothes just to fit into some idea of normal, often promising happiness once there. These people, groups, and greedy corporate America gain wealth and/or power by making us, the average Jane and Joe, feel like we are not good enough unless we have the right car, wear the right jeans, drink the right beer, have the right body, and on and on and on. Whether you are told that you meet the standard and are accepted, or that you fall short of the requirement, either way you are giving away a little bit of power. We give away little bits of power until we are no longer empowered individuals. I came to understand this during a session of Reiki when I discovered a great amount of tension and pain in my chest and abdomen. I was holding onto such a feeling of failure, of disappointment and unworthiness, like I had let everyone down and most of all, like I just wasn’t good enough. I realized that I had let others label me based on my failure to meet up to their expectations for things that I never wanted for myself. I couldn’t be happy if I became what they wanted me to be. I had accepted someone else’s label of failure and unworthiness, and defined myself by how I imagined that others saw me, by titles, achievements, and possessions that I either had or didn’t have. Mostly though, I realized that it was my own thoughts and judgments that had made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. Right then I let go of all of it and accepted that I had made the best choices for me and was happy just being me. I felt like I had stepped outside of myself, standing newborn and naked, my arms reaching up towards a warm, bright light that I hadn’t seen or felt in years. I felt naked in every sense, physically and emotionally, but also spiritually, like my very soul was exploding out of every cell in my body. I could feel a wonderful sense of being pure self - no clothes, no titles, no record of what I had or hadn’t accomplished. Those concepts were suddenly nonexistent and utterly unimportant, I was completely free. In that moment, I felt as if I could do anything, I saw all that I could be and do, every experience just waiting for me to try, every feeling and trait of humanity

We must embrace the understanding that no amount of money or possessions can bring love or happiness into our lives.

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just waiting for me to tap into. In that moment, I was completely empowered. I truly understood that ―my body is my temple.‖ Our bodies allow us to walk around experiencing the world and interacting with each other, they allow us to run, jump, play, dance, feel wind and rain, see colors, art, or wonders of nature, hear music, great symphonies, or melodic ocean waves crashing against a shore. We must live this one lifetime to the fullest everyday for ourselves, celebrating our spirit, our human potential, and this existence called life. We must let go of our previous notions of requirement and worth; no clothes, titles, awards, labels, or anything else make up who we are. Make a conscious choice to connect to life, connect to yourself and those around you, connect to all the sensual experiences we can have in any given day. Discover your deep connection to purpose, fulfillment, passion and joy. Fear, depression, and hopelessness cannot exist where there is passion, joy, excitement, and love. Focus on and intentionally create all of the little pleasures life has to offer. Write out a list of all the things you can think of that bring you feelings of love, joy, happiness, excitement, passion, and empowerment. Incorporate these into your life every single day, or whenever you feel sad, depressed, or fearful. Do not live your life as a passive observer, choose to celebrate life and love and pamper yourself. You have to give yourself the best things in life, don’t wait for an opportunity, create the opportunity. Here are few of my favorite things: yoga/ stretching/ breathing, walking along a warm beach listening to the ocean waves, going to a park and swinging on the swings (for my inner child) or having a simple picnic lunch, swimming, listening to my favorite music, getting a massage/facial/sauna treatment, taking a long hot bath by candlelight, camping or a campfire, curling up with a good book, trying out a new recipe in the kitchen, playing cards with friends or family, lying in a hammock for the afternoon, playing with my ferret, watching a good comedy and laughing until my sides hurt. Increasing your enjoyment of life and body, internal strength, physical strength, and well-being through explorative and meditative activities helps you gain and maintain your empowerment. Try something new or challenging, something you’ve always wanted to try like hang-gliding, windsurfing, ice skating or rollerblading, ballroom dancing, self-defense or karate. Empowerment grows as we feel energized and healthy - experiencing the feel of your muscles, flexibility, movement, and senses through yoga, massage weight-lifting, running, walking, swimming, dancing, and finding activities that feel good, challenge, and strengthen you. The runner’s high is a great example of body, mind, and soul connecting for an amazing experience. It happens during intense workouts, not only running, but comes anytime you shift focus inward. You can leave behind the stresses of the day when you focus the rhythm of your feet on the pavement, feel your muscles burning and consuming energy as they become stronger and more efficient, focus on your breathing, bringing oxygen in so your can blood carry it through your amazing body. You experience an overwhelming feeling of strength and connection to your deeper self as the rest of world fades away. A slow, meditative yoga session is much the same, you move into a position and stretch one part or one muscle at a time, finding those parts of your body that are holding stress and tension. Many of those parts often go unnoticed throughout the day, but cause recurring pain by clamping down on nerves or putting strain on the connecting joints and bones. Yoga allows us to find those areas and relax them by holding a stretch, breathing deeply, and sinking slowly into the stretch allowing the muscle to relax. Intense workouts of any kind engage the mind in meditation and help you connect with your true self. You focus on breathing in and out, counting reps during weight lifting and callisthenic exercises like squats, lunges, and push-ups, often focusing on breathing out at the point of exertion to assist your body in it’s task, all the while forgetting troubles of work or home and relieving stresses of the mind, body, and soul. Change is inevitable, so start by changing the things in your life that serve your highest feelings of joy, passion, and empowerment and refuse to accept the limits and labels that do not.

Try something new or challenging, something you’ve always wanted to try...

Palmer Grove

Summer 2011 | 13

Chez Chef Schoeff By Bethany Schoeff, Columnist Bethany Schoeff and her husband of 12 years have three children. Their two sons have lifethreatening food allergies, and Bethany also has several food intolerances/sensitivities herself. While cooking and baking for her family, she must avoid all dairy, eggs, peanuts, tree nuts, fish, shellfish, soy, sunflower, peas, quinoa, chicory/inulin, and carrageenan/agar. ―When my son was first diagnosed with his food allergies, we had no idea what to feed him,‖ recalls Bethany. ―Since he was young and just learning how to eat, I think we fed him oatmeal and graham crackers for about a month until we figured things out!‖ Now Bethany prides herself on the ability to modify recipes and find substitute ingredients to make meals and snacks that taste like the ―real‖ versions. This column will feature delicious recipes that just happen to be allergy-friendly—free from all, or nearly all, of the top eight most common food allergens, with ways to modify the recipe to meet your specific needs. Each recipe will contain an ―Allergy Info‖ section listing what allergens are absent, in addition to substitution recommendations.

Chicken Cacciatore Chicken cacciatore is a great summer meal in which to use those fresh tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, garlic, and oregano from the garden or farmer’s market. Save this recipe to use in the winter as well, by substituting canned, frozen, and dried ingredients instead.

INGREDIENTS 2 tablespoons vegetable oil 1 teaspoon minced garlic (about 1 or 2 fresh cloves) 2 bell peppers, thinly sliced (1 green and 1 red, orange, or yellow), OR 1 bag frozen onion/pepper blend, thawed 1 medium onion, sliced (omit if using bag of onion/pepper blend) 3 cups tomatoes, roughly chopped, with their juice*, OR 2 (15 ounce) cans tomato sauce, stewed tomatoes, or diced tomatoes (in any combination) ½ tablespoon fresh oregano, finely chopped, OR ½ teaspoon dried oregano ½ teaspoon salt ¼ teaspoon pepper (or to taste) 1 pound cooked chicken, diced or shredded** Hot cooked rice or 1 pound cooked pasta (such as penne or farfalle)

DIRECTIONS 1. Heat oil in a large skillet; add garlic and sauté one minute. 2. Add onion and peppers and sauté until vegetables are tender. 3. Stir in the tomatoes and seasonings; bring to a boil. 4. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, for 10 minutes. 5. Add cooked chicken; stir to combine and heat through. 6. Serve over rice or pasta.

TIPS *To easily chop tomatoes, reserving their juice, first remove stem and core. Then add them whole to a large liquid measuring cup; use kitchen shears held straight up and down to roughly chop them. Bonus: the amount needed can be seen right on the measuring cup as you chop! **Simmer chicken breasts on the stove in a pot of water for a couple hours (until tender). Use a fork or fingers to shred/ break into pieces the chicken, separating from fat as you go (no need to trim chicken before cooking). Refrigerate or freeze prepared chicken until ready to use (thawing first, if necessary). ALLERGY INFO This recipe is free of dairy, eggs, peanuts, tree nuts, soy, fish, and shellfish. It can be made wheat-free by using rice or gluten-free pasta. Always double-check ingredients, including cross-contamination risk based on your level of sensitivity and comfort.

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The Best Sauce By Randy Hewitt ―A Recipe has no soul. You, as the cook, must bring soul to the recipe.‖ - Thomas Keller There are two things I have grown to appreciate about recipes: predictability and mutability. The only place where this seems out of place is baking. Don’t get me wrong-I love baking, but it leaves little room for adjustment. In its warm, fluffy heart, baking is just Chemistry that tastes good. But, this wouldn’t be a very interesting article without the concept of experimentation, so let’s begin with a recipe that’s been with me for years. Before we get too far into the recipe, I want to get some background out of the way. My history with this recipe dates back to Home Economics in North Eastern Ohio. Half our time during that term was spent using singer sewing machines to make ―projects,‖ (My sister got a very awkwardly shaped stuffed football with Kent State colors) while the remainder of our time was spent in a refurbished chemistry lab for the cooking side of the course. The reward for the course was a packet of simple recipes, including the one we’ll cover shortly: Baking powder biscuits. As biscuits seem to date back as far as human history, we will instead focus on the leavening agent; Baking powder is a replacement for yeast that came about in early American History as pearl ash. This eventually was replaced with sodium bicarbonate, which we know as baking soda, and paired with cream of tartar. The main ingredients, for all intents and purposes, are an alkali and an acid. The main purpose it serves is a quick rising agent that doesn’t require a separate rising time. In laymen’s terms, the dough starts off small, and rises in the oven. A final note on this recipe: I will provide the basic recipe here, and will then follow with two potential variations that came with the recipe. Then, we’ll discuss further experimentation.

Baking Powder Biscuits

INGREDIENTS 1 cup flour 1 ½ teaspoons baking powder ½ teaspoon salt 2 tablespoons shortening 6 tablespoons milk

DIRECTIONS 1. Combine dry ingredients in mixing bowl. 2. Add shortening with a pastry blender or two knives, cutting shortening into flour either using pastry blender, or taking the two knifes, and cutting in opposite directions. The end result should make the flour look like coarse meal. 3. Add milk* all at once and stir with a fork until a soft dough forms. 4. Sprinkle flour sparingly onto a pastry board or counter top. 5. Flour fingers lightly and place dough on board. Knead by folding dough over on itself, and pressing lightly with fingertips. 6. Turn dough ¼ way around, and repeat until dough is smooth (about six times). Be careful not to knead too much, as this will make the biscuits too tough. 7. Pat dough down to ½ inch thickness, and place on a baking sheet, dividing into fourths with a knife (I don’t fully separate them, but more divide them with this) 8. Bake at 450ºF for 10-12 minutes or until lightly browned. Serve warm.

*Optional: Stir in 3 T. crumbled, crispy fried bacon or ¼ c shredded sharp cheese with milk. The recipe is real simple. I broke it down into more steps to make the phases more separate. As for experimentation, I’ll be fair: I’ve barely touched this recipe. So, for the next article, the first paragraph will be all about me trying different forms of fat instead of shortening. As most of the recipe doesn’t allow for changing, this is about the only room to grow. Experimentation on my own end thus far has been limited to different types of cheddar, but it can be done with any type of cheese. There can be simple variations, even based on what you have available, such as changing the milk fat percentages. In general, it shouldn’t change the flavor too much, but even small changes can make a recipe perfect for an individual. Like any other cooking column, I leave this last topic as a forum for suggestions-feel free to reach out to me with requests, criticism, and feedback!

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The Little Lost Elf By August Richers Once upon a time, down in Dingly Dell, past the wild elderberry bushes there lived a little elf family that made nipple clamps and other erotic novelties. Mr. and Mrs. Elf had many children, mostly because they tested their creations out themselves. Often. The youngest elf was a little fellow by the name of Frank. Barely two feet tall, with a very large head on a spindly little body, he looked something like a lolly-pop. He liked it when the other elf children licked his face, mistaking him for a sugary treat. Frank was ―special‖ even by elf standards which weren’t altogether that high. One day Frank was playing far from home, in a wide field that bordered old Mrs. Bodkin’s trailer park. A strong wind sprung up, and the sky turned green all of a sudden. Something was wrong with the world; Frank knew this instinctively although he didn’t know what it was. Instead of recognizing the early signs of a tornado and taking cover, he was staring up at the funny looking cloud that reached all the way from the sky to the ground when a burst of wind picked him up, just like a kite. Around and around he flew. Growing scared, he began to shout as loud as he could but it was no use, his anguished cries for help were swallowed by the wind. Eventually he curled himself into a ball and began sucking his thumb, terrified beyond belief. Frank awoke in a strange place, filled with broken trees and pieces of trailer-homes. He had no idea where he was, never having gone farther from home than the field he had been playing in when all of this began. His tummy was rumbling and he missed his family, sitting down in the mud he began to wail piteously until he remembered something his brother Latimer had said to him. ―If you’re ever lost and need help,‖ Latimer said, ―go ask someone else, I’m busy.‖ Frank picked himself up, wiped the tears from his eyes and dusted himself off. He knew what he had to do and soon he would be home again, eating a pot-pie with his many brothers and sisters. With a determined look on his face, Frank set off to find someone to ask for help. First he came across a furry, little rabbit eating clover on the edge of a clearing. ―Can you help me?‖ Frank asked timidly. The rabbit stopped chewing and stared at him for a moment with wide eyes before bolting away, quick as a wink. Frank felt a great upwelling of sorrow at this, but he kept his resolve and moved on. Before too long he found a large, black bear snoring away under a tree. ―Can you help me?‖ He asked. The bear cracked one eye and looked at him for a moment before uncurling and yawning immensely; showing the enormous teeth in his huge, bear mouth. Frank was utterly stunned when the bear knocked him over and held him down with one enormous paw. His screams echoed far into the forest, followed by crunching sounds. Moral: Number One: Bears aren’t friendly and Number Two: there’s a reason you don’t see elves anymore. August has been previously published in "Etc-the zine of everything else" and you can find some of his other stuff on Facebook.

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Minor Progressions By Rafe Wallingford Running my fingers along similar coils of metal, I'm reminded of waking while it was still dark out. I opened my eyes, and saw the empty side of the bed. Your side. I panicked, thinking you'd left me, left me with just your remnants. Your latex slipper, and the ghost of your warmth in the sheets. Self-revulsion crawled up my spine until I heard it. The soft slide of skin on metal, the light pitches of acoustic strings before they're plucked. Rolling slowly, cautiously, I looked over to see you there; naked, or maybe not-I could not see what hid behind the guitar's body, but felt my own modesty creep and was grateful for the darkness. Your intimate venue was my bedroom. Still warm from the sex, but growing colder with each chord. The realization you'd leave was sinking in slowly. But for the moment, I was spellbound. You came across the yard between us as close enough to taste, but too far to touch. I let you serenade me long past the point where nudity became awkward. I was lost in the glimmer of light the strings would catch from the street outside. Lost in the song, I let myself fall asleep again. When I woke, you were just as gone as I'd feared and secretly hoped. Your memento was the smell of your sweat, the soreness of my body. Rejection turned to revulsion quickly, and I found myself kneeling on the tile floor of the bathroom, purging your ghosts and memories out along with what little was in my stomach. Pulling myself in a virtual singularity. I imagined myself smaller and smaller until all that was left was the cold tile floor, the quiet, and the loneliness. It took years to stand, or so I felt it did. I finally made it into the shower, and was reborn, moving myself along. I marveled that I could stand without you. Could speak, and eat. I wrapped myself in clothes while my hair was still wet and shiny, and left that womb I lived in, into the cacophony of society. The chaos of life without you. It would be time before I thought about you again. I had different sheets, different friends. I had built myself a life, and still found it wanting. The music store was an accidental excursion in four-fourths time, until it came to a dead stop, my fingers on the strings. Flashbacks are a bitch.

The Message Jar By Trendle Agsten When I was younger I worked at a restaurant where Joyce, the owner, kept what she called The Message Jar on a front counter. In this jar she would put slips of paper, sort of like what you find in fortune cookies except she made sure the notes contained only positive comments. Customers and employees were encouraged to reach into this vessel to retrieve a message every day. Sometimes, people would want to contribute to the jar so they would bring in messages to add to the collection. That was ok but the notes had to be inspected by Joyce before they were dropped into The Message Jar. After all, Joyce was not going to take the chance that a word of discouragement would find its way in. I realize now that Joyce knew something that a lot of people do not and that is how much influence positive or negative words can have on us. I was hurt by some words the other day. I was already tired after trying to keep up with the grandkids all day when I came home to find a pickup truck in our driveway, the driver inquiring after honey. Our driveway area was not immaculate; for one thing we were helping my daughter move and they had an old couch they were going to take to the dump but the dump wasn't open so the couch was left in our yard, as they needed the trailer. So, there sat a couch along with the usual chaos of life on the way to our kitchen door: the box for the new water heater that I had been letting Grandson play in, various flower pots, paint cans and brushes, (we were painting the fence), toys, canning jars, bee boxes, the recycling, and on and on. I never have been orderly. Friends tell me it is because I am creative so one day I looked this up to see if there was really a connection and I just had to laugh when I found online articles about how the creative mind jumps from this to that and sees potential in everything and that is why things build up around them. Hmmm… were they talking about things like the pieces of dryer vent I saved from the trash, after my husband worked on the dryer, because I think it might come in handy when I build a tin man someday? Or, the old CDs that are so shiny and reflective that I keep them to make Christmas decorations, or the egg cartons that we just might have enough eggs to finally fill in the future or the shattered glass that I would like to make into a mosaic? Before he left, the pickup truck driver glanced around our yard and said to me, "You people never throw anything away do you?" I admit, sometimes I am way too sensitive; I went into my messy home and cried. I don't know why he found it necessary to say those words to me. Maybe he thought it would inspire me to clean the place up? I think perhaps people who find fault think their insights are original and that they will make a difference with their words but I don’t believe a critical word ever accomplishes anything productive. I was sweet as honey to that man but I wish I had told him that the things I would like most to be able to throw away are hurtful words. I think I find it just as hard to throw away stabs at my heart as I do stuff. I wish I always had Joyce around to filter through words before they are placed into The Message Jar of my heart. Sometime after that I picked up a book, (from one of my many piles) titled, Giving the Gift of Encouragement, The Fragrance of Kindness, by Cheri Fuller. In this book, she shares a story of how years ago there were two groups of aspiring writers at the University of Wisconsin who met regularly at support groups. One group was named The Stranglers, the other The Wranglers. The Stranglers critiqued each other’s writings harshly while the Wranglers were all about encouragement. The conclusion of the Continued on page 26.

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Jesus Saves By August Richers The sign said ―Jesus Saves‖. It was pockmarked with dents and rusting around the edges. Low hanging branches hid it from view but they had been trimmed away so that travelers could see it from the highway just as they were passing. Bradshaw’s driver caught a glimpse of it and was forced to drive an extra five miles to the next interchange in order to turn around. A dirt road let off the highway next to the sign. It was heavily rutted from traffic and the elements and the limousine shook as it traversed the uneven surface. Pain flared in Bradshaw’s body; the cancer eating away at him was excruciating at the best of times. He whacked the window separating him from the driver and the man slowed down to a crawl; all of Bradshaw’s employees learned early on that it didn’t pay to annoy him. Bradshaw stared out the tinted windows at the passing trees and sipped his cognac. The bottle was worth more than the driver’s annual salary and the cretin had almost caused him to spill it. Not so long ago Bradshaw had been on top, magnificently wealthy, sycophants and mistresses fawning over his every word. Then his world was shattered with one, fateful diagnoses. Doctors had proclaimed his cancer inoperable and given him only months to live. He had spent his remaining time going through every specialist, every clinic in the world and always the answer was the same; there was nothing they could do. Finally, in desperation, he turned to the spiritual. Faith healers he found in droves. There were too many to visit them all in turn so he hired a team of investigators to look into their claims. Time after time he got back reports of fraud, charlatans who preyed on the fears of the sick and hopeless. He sent lawyers after them, damn them all to Hell, he would see every last one of them pay for their sins. Finally, only days ago, he received a report of a true miracle healer. There was a cult in the back woods of North Carolina. They worshipped a statue of Jesus that, apparently, had healing powers. People arrived in wheel chairs and left on their own feet, others were cured of incurable diseases seemingly by divine intervention. Bradshaw had all but given up hope. If the doctors could be trusted he had only weeks left to him. The report had sparked something in him, not faith for he had never believed in the fairy tales that the religious spouted, but something. Hope perhaps, yes that was it; hope. He might yet survive this ordeal. The limousine pulled into a clearing. Sunlight shone down on a rough tent, faded with age and long use. A few battered jalopies sat in front, covered in dirt and rust. Not the most auspicious of surroundings for the miraculous. The driver silently helped him out of the limo. Bradshaw’s body was wasting away and he cursed its weakness internally. He had been a strong man in his youth; to be so weakened by disease was an affront. ―Stay with the car,‖ he commanded the driver hoarsely. It rarely paid to trust people this backwards and poor. They might trap him here, steal his vehicle and sell it for liquor or whatever drugs these simpletons took. He made his way to the tent’s opening, slowly, painfully, leaning heavily on the antique walking stick he had purchased long before for show and had finally come to need. His sense of doom lessened as he approached. If the investigators could be believed, he was only a few short feet away from salvation. How ironic that a religion might hold the key to his survival. Perhaps his father had been right all those years he had tried to beat a sense of faith into him. Inside the tent it was dark and musty, almost suffocating in the heat of the day. A lone fly buzzed lazily around in the stale air. It took a few moments for Bradshaw’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, when they cleared he caught sight of the statue. It was life sized, or slightly larger, a bearded man, modestly draped in rags with pale skin and one arm outstretched, palm down as if he had been frozen in the act of benediction. The other hand covered his chest where the heart should be. There was a strange look of peace on its face, despite the wounds bleeding painted blood from the hands, head and ribs. Bradshaw grew chilled looking at it. Too many times in his life he had seen the same image staring down at him while a fanatic preached vileness and hatred. He loathed the church and everything about it. A man was sitting to the side of the statue; Bradshaw hadn’t noticed him. He stood in one fluid motion and his thin robes swirled briefly around his gaunt frame. The two men stared at each other for a moment before the robed man finally spoke. ―Welcome supplicant, do you seek salvation?‖ The man said, his voice was soft, almost musical, and there was an underlying confidence to it. ―Yes,‖ Bradshaw replied, in stark contrast his voice was brittle, cracking and higher pitched than it should have been. ―What do I do?‖ ―Simply kneel before the savior and place your head below his palm.‖ ―That’s it?‖ ―Yes.‖ ―You don’t require a, ah, donation or anything?‖ A smile briefly lit the robed man’s Continued on page 27.

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Reading By Pete Stroup I see my eyes struggle, moving back and forth across the pages. Under a porch light, sometimes in clear daylight, But still reading, absorbing, removing myself from the equation. Escapism isn't the right word, but it will work for now. Sometimes my vision becomes cloudy, less rigid and more bleary, I wonder if I will end my life like Borges, Watching words drift into symbols and altogether see my vision be re-disbursed to all of the other senses. I will take everything I've ever known, ever read, ever written. Hide it all in plain view for people who might pass by. Observant strangers will find pieces with my name on them and wonder why I would underline that moment, Why I thought one passage was so much stronger than another. Why I write and why I feel. Without my eyes, all I will have left is the memory of the beauty that lines of type can create, What small section of knowledge I have taken from the world. My eyes have stopped moving, dry and open, I have forgotten to blink. What phenomenal things would I have missed if I simply rested for a moment?

Last Stands By Pete Stroup Things are far too quiet here in my empty apartment. No revolution coming my way, only quiet. No gunslingers brawl, no bar fights, only me. It is a product of our time to remain silent, speak our minds but only from a safe distance. I will email my worldly views, while the world loses its last spark of fury. Night time is peaceful; I am not looking out for thieves and murderers. I am looking at the clock, blinking, realizing that the electrical surge from earlier is my biggest earthly problem. Perhaps I was born in the wrong age. I am educated, and dumb. Passion is all about me, but I see less and less of it while people watching. People who pour devotion and amazement into their pets fascinate me. People who see texting as the best way to tell someone they do not love them anymore. I stand in a world of disconnect, a world where feeling too strongly for anything makes me seem angry or insane. Enthusiasm for any type of victory shows an overeager and ugly characteristic. It is just so quiet here. Only quiet typing strokes, instead of pen and paper. The roar of my air conditioning unit clicks and buzzes instead of a crackling fire. Something in me wants to destroy. Something makes me want to deconstruct, wind the clock back, feel like there is a world to discover and not just on television. I have become distracted by the things that were supposed to make life easier. These things have made life faster, but lazier, stoic and effortless. I want to build with my bare hands, find something that no one has found before. I want to be excited tomorrow morning, without needing coffee to get there. Rediscover the earth and say that it is flat, and spins backward and upside down. I am stupid to want these things back, to feel real things again, because it is so much easier not to. Maybe one day my empire will fall, but at least it would mark the return of the human spirit.

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The Calm By Pete Stroup I’d like to think I know the blues. Sad enough to cry, Smart enough to know better. Sizeable contributions are made to better my moral standing, Because I can confidently, simultaneously look into your eyes and mean I love you. It is heartbreaking to see you smile, One day I will give you a reason to fake it. Of all the beautiful things you are, There is a sizeable sizing up that will naturally take place. That light turns red as I drive home, But my car moves as my heart listens to the signs. I dream while I’m awake, believing in you. But my eyes can’t help but close when your hair brushes against my cheek. I take you so literally in my fantasies. I still find it sad when I can’t find more clothes to rip off of you. I fret when there is no more of you to touch. I can still sing the blues. Every minute together is a minute that becomes a memory.

Sky By Shelley. Dennis

Untitled By Denise Lamb I stand on the edge of tomorrow Crying tears for yesterday Lonely seagulls cry In the pale sunlight I strain my eyes to see I reach to you The illusion fades I dry my tears I lay my head down Gentle waves wash over me There are words I will never tell you Words I can never say You left without a backward glance Promises washed away My soul laid bare My heart broken There is nothing left to say

Blue and pink divided through the sky above for us to view Bright and dark from east to west Our hearts rejoiced as God gave his best A full moon arose for all to see Smiles all around for you and me Dramatic was the night as the sun slowly fell No stars tonight that we could tell The moon shone bright to light the sky Tis time to rest and let the night pass by *** Copyright ©2007 Shelley R Dennis

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The Last to Know By Brandon Hurley Brandon Hurley is lead singer for Octalux. He has co-produced, written, and recorded nine albums and has played in venues all over the mid-west and the south. He has also written a book, ―The Beautiful Bleed‖ which is a collection of poetry, short story ideas and song lyrics Hurley has written to maintain balance, peace and passion in a chaotic life. Hurley has always held the dream to live this life and has been doing so on his terms, never letting his limitations keep him from his goals, desires, or dreams ever since. The lyrics featured here were written at one of the lowest times in Hurley’s life, as noted by himself: The following are the lyrics to a song I wrote when I had lost all faith in myself and my abilities after a series of bad events that had happened in my life and I had decided to abandon my talents and skills. With all the wind taken from my sails, I was alone, sad and scared. I wound up homeless 700 miles away from anyone I knew and too proud and depressed to call anyone I knew and ask for help. One night, crying on the beach, I started mumbling to myself and those musings became "the last to know".

-The Last to Knowboil inside a cauldron of emotions lost in the tidal wave of time dreams are never far from being over dreams are never far behind things are not the way they should be-i don't think you'd understand things are not the way they should be-i don't think you'd understand sun sets along a new horizon anywhere else would be just fine dreams are never far from being over dreams are never far behind things are not the way they should be-i don't think you'd understand things are not the way they should be-i don't think you'd understand i don't think you're really ever gonna understand i don't think you're really ever gonna understand i don't think you're really ever gonna understand i don't think you're really ever gonna understand

This song can be found on Octalux’s 2009 album: ―No Apologies For Broken Hearts‖ Octalux: ―the beautiful bleed‖:

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Bonner-vision The photographs featured on this and the facing page were submitted by sisters Kat and Bella Bonner. ―Mr. Turtle‖ (facing page) Submitted by Bella Bonner. ―Bella’s Flower‖ (top) Submitted by Bella Bonner. ―Kat’s River‖ (bottom) Submitted by Kat Bonner.

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Freedom from the Big Box Shopping Continued from page 4. block area of Main Street between Broadway and College Ave. The Westerville Farmers Market ( is a bit smaller than the previous ones mentioned but according to reviews, a great place to make a quick and easy stop for produce. While this market does feature more than just produce, according to reviews it is easy to get to and offers a great selection of truly tasty produce. The Westerville Farmers Market is available (according to the website) on Saturdays from 10 am – 1 pm and Wednesdays from 3 pm – 6 pm at the corner of Home St. and State St in the Messiah Church parking lot. The Hilliard Farmers Market ( is another smaller market that is entering its second year. It is available Tuesday from 4 pm – 7 pm at the corner of Main and Center St. in downtown Old Hilliard. Reviewers recommend getting there early because with it being one of the smaller and newer markets, the more highly desired produce tends to sell earlier. Most reviewers enjoyed the close-knit community feel this market offered though and felt the producers were more approachable and answered quite a few of their questions. These are just a sample of the markets that are offered right here in Columbus, Ohio. For more choices to choose from and an idea of what each market has to offer, visit for search options. So, when looking for affordable yet tasty produce and other home-made products, remember to support your local farmers and think outside the box.

The Message Jar Continued from page 18. story reveals that no famous or successful writers came out of The Stranglers but from The Wranglers there came to be many successful and even nationally known writers, including the author of the award-winning American classic, The Yearling by Marjorie Rawlings. I strive to do better to remember to search every word that I speak or write to see if it is encouraging before I place it in The Message Jar on the counter of my life. *** Trendle can be reached at

Palmer Grove is currently seeking to fulfill vacancies in the staff. If you have a unique vision and voice and would like to add it to the course of this publication, then visit and apply today! 26 | Summer 2011

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Jesus Saves Continued from page 19. face at Bradshaw’s question and he shook his head. ―No, the Christ performs His miracles for free,‖ he said with a chuckle. Bradshaw felt a flush of anger rise up his cheeks, but he pushed it down; there was no sense in antagonizing this man. Instead he moved to the statue and kneeled slowly, creakily, down to his knees. ―Don’t help or anything,‖ he thought to himself. Spasms of pain wracked his joints and he closed his eyes for a moment until they subsided. Finally, he looked up at the statue, the eyes stared down at him and he had a brief flash of fear. For a moment he felt himself a child once again, kneeling in church next to his father, terrified that he would make some unknown mistake and catch a beating for it. Bradshaw closed his eyes once more and came as close to praying as he had since those long lost days of his youth. ―Please,‖ he thought, ―please work.‖ He raised his head until he felt the statue’s palm brushing his sparse hair. A tingle ran down his spine, as though a charge of static was playing over his withered skin. He swallowed dryly and then pushed his head up. All at once he was filled with light. The pain he had suffered for so long was gone and he was overcome with a complete sense of peace and joy. He marveled at it, amazed, in awe of the sensation. Too soon the light left him, but he remained free of pain. He slid backward and stood, and it was as though his body was as light as a feather. Bradshaw had never in his life felt so wonderful, so free and clean. He wanted to shout, to jump up and down and dance a jig. The cancer was gone; he knew it, felt it in every cell of his body. He turned to the robed man and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He raised one hand and watched it close into a fist and open again and the smile grew wider. He wanted to thank the man, give him money, something, but his mind was still dazed, still in awe of the experience he had just undergone. ―Such strange bodies these creatures have.‖ Bradshaw said, but those weren’t his words. He would never have said something like that. Bradshaw tried to move but his body wouldn’t follow his orders. His lips wouldn’t make the words he wanted to say. Fear crept into his brain washing away the jubilation he had felt only moments before. ―Yes, but they have their uses.‖ The robed man said. ―I feel odd, strange images are coming to me.‖ Bradshaw heard himself say. ―It won’t last long, that’s just an echo of the previous consciousness. Soon you will be the sole occupant and then you can begin the work of subjugating this planet.‖ Bradshaw’s body laughed; a whole-hearted sound that he would never have made in his life. Bradshaw wanted to scream, run from this place and never come back. Instead he stood there and laughed while his mind drifted away. *** August has been previously published in "Etc-the zine of everything else" and you can find some of his other stuff on Facebook.

Resources: Rule 1 (page ##): Neufeldt, Victoria, and David B. Guralnik. Webster's New World College Dictionary.Third ed. New York: Macmillan, 1997. Print. Staff, Mayo Clinic. "Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia -" Mayo Clinic. Web. 28 June 2011. <http://>.

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The mission of Palmer Grove is to create a platform where creative individuals can share their work and interests through the publication of a periodical magazine that features readersubmitted work while supporting creativity, fostering discovery, and encouraging solidarity. Throughout the year the staff of Palmer Grove will accept submissions for publication. After review and editing are completed, the approved works will be organized and submitted for publication in a subsequent issue. Submission topics and mediums may run the entire gamut. Any non-fiction piece should include appropriate notation of all referenced materials. For further instructions and guidelines, please visit

Palmer Grove P.O. Box 91286 Columbus, Ohio, 43209

Palmer Grove Vol 1, Iss 1  

The mission of Palmer Grove is to create a platform where creative individuals can share their work and interests through the publication of...

Palmer Grove Vol 1, Iss 1  

The mission of Palmer Grove is to create a platform where creative individuals can share their work and interests through the publication of...