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January 7, 2002 killing frost Under the watchful eye of a black-capped chickadee, I pruned the dead Mandevilla.  We had experienced a rare freeze and I was unable to save the vine.  I thought about the frost that killed the Mandevilla which, in turn, made me think about the pony they called Wildfire.  I have some questions about that dreadful song (and its "killin' frost") so I thought about contacting Michael Murphey, but I didn't know how to reach him.  I considered writing PARADE magazine, but I'd like to die with two records intact:  Never eating at Long John Silver's and never writing to PARADE.  After all, what kind of person is so captivated by Charles Nelson Reilly that he has to know Mr. Reilly's net worth?  And who really cares what Bert Convy is doing these days? I find gardening therapeutic.

©  2002 by the beastmaster