At the beach two days ago, Monarch butterflies were coming ashore from Canada. This morning, warblers were in the garden dining on the seed pods of the exhausted mallows. This means that the Fall fly-over has begun. Everyone who is anyone in the bird world has started heading south. This also means that it's chowder weather.
Now, being married to a Midwestern has its restrictions. Mr. P, as I have said before, views anything in a shell as something that is to be shunned and fed to the pigs. Since I rarely give up on things I truly care about, I have found a way to make my chowder and have Mr. P eat it. Of course to acheive this noble goal, it required me to be more flexible than Mr. P, but that is often how things must be in a marriage as men are supposed to be the stronger ones. I merely substituted parsnips for clams. What man does not like parsnips? Especially roasted parsnips alongside a ducal-quality roast joint of beef? Mr. P loves parsnips and he enjoys parsnip chowder. His innate manliness requires him to not adore it like I do.