Coral Gables Historical Archive
The Coral Gables Times
Thursday, May 3, 1962, page 58 (of 73)
The page
The text of this pageRead by computer from the scan, so some words may be wrong. The page picture is the original.
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BE ORIGINAL WITH FROZEN FOODS and Lea & Perrins... the original Worcestershire
STAR MEAT PIE. Cut out star shape in top crust of thawed or partly heated meat pie. Lift out star carefully. Sprinkle meat generously with Lea & Perrins. Replace star. Bake pie. You get home-cooked flavor in frozen foods when you cook-in Lea & Perrins — the original, the only full-strength Worcestershire with a quality flavor that lasts. FREE! COOK BOOK. 168 original recipes! Write Lea & Perrins, Box U..., Fair Lawn, N. J. LEA & PERRINS WORCESTERSHIRE
HAND ME DOWN MY See the world on foot under a soft May sky. A walk
PHOTOGRAPH BY LAMBERT FROM FREDERIC LEWIS HAND ME DOWN MY See the world on foot under a soft May sky. A walk BY COLIN FLETCHER LATE ONE FRIDAY EVENING I put down my phone after the most frustrating call of a very long day, leaned back in my office chair, and said to myself, "If I don't get away from it all — right away — I shall go mad." Like most of us, I'd had the idea before. But this time I felt a desperate need to do something about it. I did. At nine o'clock next morning I shut my front door behind me and, wriggling my shoulder blades a little apprehensively beneath the straps of a light knapsack, walked away down the road, alone and glad of it. Nothing very much happened in the next two days, certainly nothing very dramatic. All I did was walk. I walked at my own leisurely pace, and I stopped whenever I wanted to — which was quite often. A quarter-mile from my gate I paused beside an old house that, through my windshield, had always looked a mere out-of-place relic. Now, an inscription cut in its gray stonework opened up for me a new page of local history. On the edge of town I leaned over a small bridge I'd driven across a hundred times and hardly noticed. Beneath the bridge gurgled a creek. As I watched, a cigar-shaped shadow slid downstream and blended with a stone. Soon I was out in rolling farmland. I found myself listening to the swish-swish-swish of my boots as I angled across a stubble field, then to the scutter of small hooves on damp soil as I came around a thicket and surprised a flock of sheep. In the heat of the thirsty afternoon I stumbled on a little moss-covered spring, its clear water sparkling in the sun. Most of Sunday I walked in wild hill country. Resting beside a creek, I watched a very large salamander climb laboriously to the top of a shelving rock, come face to face with a very small trout — and turn back. In a pine grove I found an orange fungus pushing up through dark soil, bearing on its plateau two pebbles and a little pyramid of earth with a crimson flower still growing from the apex. Later, sitting on a lonely hilltop, I traced different plow patterns in a dozen fields, meditated on the smog over nearby cities and the clarity over distant mountain masses. By the time I turned the key in my front door that evening, I felt at peace with the 32 Suburbia Today, May 1962