Pokeberry sprouts for dinner
by Cheryl Moorhead Stone My grandmother, Grammy, was a back-to-the-earth hippie decades before the actual movement started in the 1960s. She and my grandfather, Grampy (Grumpy may have been more apt), moved to their cottage in Western Pennsylvania each year on Memorial Day. They lived there until Labor Day when they reluctantly headed back to the Locust Street house in town. The cabin was small and rustic. A well on the hill above the cabin provided cold water to the kitch
