I Was Nurtured Here
Photo | Jesse
Round Barn
Pastel | Maureen
The Vocation
Short Story | John Pesta
Note: Sometimes we find interesting old things lying around, like this funny short story by John from a 1994 edition of Sou’wester, a long-gone literary magazine. Enjoy!
Grammy always wanted my brother to be a priest. I couldn’t picture it myself. Confessing my sins to that little twerp? Forget it. But Grammy said he had the eyes of a priest. “Wouldn’t you like to be a priest someday, Tommy?” she’d ask him, much to the annoyance of my mother, who didn’t like how she kept trying to plant the idea in his head. “You’re a good boy, you’d make a good priest,” Grammy would say, handing him a big bowl of ice cream and strawberries or something like that. I’d get a little bitty bowl — I wasn’t supposed to get fat — I was supposed to grow up to be thin and beautiful so l could marry somebody rich.
One Sunday afternoon Grammy, Mom, Aunt Florence, Aunt Julie, my little cousin Susan, and I were clearing the table and doing the dishes when out of the blue Grammy announced, “I’m making a novena for Tommy.”
When Mom did not reply, Aunt Julie shot a worried glance from one to the other and said, “A novena? What for? Is something wrong with him?”
The Big Top Comes to Town
Sketches and Essay | Maureen
Brownstown, Indiana, May 1978. It’s early in the morning. I’ve gathered my sketchbook and pens and driven to the county fairgrounds, past the edge of town, to watch the circus elephants raise the Big Top.
You might not expect to see an elephant in tiny Brownstown. But once upon a time the circus really did come to town.
Here are sketches from that day. Recently, I found them.
It was more than mere curiosity that brought me to the fairgrounds that morning. A deep seated urge had inspired me to go. It was the memory of my father.
Save the Date! September Art Show
News From Parsnips Global Headquarters
Hi, Maureen and Jesse here, we’re thrilled to announce a joint exhibit, “Our Worlds,” at the Perceptions Gallery in Vernon, Indiana. We’re putting together a collection of 25 to 30 of Maureen’s pastel paintings and Jesse’s photos.
The opening is Saturday, Sept. 5, 2026, from 1 to 3 p.m., please join us if you happen to be in beautiful southern Indiana! The gallery is at 139 Jackson Street in Vernon.
The ways the two of us see things intersect in obvious ways (news flash, we are mother and son) but there are differences too. Our aim is to offer a thoughtful and entertaining exploration of life experiences encompassing Starve Hollow, New York City and points beyond. The show will run through Sept. 25.
Update: Thank you very much to everyone who came out on a bright September weekend for the opening party! And special thanks to Karen Chilman and her friends at Perceptions. It’s a beautiful space in a historic building with its own unusual story, worth a visit for many reasons.
The show continues through September 2026.
Gallery hours: Tuesdays and Thursdays 1-5 p.m.; Saturdays 11 a.m.-2 p.m.
Save the Date! September Art Show
News From Parsnips Global Headquarters
Hi, Maureen and Jesse here, we’re thrilled to announce a joint exhibit, “Our Worlds,” at the Perceptions Gallery in Vernon, Indiana. We’re putting together a collection of 25 to 30 of Maureen’s pastel paintings and Jesse’s photos.
The opening is Saturday, Sept. 5, 2026, from 1 to 3 p.m., please join us if you happen to be in beautiful southern Indiana! The gallery is at 139 Jackson Street in Vernon.
The ways the two of us see things intersect in obvious ways (news flash, we are mother and son) but there are differences too. Our aim is to offer a thoughtful and entertaining exploration of life experiences encompassing Starve Hollow, New York City and points beyond. The show will run through Sept. 25.
Update: Thank you very much to everyone who came out on a bright September weekend for the opening party! And special thanks to Karen Chilman and her friends at Perceptions. It’s a beautiful space in a historic building with its own unusual story, worth a visit for many reasons.
The show continues through September 2026.
Gallery hours: Tuesdays and Thursdays 1-5 p.m.; Saturdays 11 a.m.-2 p.m.
Save the Date: September Art Show
News From Parsnips Global Headquarters
Hi, Maureen and Jesse here, we’re thrilled to announce a joint exhibit, “Our Worlds,” at the Perceptions Gallery in Vernon, Indiana. The opening is Saturday, Sept. 5, 2026, from 1 to 3 p.m., please join us if you happen to be in beautiful southern Indiana!
We’re putting together a collection of 25 to 30 of Maureen’s pastel paintings and Jesse’s photos.
The way the two of us see things intersects in obvious ways (news flash, we are mother and son) but there’s also divergence, so the idea here is to offer a thoughtful and entertaining exploration of life experiences encompassing Starve Hollow, New York City and points far beyond. The show runs through Sept. 25.
Seen a Few Things
Photo Essay | Jesse
I was passing through one of Brooklyn’s cooler-than-you neighborhoods when a friend spotted me standing on a sidewalk, looking at something. He saw me first — I didn’t see him — maybe because I was distracted by the thing I was looking at.
It was a chain link fence, covered in knitting. Someone had knitted a big piece of street art into a long stretch of fence. The knitting ran the better part of a city block.
We exchanged hellos and then he asked, “Where’s your camera?”
Now that was a question. I’d gotten into the habit of not carrying a camera so much anymore, and the reason wasn’t so great. Basically I’d settled into a drowsy, I’ve-seen-a-few-things attitude accompanied by a general posture of, “Jesus Christ, someone knitted another fence.”
Postcard From Wales
Pastel | Maureen
Whiskers in the Night
Short Story | Abigail Pesta
I’d just hailed a cab at the corner and was about to hop in, when I had the strangest sensation. Something was brushing against the back of my left calf. A weight. A tickle. What could it be? It felt a little slimy.
It was an early spring evening in Brooklyn, that time of year when the trees begin to burst with white flowers. My friends and I had just enjoyed a dinner of tapas and discussing obnoxious people.
I shook my leg to dislodge whatever was in my pants. A gray blob came flying out.
Plop! It landed in a puddle by the curb with a tiny splash.
A mouse.
New Yorkers pride themselves on ignoring things. Tuba player on the subway? George Stephanopolous one barstool over? Seen it all before. But not this time. A man walking by saw the whole thing happen. He stopped and with a look of amazement said, “Holy shit.”
Murder Down On the River
Essay | Maureen O’Hara Pesta
This was a quiet moment that I sketched nearly a half-century ago, in a country courthouse, at a murder trial.
I was once a courtroom sketch artist, one of the many hats I wore during my days at The Banner, a small-town newspaper that our family owned in Brownstown, Indiana, for decades.
The courts banned photography. You wouldn’t want the lawyers playing to the cameras, the thinking goes.
So there I was, in the front row center, with my sketchbook, pencils and chalks. The sketches had to be fast. A fleeting instant, a facial expression, might come and go in no time at all.
Self Defense
Photo | Jesse Pesta
Blue House
Photo | Jesse Pesta
The Eyes, the Sky, the Nakedness
Essay | Jesse Pesta
One day a few years ago, around the time when Covid started hitting the city hard, I went for a walk and saw a doll in the back window of a parked car.
The eyes, the sky, the nakedness. The little toy seemed so defenseless and adrift, and weren’t we all? I could relate to that, so I snapped a photo.
It was the start of a brief time I’d call walking to stay sane.
New York City’s fever dream of empty avenues and all-night ambulance sirens was suddenly a new normal. The change happened so fast, was it even real? Can I believe my lying eyes?
Meadow Path
Pastel | Maureen O’Hara Pesta
‘Waiting for That Cut’
Essay | Jesse Pesta
Dhanbahadur Shresta is a country doctor in a remote village in Nepal. He had just pulled someone’s tooth and was reassuring his patient that the pain wouldn’t last too long when the earthquake struck.
His stone building collapsed, burying patient and doctor alive. Pinned beneath rubble, Mr. Shresta said, he decided: “Death was certain.”
Reading Material
Pastel | Maureen O’Hara Pesta
Boredom
Photo | Jesse Pesta
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Condensed Life Histories
Comic | Maureen O’Hara Pesta
Moving Day
Short Story | Abigail and Jesse Pesta
In the kitchen, Dad’s sitting on the linoleum floor, cussing at a vacuum cleaner. The piece that’s supposed to connect the top to the bottom doesn’t quite fit. It’s August and the apartment is boiling hot.
Sweat’s running down the back of his neck like a fountain drink at Taco Bell. Dad looks at a pigeon on the windowsill. The window is open. The bird is watching him with a creepy pink eye.
“God, give me a break,” Dad says for the sixth time. “Just one break.”
He’s so mad at the vacuum cleaner, he’s hissing his words. “Jussst one sssingle break. Is that so much to ask, God?” he asks. The pigeon blinks.
The Mystery of the Hat
Short Story | Abigail Pesta
I met Emma at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Houston, and we sat for a few minutes on a bench outside the deserted basketball court. It felt like the coldest day of the year. The black city sludge at the curb was frozen rock solid. Overhead a bitter wind whipped the branches of a tree, hopelessly tangled with plastic bags.
But none of this mattered to Emma, because she was in love and wanted to spend the afternoon telling me about it.
She looked radiant and pixie-like, wearing a striped knit cap with a fuzzy ball swinging on the end of a piece of yarn. “I am so in love!” she said.
Oh please. Hearing those words, I drew the obvious conclusion. The relationship is already doomed.
Street Sweeper, Udaipur
Pastel | Maureen O’Hara Pesta
Driver
Photo | Jesse Pesta
Wait
Pastel | Maureen O’Hara Pesta
For this painting I used as a reference a photograph from an old family album. The girl in the photo was me.
As I looked at the old photo, time collapsed for a millisecond. The little-girl self was looking into the future. She could see me, now. I had that feeling. And the present-day me was carried back to that birthday party.
Waiting for the guests to arrive, a pensive moment. Would they all come for sure? Window blinds shielding me from the hot August sun.
Something Made Me Stop
Short Story | Maureen O’Hara Pesta
“Hi, Margaret. Laurie Stanton Carter added you as a friend on Facebook. We need to confirm that you know Laurie in order for you to be friends on Facebook. Thanks, the Facebook Team.”
Laurie? Laurie of 60 years ago?
Once upon a time you met, played Wild West cowboys in your backyards, and went your separate ways.
Today that little girl gallops out of the past, all grown up and scaring you again.
* * *
We lived next door as kids, in brand new homes with the lingering fragrance of pine boards. All sorts of construction materials — planks, scraps of lumber, empty plaster bags — lay piled at the edges of our treeless, crabgrass yards.
August Morning
Pastel | Maureen O’Hara Pesta
Lean
Photo | Jesse Pesta
Prince’s Terrace
Photo | Jesse Pesta
Chapter 1: ‘A Woman In a Cast’
A Note From Maureen, Abigail and Jesse
Here’s the first chapter of “Safely Buried,” a novel originally published right here on this site by John “Dad” Pesta in 2006. There’s a story behind that.
John had decided to write a mystery, one chapter a week, and publish it as he wrote it. He figured the deadlines would force him to get the thing done.
It worked. He wrote 37 chapters. That’s 37 weeks of cliffhangers.
What happened next was that “Safely Buried” was not adapted into a movie starring Adam Driver.
But in the life of John Pesta, this book was a true Hollywood success story. He sold nearly 10,000 copies, wrote a sequel, wrote another novel and signed a three-book deal with a publisher.
Here comes the cliffhanger …
Pets We’ve Known
Comic | Maureen O’Hara Pesta
Boy’s Memory
Charcoal | Maureen O’Hara Pesta