Posts tagged ‘Lynn Trizna’


My daughter, Lynn, is marching on Saturday.

She is an great daughter and outstanding person.

Just recognized by the USDA as a woman farmer, she is making her mark in the world.

Let’s hope her generation gets involved to make this country and world a better place.

And takes notes for the future.


January 20, 2017 at 8:39 pm 3 comments


I know this is not about writing, but I can’t help myself.

In the past, I’ve posted pieces about my daughter, Lynn, who has chosen farming as a career.  I’m proud of her for putting a work of love above the almighty dollar.

She’s been working at the Rodale farm, supporting St. Luke’s hospitals for a while now producing organically grown produce.  In the beginning, she provided 12 crops for three hospitals.  Now she is growing 30 crops for six facilities.  I recently visited her farm, directly across from one of the hospitals, and was impressed by the operation and the knowledge she has gained.  I walked among the fields, originally five acres but has grown by nine, not all used for farming.  She told me of things I never considered when it came to organic farming.  Like the fact that her fields required a buffer zone from nearby commercial fields to eliminate chemical applications, and how these zones depended on what the adjacent farm was growing.  Buffer zones near farms using tractors to spread chemicals require less of a buffer than crops that spread agents with airplanes.

My girl really loves her work and I see a productive future for her.  I hope you read at this article.

October 12, 2015 at 7:49 pm Leave a comment


We had the book signing on Valentine’s Day.

With approximately ten authors, there were more books than signings.

Insert my favorite phase from Kurt Vonnegut.

I would like to thank Erin Cupp for her great organizational skills and my good friend and fellow writer, Sherrie Palmer, for arranging for the Atglen Public Library for holding this event, , providing an opportunity to meet area writers.

My daughter, Lynn, was in attendance along with her boyfriend, Tyler and his son, Tripp, who scored a book and a handful of bookmarks. Use them well trip.

Atglen is a lovely little town, with a smattering of Amish riding in their buggies. If you are in the neighborhood, visit the library. Ask for my book, New Moon Rising, they now have a copy.

For those who missed the event and want to purchase my work.

Here are some links where you may purchase my work.

Melange Books

Barnes &

February 15, 2015 at 4:15 pm 2 comments


Bear with me as I play the role of ‘proud dad’, for I am.

Attached is another video about Lynn’s work on the farm.  I find it so interesting that this kid from Newark, New Jersey has raised a farmer.

I’ve also reposted a memoir piece of my childhood gardening experience.

You might say agriculture is in our roots. (Ha, Ha)





I have always been amazed at the resilience of plants. There are those you can abuse and they come back stronger than ever. My small garden in Newark, New Jersey did not endure the harsh treatment I unknowingly subjected it to. But I enjoyed that patch of green and my small connection to nature.

Have you ever stopped for a red light while driving and gazed over at the concrete median and there, against all odds, growing through a tiny flaw in the concrete is a plant? I am amazed to see how life persists even under the most adverse conditions. As a child in Newark I simulated those exact conditions, although I called it gardening.

The yard we had on Christie Street was actually quite large. Large enough to have kickball and baseball games, but then again, we were quite small. Once I was older, we would have barbecues on our charcoal grill, summer nights spent sitting on beach chairs on the hard-packed soil, enjoying burgers and hot dogs as we listening to the sound of the city as night closed the day.

Next to our house was the landlord’s house, which was a small two story one family dwelling with and alley running between the two houses. Behind the landlord’s house was a garden, fenced in. On the opposite side of this small house was a driveway, which was actually quite long, and when I was old enough to shovel snow, it seemed to become longer still.

Our yard was large enough to hold a couple of cars, with some scraggly patches of grass growing defiantly, despite the conditions. To the rear of the yard was a three-car garage, one of which my father rented, and this was the reason I was given the opportunity to shovel the driveway. Next to the garages, and beyond the area of the yard where we were permitted to play, was another fenced area where the residents were not allowed. An old glider swing back there, but nothing much more. At the edge of this restricted area was another small fenced space, about six feet by six feet, sheltering a small garden belonging to the old woman across the hall. She had mostly zinnias and marigolds and it was a great place to catch whatever butterflies found their way into our yard. I admired her garden. She was always out there tending her flowers, pulling weeds, tying up plants with wooden stake and old stockings, the traditional way of supporting tall plants back then.

One day the fence bordering the back of the yard came down and that area of the yard was no longer restricted. I’m not sure why the fence came down. The glider swing came down about the same time. Now a whole new area of the yard was available, an area perfect for a garden. With our landlady’s permission, my sisters and I started construction

The ground was as hard as concrete; there was a total lack of anything that resembled topsoil. So off we went in the old Chevy for some rich loam. We traveled a short distance to where my grandparents lived in Hillside. There was a little-used park along a stream not far from their house, and that is where we headed for our soil. We parked as close as we could and, armed with a shovel and several large containers, started digging up the bank of the stream.

Once our topsoil was obtained, my sisters and I framed out small areas. We each had an area about twenty to twenty-five square feet backing up to the fence separating our yard from the neighbor’s yard. We made a feeble attempt to turn the soil before adding the topsoil, but the product of our digging was only reddish soil and rock, so we dumped our topsoil on top of our little garden areas and started planting.

I was rather ambitious when I planted my garden. I bought tomato and pepper plants, planted carrot, beet and parsley seeds all in neat little rows. These poor plants and seeds did less than thrive. I grew everything in miniature. My beefsteak tomatoes were more like their cherry cousins, the plants barely needing any support at all. My peppers were the size of plums. And my carrots – I grew those tiny carrots that they feature in seed catalogs, ones as big as your pinky, but I in fact was going for the full-sized edition. Why I attempted to grow root crops in concrete-like soil is a mystery to me now. But I was proud of my little garden. When my sisters lost interest, the size of my garden grew. I watered and weeded the few limp weeds that dare take up residence amongst my crops and generally enjoyed the little area of green I had created out back.

Then one summer it happened, a true sign that I had truly established a growing zone in Newark, I was infested with insects. The leaves on my plants were full of holes. This phenomenon amazes me to this day. How you can grow a plant that is unknown to the area, yet an insect that specifically attacks that plant will find and destroy it. And so it went for my little plot in Newark. I purchased a powder that I thought might remedy the situation, and after a heavy dusting that left my plants white under the strong mid afternoon sun I read the directions. This pesticide was to be applied lightly and only during the cool of the evening, always avoiding exposing the plants to this killer during the heat of the afternoon. By nightfall, my whole garden was withered and dead. I eliminated my insect infestation and in the process eliminated my garden.

The next year I planted again with a new knowledge of pesticide use. I branched out to flowers, planting some morning glories in a corner of the yard near my garden, another small square of the yard taken over for horticulture.

I have my own yard now, much larger than the yard of my youth. I enjoy my vegetable garden and the flowers planted around the property, but there are days when I think back to my little plot in Newark where I teased life from the concrete soil.

October 23, 2014 at 5:07 am Leave a comment


My daughter, Lynn, had an article published about the farming in the Philadelphia Inquirer today.
Of course, I thought I’d share.



August 7, 2014 at 5:03 pm Leave a comment


  This piece is about my daughter, Lynn, and includes a video seen on WFMZ-TV (Channel 69) broadcasting from Allentown, PA. The video features Lynn explaining her work at a Rodale farm supplying produce to nearby St. Luke’s Hospital.

Lynn graduated from Pitt with a degree in urban studies, and during her stay in Pittsburgh – a city she fell in love with, became involved in urban farming, growing crops on vacant lots in the city. Since graduation she has had farming internships and graduated to field manager. The road of her farming career has been rocky with ups resulting in downs, but she persisted in her love for farming. Now she works for Rodale, a name synonymous with organic farming. My hope is that this stepping stone along the road of her farming life will prove productive and fruitful. From talking with her; I think it will.

Lynn is a millennial. The news is full of how rough it is for them to enter the life they were educated for and dreamed of. Many of their numbers must live at home, finding their future put on hold, not finding productive employment. But let us not forget that the future is built on the past, a past the millennial generation had no role in forming. We who, at times lacking patience and understanding for their plight, are the ones responsible for that past and the conditions that exist today. The millennial generation has inherited the world we, sometimes through greed, sometimes through incompetence, formed.

One side note, Lynn owns the tractor she’s seen starting, a veteran manufactured in the 1950s. Never thought we would have a tractor in the family.


Here’s the video.RODALE FARMING

July 26, 2014 at 8:11 pm 2 comments


In 1988, New Worlds Unlimited published two of my poems in their anthology, Mysteries of the Lyric World. They were the last of my poems they would publish for the folded shortly after the anthology was released.

Here is a poem I wrote when Joni was pregnant with my daughter, Lynn, born in the spring.


My breath frosts the winter scene from my eyes
as I peer out the bedroom window.
Trees bend their naked arms
as a cold north wind gives them life.
The lawn, the hue of hay
bristles with the wind.
I look to the future
when my world will once again fill with life.
I look to my wife round with life herself
and the sound of the promise of spring
rings in my ears.

It’s a little ironic that this was the last poem published in this fourteen year series.
I know you writers out there will savor its meaning.


A pencil sits poised
waiting to give life.
As a sculptor creates form
from the essence of marble
So the words await
Needing a sculptor of thought.

That is the end of the poems published by New Worlds Unlimited.
But my readers, there is more to come. I also published, during this period, with various publishers. I will share those with you next.

Thanks to all who read these poems.

Walt Trizna

February 1, 2011 at 7:41 pm 1 comment


My first daughter, Annie, was born in 1986 and I began writing poems about her. Lynn followed in 1988.
I sent two of my ‘father’ poems to New Worlds Unlimited and they published them in 1987 in their anthology, Memories of the Halcyon Days.
Since each of my girls was about two, I wrote them a poem for their birthdays reflecting on the past year. That tradition continues.


My child smiles
and I look into her eyes
and she knows nothing of the world.
And that is good.

My child cries
and she knows nothing of the sorrow
the world can give.
And that is good.

My child laughs.
And that is good for the world.


I looked the Lord full-faced
and saw my daughter
and I knew there was
something greater than I.
I saw my daughter discovering the world,
feeling new textures, wondering at new sounds
and I wished she could know
all I know and more.
I hold her close and feel the future,
Feel my past having purpose.
I feel new life.

January 28, 2011 at 6:15 pm 2 comments


The year was 1986, and my wife was pregnant with our first daughter, Annie. Eighteen months later, we had our second child, Lynn.
Being one who never thought I would marry, having a child was more than a miracle in my life.

That year, New Worlds Unlimited published two of my poems in their anthology, Secrets of the Poetic Vision.

The joy I felt at this time in my life is obvious in this poem.


My wife is pregnant
and the joy floods in.
Never expecting another life from mine
I stand amazed
and watch you grow
a love within my love.
I’ll tell you things,
I’ll teach you things,
I’ll show you the past
and stand amazed
as the future unfolds.
And I’ll hold you close
when life threatens.

This second offering is the result of a camping trip I took with my very good friend, Andy Lowe, to Yosemite National Park.
He introduced me to my wife, Joni. I think she has forgiven him.
On that trip I began the beard I now sport. Back then, it was brown. Now it is a dignified white. That is about the only part of me that is dignified, and that is questionable.
My wife and children have never seen me without a beard.


Granite faces etched with power,
The power, whispering in silent walks
through the sentinel pine
and those stone giants gaze down
with visages as old as time
and the whispering is there.

The night, a new moon night
with blackness deep and rich
and the power whispers
through pin-prick points of light,
speaking to us of other worlds,
whispering to us of our insignificance.

And the whispering continues
but chance to listen and its roar will deafen.

January 24, 2011 at 8:04 pm Leave a comment


November 2022

Posts by Month

Posts by Category