Friday, August 26, 2016

“We are each feeling quite alone and low now. For what is a home without a mother?” — Alexander Smalley, 1894Part IIIThe next best...

The regret of never having had the opportunity to meet my paternal grandmother has always been with me, but the sense of loss has become stronger as I have grown older.

“My mother was deeply conscientious, hopeful, loyal. The land on our farm was beautiful, full of adventure, beckoning. The life there must sometimes, though,...

Must the jury in a murder trial be exposed to public scrutiny, each individual named and questioned by the media? Until one has stood in the shoes of a juror, it seems harsh to demand that spotlight be shined on each of them.

Life is full of surprises, each one a chapter in the book that spices up a life. For me, one of the greatest surprises...

Mooreland, Indiana, was paradise for a child -- my old friend Rose and I have often said so -- small, flat, entirely knowable. When...

While moving my little herd of fainting goats from their pen in the old bank barn, my pair of English Shepherds decided they would help me with the job. I had Blossom on a lead rope, easily moseying along, curious to see where I was taking her. She had her eye on the big pasture ahead, and the rest of my goats followed along like the herd animals they are.

All of his adult life, 32-year-old Randy has been working toward the goal of owning a farm. He and his wife bought 32 acres and built their house, hoping to later sell that land and buy his old family farm back with whatever profit they could gain.

A connection to a plot of ground is difficult to explain to others who have never experienced it, but for a dyed-in-the-wool farm kid, it needs no explanation.

Everyone has a story to tell, and once in awhile you meet someone who carries that story with such reverence that it serves as a simmering pot in which the foundation to reach a goal grows stronger with each passing year.
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