Sunday, November 8, 2026

Of the many memories I have of Christmas on the farm, I don't have a single memory of ever telling Santa what I wanted for Christmas.

I don't know how or why and it hardly seems possible, yet I have undeniable proof that it is. My entire life just goes right ahead and falls apart if my husband leaves the state.

As we round out the year, I would like take a trip to the variety store to share two special retirements and information on two Ohio State University Extension courses to be offered in the new year.

Twice, in early December, when glowering clouds veiled the skies so thickly that nothing was visible, I heard their song.

If there were a way I could grant a Christmas gift to each and every Farm and Dairy reader this holiday season, it would be a copy of Roger Welsch's book on relationships.

Last week, I had never heard of John Christy. This week, he's my hero. Christy is the director of the

I know plenty of people in their eighties, my Dad being one of them. Octogenarians are young, compared to the dozens Willard Scott recognizes every day who have lived a century or more.

Before the cheerless rush to abandon Washington, D.C. hits, here are a few suggestions for our hired hands in Congress on what they should not give farmers, ranchers and the rest of us in rural America this holiday season.

Some are born to greatness. Some rise to greatness. And some just want to get their dog out of the swimming pool.

Life is filled with questions, sometimes with answers, sometimes with just a tinge of regret for what might have been.