Saturday, December 20, 2025

The e-mailer was hotter than a $3 pistol. "What part of illegal don't you understand?" the opening salvo of the angry note asked after a column on immigration reform - and the lack thereof - a month ago.

I have been thoroughly enjoying the writings of Heather Lende, a newspaper reporter in small-town Haines, Alaska.

It's just a bull. He'll only be here until ________ (insert your local livestock sale day). No rush feeding him, we won't be raising him, he'll be someone else's problem.

While the nation's farmers leap into spring planting, this office is reluctantly digging through the winter drifts of stories gone undone.

I heard a snippet of a conversation while dashing through the grocery store not long ago. A woman, visiting from far away, judging by her New England accent, made the comment to another woman, "I am really considering moving here.

I'm intrigued by the growing "local foods" movement and direct marketing of just about anything farm-fledged.

I have spent nearly nine years teaching my children that patience is a virtue (although sadly, not one of mine) and that there are no stupid questions.

Warmed by the sun, my bare arms feel free in the fresh spring air, and the heat that builds in my van reminds me of warmer days ahead.

I have never been, shall we say, comfortable with entertaining. When it comes to the planning and preparation involved with inviting people over to dine, I would much rather go to a nice, relaxing dental appointment or something less taxing like that.

I made up my mind years ago that I'd probably never own a new car. It's not that I would mind flaunting its perks as I drive around, but the final answer for the math behind a new vehicle purchase is too impractical for my style, even if I could afford one.