Saturday, June 13, 2026

In these very troubled times - national troubles, global troubles, financial troubles, violence troubles, climate and weather troubles, energy troubles, war troubles, strike troubles, health troubles, ad infinitum - there are many families who will surely have trouble being thankful this Thanksgiving Day.

I am a soccer mom and I am OK with that.

We often feel nostalgic and take time for reflection at holiday time. I hope you'll take some time for this poem.

Despite Thanksgiving's late November arrival, neither we nor the neighbors of the southern Illinois farm of my youth were done with harvest by the harvest holiday.

Writer Sue Hubbell, a fiercely independent beekeeper who makes her living all alone on her land in the Ozarks, had to be convinced that she had a memoir worth writing.

A good friend's father had a quadruple bypass two weeks ago. It's been a stressful, uncertain time for their family, but his health outlook is strong.

Benefits for farm employees vary tremendously from farm to farm and frequently take the place of some wages that might normally be paid to employees in a nonfarm position.

In the science of agronomy, no more sacred ground exists than that of the Morrow Plots, a hemmed-in acre in the middle of the University of Illinois campus that, since 1876, has been under continuous corn production.

One day last week, the noise caught my attention. I pulled on my jacket to ward off the chilly wind and walked toward the barn bank.

It was Larry, not Jimmy, Page that was mobbed when he left the stage in San Francisco earlier this year.