It was the day after Christmas. We were working on a chore that I would have liked to have finished a month earlier, but the stars never did quite align as I had hoped. So here we were, on Dec. 26, finally running the cows through the chute for preg checking.

Call it obsession or passion, but sports have a way of pulling people in. From casual fandom to full-throttle devotion, many can’t resist the rhythm of the seasons.

It was late afternoon, and the thin layer of frail gray clouds that had made their first appearance that morning before sunrise still hung low in the sky. I knew I had barely an hour of daylight left, and I also knew that there was no way I’d finish my fence repair project before dusk overtook me.

With 650 hay bales to load, Leo Ritthauler relied on remote isolation and a hired hand to keep the operation moving.

I recently watched a movie that took place on a ranch – and I’m quite curious as to who the consultant was for the show. (We are available, if anyone’s looking …)

Better late than never is an oft-used phrase in my vocabulary. It’s one of those things you can whip out when you don’t have anything nicer to say.

The story of agricultural markets today is very similar to A Tale of Two Cities or, if you are willing to forgive the campiness, "a tale of two farm economies."

Tight enough to hold, but not so tight it breaks – that’s the art of a mechanic’s touch.

Maggie eased her tired joints into the old wingback chair. Nick had hated that chair. For years, he teased her that it was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture his rear end ever had the displeasure of coming in contact with.