Glenna was born in 1931, which seems like an awfully long time ago. She is my grandmother, and nowadays, she remembers much more about what happened in 1960 than 10 minutes ago.

When I’m short on inspiration, in life generally, but especially when I’m writing, I’ll flip open my copy of my grandfather’s cowboy poetry.

My children have an interesting way of looking at a calendar that is inaccurate and yet totally endearing. I can’t explain the inaccuracies in any way that makes sense to them, though I do try.

When did Christmas start feeling different for you? I remember the exact moment it dawned on me that Christmas had changed. I was 16 and had long stopped believing in Santa, and yet, up until that season, the Christmas season still possessed that unworldly magic of the movies.

I love the transition of the seasons. I love living in a place that has seasons. I love the gradual slowdown in the fall as much as I crave the increase in activity in the spring.

Farming isn’t for the faint of heart, the lazy or the unconcerned. Farming is for the trailblazers, for the pioneers and for the optimists.

“Ewe lamb up for discussion.” I read on my nightly doom scroll through Facebook. “What does that even mean?” I thought.