And here I am, leaning out the window, shouting at birds again. The weather in west Ireland doesn’t need many adjectives throughout the year, the label “gray” taking care of most days.

My parents probably thought they had raised me better. They had tried to give me the decision-making abilities that would prevent such disgrace. For it to happen once or twice is one thing – but after too many times, they knew I would get a reputation.

Here’s a quick quiz: What are the top three countries for milk production by volume? If you took a second to account for population and recalled a Milk House column from eight years ago about this country’s efforts to revitalize its dairy industry, you might have been able to put India at No. 1.

It’s often joked that the best attribute of a good farmer is a short memory. And, of course, there’s truth to such a statement, as the challenges inherent to the act of farming can be frequent and plenty – something gets out, something else breaks, something unexpectedly needs to be paid for.

Last week (at the time of this writing), I gave an interview for an Irish farming website. They titled it “Can We Save the Family Farm?” Naturally, they meant in an Irish context.

The last year-and-a-half, I’ve gotten into the habit of starting emails in the same way, which is usually something like: “How’s life treating you, considering the end of the world? Hope you and yours are safe.”

My partner and I spent the first few months of the pandemic at my family’s farm in upstate New York. As far as places to wait out the apocalypse, it served us well.

Like the other 60 million viewers who watched the Netflix series Narcos, I was both elated and a little conflicted when the program reached the re-enactment of Pablo Escobar’s death.

Like many people this past year, I have gotten into the habit of looking ahead. Part of that is waiting for better days to come, and another part is to join into the collective speculation of what a post-pandemic world is going to look like.

The glitz. The glamor. The Guernseys. There aren’t many individuals who stood at the intersection of fiction writing and farming.