It snowed today. According to the weather, it may snow again tomorrow. Spring in the Midwest can be like this, with flip flops and tank tops one day and winter gear the next, pulled from
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Merry Christmas Eve, my loves. If you're reading this, you made it to the final round of Jumanji...I mean, 2020. Congratulations. I hope this post/letter finds you well. I'm
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I'm writing this from my front porch. I bought a new rocking chair set this year from the feed store; in a world of work-from-home and pandemics, it was money well spent. It's windy, but warm;
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The leaves on the sugar maple in my front pasture are turning crimson. For years, I've watched this process, noticing that this particular tree changes its leaves directly from green to red
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I think the season might have changed from spring to summer while I wasn't looking. A quiet breath of change that happened maybe while I was grading. Or shearing. Or mourning. Collectively, a lot
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I have thirteen open tabs in Chrome. One is a YouTube video on body language that I want my students to watch before they start job interviews upon graduation. We talk a lot about body language
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I was cleaning my third to last stall of the night, the one where my mamas and babies live, when a text came through. I paused to read it and took a moment to pause in my barn work as well.
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I didn't want to go to the barn this evening. Not even a little bit. Not even at all. <<<>>> It's below freezing out here on the ranch. I woke up to snowflakes meandering to the
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Sunday: It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas... The tune lilts through my head as I look around the house, but while there is probably a tree in the grand hotel, and while friends have been
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I sat down last weekend and made my Christmas lists. Christmas shopping. Christmas goals. Taking some inspiration from a blogger I follow--Karen at The Art of Doing Stuff--I decided