There she sat, alone, on the edge of an overgrown, deserted field. Once a proud member of a proud farm family, this old Farmall tractor had seen better days. Its rusty red color bemoaned years of neglect, of being left out in the elements without even a pole barn for shelter.
A montage of beautiful country shots from across the nation by our diverse and talented photographers, including Natasha Weidower, Carin Wirt, Amber Wallace, Ellen Powell, Ashley Johnson, Betsy Vaca, Elvin Holloway, Katherine Cambareri, Frank Easterday, Nicholas Small, Canaan Robinson, Anna Harty, and Donovan Farnham.
Ihave a favorite coffee mug. I also have home grown hot peppers lining my windowsill. That can only mean one thing. I am getting older—or just plain old. It’s hard to admit, but it’s true. And worst of all, I’m starting to like peaches.
Ihad a dream I was trying to find the key to a hotel room in which my children were locked inside. “Momma?” a voice called, awakening me. It was my five-year-old son. “I had a nightmare.” “It’s okay. Go back to bed,” I mumbled. “Use your bad dream remote to change the channel.” His footsteps retreated down the hall.
As I pondered the saying “youth is wasted on the young,” I was reminded by my son Thomas that perhaps it really is not... It was after dinner when Thomas eagerly told me of his pond study camp course at Stonehill College, and how he had caught a bull frog that day.
Dedicated to all those kids who survived the 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s!
First, we survived being born to mothers who might have smoked or had a drink or two while they were pregnant. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can and didn’t get tested for diabetes.