A farm is different in the winter. Quiet falls all around. The big white flakes drop silently as steam rises in the freestall. The fields are still. The tops of cut-off cornstalks peek out under a tent of snow; the field mice and voles nestled down in the dead root systems to escape the winter cold. Hunkering down, watching out the window, staring into the quiet as a…
Every fall nostalgia kicks in. Maybe it’s the natural ebb and flow of life, things start to die back this time of year and bodies go into hibernation. For whatever reason though, I pull back the cobwebs that have been in the back of my mind, and in the cleaning process, it triggers this sense of needing to feel close to my roots, my home, and where I…