“Morning. Got a visitor?” said Tony. Tony lived next door. It was Tuesday – bin day – and we’d both...
The early 1970s found us almost completely mechanized on our farm in the rolling hills of central Mississippi. At the...
Dead Farms in Northern New England Veinous snapshots of Dad Before He Went Over. All black and whites, they’ve sat...
Seanie Flanagan pulled the duvet up around his ears and tried to ignore the niggling ache of his bladder. It...
Back in the late thirties, a little before I was born, my father had a tenant house built. It was...
Farming is an essential part of the human story. Although the number of farmers is declining world wide, many people...
The Light Dancing When I close the door my father’s coat slow dances against the dark wood. It is old,...
The Truth about Cows I’ve heard a lot of bad stuff about cows; about how these murderous brutes are hell...
Old There should be a horse here, in this meadow, an old horse, a bit too tired to run but...
THE PARLOR is a new series on The Milk House that embraces the lighter side of rural life. You can...
Sennelier Dry Pigment – Caput Mortuum When I die take my worthless remains my after-state shell lay me in the...
As a way to further showcase the talented writing published on The Milk House, as well as to get readers...