In the shadow of South Africa’s great escarpment, the Ngwangwana river meanders east towards the Indian Ocean through a valley...
I was twelve when I figured out God. Mom was a devout Presbyterian who taught Sunday school. Every evening she...
The inaugural Best in Rural Writing Contest has now come to an end. The Milk House is grateful to the...
That summer my family broke up I stayed on my aunt’s farm and slept in a bedroom with no curtains....
I spent the next few days kind of mulling about. Trucks came for bales around noon, but I learned to...
The house stands, or stood, on the north side of the old Gorge Road, not far from Bridal Veil Falls....
How peculiar. Before, David had turned off the main road, walked up the potholed lane, climbed over a rickety stile,...
Embossed in gold on the cover of the new bible in his lap: “Father Paul Sullivan.” He ran a thumb...
Sheets of rain slice your face. From this distance, you should be able to see Salthill’s bars and restaurants but...
Conleth Ferris tossed a cigarette end to the yard. He coughed, then swallowed the phlegm, imagined the inside of his...
Someone, or something, was stealing Jopson’s apple-blossom. Three small apple trees in pots stood on his front path. A supermarket...
1 In one day, six months ago, Louis Paradis became a husband and a farmer. He had the date engraved...