My favorite inheritance is the green toy metal shovel. Also, the elfin-like ski-toed leather booties. Also, the pair of snowshoes,...
From the car’s passenger seat, I watch grain fields pass like a movie reel. I’m fascinated by the ocean of...
Homing In I wandered down the highway a few times to a neighbor girl’s house that was further out of...
It’s more than a little astonishing to look at a fresh new calendar in a fresh new year and realize...
The rural mailboxes that marked the turning point to farmhouse laneways dotting the Kansas countryside were landmarks to those wandering...
William Shakespeare managed to pack an awful lot of drama into his graveyard scene in Hamlet. In fewer than three...
Even after so many years, tears still fill my eyes when I think of my brother’s farm accident. That was...
You never told anyone the whole story about your dad. You let most people think he was little more than...
The day we buried Grandpa, the town flooded. Streams of rain rushed through streets carrying earth stolen from grain roots....
In 1916, when my great grandfather died at the age of eighty-two in Gallatin, Missouri, he left each of his...
The inaugural Best in Rural Writing Contest has now come to an end. The Milk House is grateful to the...
Ninety feet beneath the surface of the Coral Sea, in the inky dark of night, hovering just above a reef...