A Meditation on the Land —remembering a farm foreclosure. For Darrell Ringer, 1953-93 “Thank you,” he said, while the black...
Livestock Judge told me to find routine But the Smithfield office on fire is the prettiest thing I’ve seen Hope...
We set out on the seven-mile journey from No. 56 to Knockdrin at 7.30 in the morning. The sun had...
From the car’s passenger seat, I watch grain fields pass like a movie reel. I’m fascinated by the ocean of...
Coals The abandoned farm is a black pool aaaaaaain the memory of the forest beyond. The road goes by never...
Embossed in gold on the cover of the new bible in his lap: “Father Paul Sullivan.” He ran a thumb...
At five-thirty on Friday morning, Bernice had the water and oatmeal boiling, bacon strips laid out in the skillet, and...
Old Man lived at the peak of Ghosten Mountain, not two miles from my boyhood home. Covered in pine and...
The Parable of the Sower Two trees with bad roots Planted by Lamont, dead six years now He’d have replaced...