“Dad, you’re never home!” My son, Rhett, cries, burying his face in his hands. Then he throws himself on the kitchen floor. “You’re never here at dinner, and I just want to be with you!” I glance out the kitchen window, the sky is still dark, but there’s a hint of red on the horizon. … More Both Can Be True
The knife slices through the potato, the sharp edge hitting the cutting board with each chop. Thwack. Thwack. It’s not quite noon, but I want the mashed potatoes made now, so all I have to do at 4 o’clock is pop the pan into the oven. Glancing at the meal planner for the week, I … More The Harvest Meals You Didn’t Ask For
“She’s probably the last little one we’ll have at harvest,” my father-in-law said, looking at Nora in her car seat. She smiled at me, her cheeks covered in chocolate, leftover from dinner in the field. I could tell from a distance that her hands were still sticky. The last eight years have been full of … More On Being a Farm Mom During Harvest
I’m tired. And I know the crew is too. I hate how easily I snap at the kids at this point of harvest. In the brief moments when Rich is home, all three kids climb all over him, clambering for his attention. I usually stand in the background, watching. Partly because I love seeing how … More The Long Days of Harvest