The country roads in our valley are decorated with blowing cornhusks and broken pumpkins, remnants of crops not intended for human consumption, as the autumn harvest is in full swing. I get a tour of…
Posts published by “Spec MacQuayde”
A steady mist descends from the vague cloud cover, preventing me yet again from ascending the barn roof to repair the flapping, corrugated steel. "You should let me do it," my teenaged son, Craig says.…
A week of unseasonably cool weather reminiscent of summer days on the Mendo coast blasted through southern Indiana at twenty miles an hour out of the north, with Canada geese in their V-formations. The prevailing…
The rows of green salad bowl and buttercrunch lettuce that I'd planted in the shade of a line of hard maples and shagbark hickories are growing faster than the red salad bowl lettuce out in…
Grandpa and Grandma stopped by our little homestead, rolled up the driveway in their luxury sedan, all spiffed up in Sunday duds to offer my teenaged son, Craig, and I a ride to church. “Lupe,…
Across the table sat Grandpa in the straw cowboy hat he has to wear these days on account of the skin cancer that developed on his pointy German ears from working out in the sun…
The watermelons are ripening almost on time in spite of the unusually cold and wet spring that delayed planting by a month, thanks to a July that saw no more than half an inch or…
Here it is eight in the morning, and I'm actually seated at a desk in our farm house with a light bulb illuminating ink on paper. Lightning cracks across the dark sky. This is my…