Guest Blog

By the time you receive this issue, hay season will be just around the corner or it may already be underway in your part of the country. It’s hard to believe it’s that time of year again.

In my quest for accuracy in Western storytelling, I feel it is necessary to correct one of the myths constantly foisted upon the viewing and reading public. For the record, farm animals are never grateful.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little valley called Pleasant Valley. Pristine streams ran down from wooded hillsides. Wild game was abundant. Fish flourished. The peasants tilled their farms and irrigated them with mountain water. The livestock grazed the grassy meadows. It was a contented community, though lacking in material wealth.

Long before diesel engines were the primary power source for farm tractors, most early tractors were powered by gasoline or kerosene.

I like to call it the five-minute lie, although that’s probably a little harsh. My husband probably means it when he sticks his head in the door and says, “Hey, have you got a few minutes? I just need you to ...”

Winter sports are a large part of life here in the frozen Midwest, mainly because winter occupies such a large part of our calendar. Ignoring winter would be like trying to ignore an 800-pound gorilla who has taken over your couch and is watching your TV, drinking your beer and whose hands are Day-Glo orange because he has eaten all of your Cheetos.