The Rural Literature Book Club is meeting online for the seventh time on August 10th, 6pm GMT/ 1pm EST. Join people...
Heat and steamy breath from big-eyed young calves crammed into the stone outhouse, sentient, persistent in this old loft of...
The siren went off about a half mile from town. You could set your watch by it. Some people did,...
I awake to find Lena no longer in bed beside me. I search for her everywhere, bathroom, kitchen, living and...
Field Notes from an Old Chair Well, they’ve come, these early crews though it’s only March, which in Michigan means...
My father didn’t teach me how to drive a tractor, because, I suppose, he assumed that I knew. As a...
Seems like every time you turn around, they’re carting somebody else out to die. Somebody takes a stroke or a...
One miracle is plenty for any novel, but Gwyl Ford’s soulful, funny, poignant and celebratory “Tilly & Turp,” set in...
The Seventh Whistler (after William Wordsworth) By slough and marsh my dog commits to muck and fun on coastal walk...
“I know what Winnie the Pooh would say,” Jasmine tells me. She is driving with one arm hanging out the...
He hadn’t slept more than three hours, what with the simmering resentment and Dotty’s fever. He knew Patricia needed help...
I was only fifteen when we lost our farm and had to move into town. All the stock and equipment...