Finding a role in my family’s small dairy operation is quite literally the oldest goal I can recall from my...
Back in the late thirties, a little before I was born, my father had a tenant house built. It was...
They say you never forget your first time. Mine was so painfully embarrassing that it’s difficult to write about. In...
June 18, 2021 – from The Croft in Boyne City, Michigan My check engine light came on last night while...
In 1916, when my great grandfather died at the age of eighty-two in Gallatin, Missouri, he left each of his...
This photo is of my father. I hold it in my hands, a 4-inch by 4-inch Kodak memory of my...
When planted, potatoes are laid out in a particular pattern, like the 5 side of a die. Four corners of...
Ninety feet beneath the surface of the Coral Sea, in the inky dark of night, hovering just above a reef...
Crescent was getting more than a bit familiar with me. First it was my fingers, then the seams and zipper...
The inaugural Best in Rural Writing Contest has now come to an end. The Milk House is grateful to the...
“Memory is non-linear by default!” I scrawled this on the back of a grocery receipt in April of this strange...
My mother never liked the tawdry light post that stands in the middle of our front yard. Its awkward and...