Chris Hardie

The arrival of spring on the farm means plenty of fieldwork. But it also means goats and other livestock breaking through fences to arrive at the greenness on the other side.

Ever since my first newspaper column was published in 1983, I’ve always strived to craft something that readers could really sink their teeth into. But this week’s story is pure gold.

Harbinger. I can’t think of a better word to describe the sights of robins, geese flying north, trees budding, and spring returning.

A decade ago, Chris Hardie held the future in his arms. It felt good. It still feels good today as his grandson turns 10 years old.

We wear masks. We sanitize. We keep our distance. We avoid crowds. We voluntarily limited capacity in our business. Despite all those precautions we still caught COVID-19 in mid-November.

Ice harvesting was once a major business in Wisconsin, and the invention of the refrigerated railcar meant Wisconsin ice was a valuable export commodity.

Living in the country means glimpses of wildlife are an everyday occurrence. Lately, we’ve had a flock of wild turkeys hanging around our yard and next door at my mother’s house.

The Westby tournament is one of the last vestiges of what once was a series of ski jumps that ran from Prairie du Chien to Cameron, cutting a swathe through the heart of Norwegian settlements in western Wisconsin.

The 11 miles of railroad between Ettrick and Blair is long gone, but the story remains of “the little town that could.”

He was more embarrassed than injured, but icy steps led to a fall for Chris Hardie on a recent early morning walk with the family dog.