Chris Hardie

Travel along any country roads in Wisconsin and one is bound to come across a vestige of education from days gone by.

Asexual plant propagation involves taking one part of a parent plant and causing it to regenerate itself into a new plant. We can do it through cuttings, layering, division, budding and grafting.

The Great Pumpkin story, as we call it, came to mind the other day after I drove past a giant-pumpkin display near Pigeon Falls. I pulled over to take a photo, thought about my late father and smiled.

My footsteps made soft crunching noises as I walked across a frosty white carpet. A waning moon was visible in the early-morning sky. In the early hours of Oct. 4, the growing season ended in our valley as temperatures landed in the upper-20s. I awoke to a layer of white frost coating the lawn.

I’ve discovered as I’ve grown older that my ability to muscle through projects continues to diminish. What I could have done at 30 or 40 takes a heck of a lot longer when pushing 60. The will may be there, but the way is just too dang hard.

I’ve been called many things over the years, and now I can add a title to my name that would have made those callers’ heads explode — Lord. Yes, I have been officially proclaimed Lord Christian Hardie because I am a Scottish landowner.

There are more than 300 apple varieties grown at Wisconsin orchards. Visiting orchards is a great fall family event.

In a profession full of uncertainties, one thing we can rely on is farmers finding a way to over-produce any commodity, including hops.

Suddenly the calendar turned to September and I asked myself, “Where did the summer go?”

Recently, while moving a stack of pallets, I disturbed the proverbial hornets’ nest. Fortunately, I was not stung during this encounter.