Chris Hardie

James and Margaret Hardie came to the area now known as Hardie’s Creek in 1854. Four generations have now toiled in these hills.

That 1957 baseball was a special sports memento from a special year. With one swing of the bat, Chris Hardie and his brother lost it.

These past few weeks watching, listening and celebrating the Brewers made me think of that magical Sunday afternoon in 1982.

Many take to the woods in the spring for the popular morel mushrooms. But autumn is actually the better season for fungi like honey, oyster, bearded or combs tooth, sulfur shelf, hen of the woods, shaggy mane and chanterelle.

There comes a point in farming when we all make difficult decisions. We need to put aside the emotional connection and view it from a business perspective.

The changing weather demandsthat we do more to protect our soil. It is still the wealth of our country and we all need to be good stewards of the land.

It’s the time of year when early mornings in the Coulee Region of western Wisconsin are a magical time; fog and mist hang in the valleys.

I really nailed it this past week, and I have no one to blame but myself. My dirty boots and an old nail combined to prompt a tetanus scare.

I always loved working on follow-ups because time and perspective help shape the story. In that spirit, I’d like to revisit a couple of old stories.

In the midst of chaos and turbulence came a wonderful gift with a headful of dark hair, our fourth grandson, Samuel Alan Hardie.