Chris Hardie

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.

It’s easy to miss things with your nose to the grindstone. When you finally look around, you might be surprised by what you find, like this hornet’s nest.

I hated raking hay when I was a kid because it was so boring driving the tractor around the field. Now I love it for the same reasons.

There are some years when I’m already taking my second cutting of hay in early July. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to take two cuttings all year.

Dotted across our rural landscape are haunting vestiges of what once was. Each place has a story. And that’s why abandoned properties always draw my curiosity.

Nothing says summer nights more to me than the call of the whip-poor-will, which instantly takes me back to my childhood and listening to the bird as I drifted off to sleep.

Finally, when it seems like we may catch a break with some warm weather to tackle all those long-delayed outside projects, we are nailed by gnats.