Chris Hardie

One of the staple events during farm shows is the milking contest, usually pitting some local celebrity against another stripping milk from a cow’s udder.

You can feel the history as you cross Death’s Door across the turbulent currents of Lake Michigan from the mainland tip of Door County to Washington Island.

An early morning of fog and mist greeted me as I slipped out the back door.

There has been some sort of vegetable garden on our farm for nearly 100 years, dating back to my great grandparents.

There are many highways across Wisconsin that take you to your destination, but sometimes I like to take the road less traveled.

I woke this morning to a heavy blanket of fog and mist shrouding the valley. Soon it will burn off as we move into the heat of the day. 

There is nothing predictable about memories, which are sometimes as harsh as the strike of the hammer on the anvil and the next moment as soft as puffy clouds in the blue summer sky.

There’s a social media post that’s been circulating for a few years that shows a farmer driving a tractor baling hay with three people stacking bales on the wagon with the words: “You don’t know the meaning of hard work until you spend a summer baling hay.”

I am thankful in many ways for growing up and moving back to the farm but also appreciative of not having to stack hay bales anymore.

Our nation is getting ready to party as we celebrate our 246th on July 4.