Chris Hardie

A home should be a peaceful sanctuary for its inhabitants, a quiet place of comfort and solitude. But when you live in the country, sometimes your abode is sought after by critters other than humans.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the rocking chair on the porch beckoned me

So many Super Bowls have faded into my memory, but there is one Super Bowl Sunday that I will never forget.

I have completed my quinquennial agricultural legal reporting duties with a week to spare.

There are quite a few Chris Hardie’s in the world – or at least a few others that share the same name.

I don’t play the lottery and don’t frequent casinos, but if I were a betting man, I’d lay odds that sometime in the next few years I will be involved in a deer-vehicle collision.

It’s always with a mixture of sadness and hope when we move past the holiday season and face the bleakness of January.

I am blessed to live in the country where the solitude of the woods and the wonders of nature and animal life are literally just feet from my doorstep.

One might be tempted to quip something like “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” but trust me, I have never been on that pedestal.

I will fully admit that I am a procrastinator – if you ask me tomorrow. I agree with Mark Twain who said: “Never put off till tomorrow what may be done day after tomorrow just as well.”