The snow that promised a good wheat crop.
When he wasn’t ranching or farming or drinking coffee in Mack’s Cafe, this is where my father could normally be found. 834 more words
Motherhood was not for me.
Then, it happened.
Fine, but I’d never give up my career.
Then, I did.
No matter what my supportive boss’ or my intentions, being a reporter encroaches bit by bit on your life outside of the newsroom, especially when I have workaholic tendencies. 321 more words
So, the annual wheat harvest has started again and as Murphy’s Law would have it, so have the storms. Barely a spot for months and as soon as we kick the big green machine into gear, up come the threatening clouds to add a little more stress and urgency to the situation. 367 more words