(re-run) Carin was working, cutting her stepsister’s hair at the salon her mom owned. Her cell phone vibrated. She never took calls during work. All of her friends and family knew that. It vibrated again, a second call from the same number. She picked up. It was her ex boyfriend, Rob. Rob was two ex-boyfriends… Continue reading Piglet in a Box
Category: farm
A Corny Tale
(re-run) It all started with a post on Facebook, showing how your average American doesn’t know how to shuck corn. If you are from Iowa in the 60’s, then you know how. We weren’t well off. As a matter of fact, people would give us bags of food, like homegrown apples, tomatoes, or corn. Our… Continue reading A Corny Tale
A Corny Tale
It all started with a post on Facebook, showing how your average American doesn’t know how to shuck corn. If you are from Iowa in the 60’s, then you know how. We weren’t well off. As a matter of fact, people would give us bags of food, like homegrown apples, tomatoes, or corn. Our job… Continue reading A Corny Tale
Piglet in a Box
Carin was working, cutting her stepsister’s hair at the salon her mom owned. Her cell phone vibrated. She never took calls during work. All of her friends and family knew that. It vibrated again, a second call from the same number. She picked up. It was her ex boyfriend, Rob. Rob was two ex-boyfriends ago.… Continue reading Piglet in a Box
A Corny Tale
It all started with a post on Facebook, showing how your average American doesn’t know how to shuck corn. If you are from Iowa in the 60’s, then you know how. We weren’t well off. As a matter of fact, people would give us bags of food, like homegrown apples, tomatoes, or corn. Our job… Continue reading A Corny Tale
Work or Woodstock?
In 1969 Max Yasgur’s pig farm in upstate New York sounded like the place to be for three days and three nights. Frank had been delivering the Woodstock tickets for weeks on Long Island at his job as a summer letter carrier for the U.S. Post office. He and the other summer carriers knew it… Continue reading Work or Woodstock?
First Dog, Lost Dog
After moving to farm country to teach high school Spanish, I watched my roommate Kristy come home one day with a German Shephard puppy. “Meet Shane!” she said. She hadn’t asked me. She hadn’t asked the landlord. When she did ask him, his response was, “Not in the house.” Kristy made Shane a bed of… Continue reading First Dog, Lost Dog
