The family farm was never quiet.Pine needles held every sounda snapped twig,the creak of a laddered stand. On any trail,a cousin or uncle might appear,just a nod,no words. Orange jacketshid in the branches,watchers stitched into the timber,holding their rifles steady. Now the facesblur into seasons,a custom fading,a tradition I still follow. The stands remain.Shadows swingbetween... Continue Reading →