Editor’s Letter
AS A CHILD, I SPENT A LOT OF TIME AT MY GRANDPARENTS’ FARMHOUSE. The small, white home hosted Christmas dinners, Mother’s Day picnics, and family-run threshing shows, and it became the spot where grandkids ended up on days off from school. Recently, at a cousin’s wedding, a few of us reminisced about those no-school days—playing with kitties in the barn’s hayloft, driving toy tractors through the freshly cut lawn, nibbling an afternoon vanilla ice cream cone from Grandma (even if we had picked at our lunch). The home, which now overlooks a housing development, was built in the 1940s—my great-grandparents lived in it first—and hasn’t received many upgrades other than the occasional new appliance when the old one breaks down. My grandma’s garden, nestled near the side of the house, isn’t filled…