Story

The Farm Bell

“The day Daddy died, the bell didn’t ring.” That was the first thing I remembered when I stepped back onto the porch of the old farmhouse after thirty-four years. The bell still hung crooked beside the doorframe — rusted, silent, but there.Mama used to say that bell had more discipline than the schoolhouse down the

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Supper at Five

By the time the roast came out of the oven, you’d better have washed your hands, wiped your face, and remembered your place at the table—because Mama didn’t call twice. In the summer of 1957, the sky over Iowa was the color of sweet corn, and the wind carried the smell of cut hay and

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