Joan Pearce

The morning we buried my father, Dale Whitmer, the men who had worked for him for twenty years stood at the back of the funeral… Read more

The first thing the new owner said to me, after he had owned the place for exactly four days, was that I should smile more…. Read more

For most of my life I was ashamed of my father’s barn. I need to say that plainly, right at the start, because everything else… Read more

The morning I left for basic training, my grandfather Alden stood on the porch of the farmhouse with his coffee going cold in his hand… Read more