The first farm I ever lived on was a dairy farm in the shadow of Mount Jumbo Missoula, Montana. It was a dairy farm owned by my mother’s mom and dad. I don’t remember much, maybe the corral, which was full of manure. I remember the creek. I love mountain creeks, full of rocks and bubble foam water. I remember the irrigation ditch on the side of the mountain. But mostly I just remember a great big barn where the hay was stored with a swinging rope. The truth is, I might remember that because I have a picture of me swinging. Living in the country formed who I am. Formed who we all are. It’s an i...
