On the Morning Of I make no apologies for the fact that my main feelings today on the inauguration of the 45th president of the United States are of affection for the outgoing 44th. Maybe it is because the Obamas are my generation (like Michelle, I was born in 1964). Maybe it is because I …
In our 21st century’s onslaught of headlines and information and clickbait, we are reminded to stop for a moment to indulge in the wonder of something truly awesome—inspiring awe and blowing our minds.
I am convinced that writing was Hattie’s way of reminding herself of the everyday, ordinary life that matters. Maybe that’s why I write, too.
Hattie’s diary entry from 80 years ago today speaks to the unpredictability and ferocity of the Dust Bowl, which many people don’t realize extended as far north as the Dakotas.
As the Fourth of July approaches, I thought you might enjoy a re-posting of a few excerpted July 4 entries from various years of my Great Aunt Hattie’s diaries. All of the entries below were written from her farm and ranch in Hidden Timber, South Dakota, on the Rosebud Indian Reservation, and here is a video …