Mailboxes along the roads and old barns set back in fields overgrown with weeds often served as landmarks in rural Montana where I grew up. These landmarks told us where we were, and how far we had to go. Sometimes they signaled “home” and the end of the road. At other times, barely visible through swirling snow, they told us we had miles to go.
When I started compiling these memories, I realized they were like those mailboxes and old barns from my memory–identifying places in the road over the years that still have the sharp edges given them by prairie life. Here’s one for today…about water.
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In 1925, with his World World I Navy service behind him, our father was beginning to work his own land, thinking about rain and wheat. He wrote the following to our mother in a letter dated September 14, 1925 in the early weeks of their courtship: (more…)