My childhood memories spring from a little farm nestled in the rolling hills of southwest Wisconsin. The farm itself was a scant seventy or so tillable acres with a wood-lot that supplied fence posts, berries, and the essential firewood that heated our big old farmhouse. It was a time of crank phones, old wooden radios with glowing dials, pot bellied stoves, outhouses, country schools and Sabbaths that were kept. I heartily invite you to take a journey through time and circumstance to a place we simply called
"the farm".
Mark Ranum
Sorghum-making Brings Sweet Memories
The Way Things Worked . . . As I recall
More to Come!