People often look back on the past with a warm, nostalgic glow, believing that those were the “good old days.” Yet, while living through those moments, they never realized their significance. This paradox is rooted in the nature of human perception, memory, and the way we construct meaning over time. The Illusion of the PresentThe […]

Every Saturday morning, my wife fills the kitchen with the warmth and aroma of a big country breakfast. And this morning, as I sat there drinking coffee and lost in my thoughts, the sizzle of bacon transported me back to my childhood on Grandpa’s farm. Mornings there didn’t unfold gently—it burst awake in a symphony

As you journey through life, certain moments stick with you—those times when, years later, you shake your head and think, What on earth was I thinking? Let me take you back to the late 1960s, a simpler time, when my sister Karen, our mom, and I ventured out to a store in Hopkinsville. I can’t quite recall

I have a confession to make. It’s not exactly something I’m proud of, but it’s a moment I still reflect on with a mix of amusement and regret. At the time, though, it felt like a stroke of rebellious genius. Let’s rewind to 1978—or at least that’s my best guess. My buddies and I were

It was the late 1960s in Todd County, Kentucky—a time when life moved a little slower, and the world felt as simple as the dirt under your boots. My grandparents’ farm was my slice of heaven. Their place sprawled across rolling pastures and tobacco patches, where cows grazed lazily under open skies, and the air

Growing up as a boy surrounded by sisters, I never had a big brother. Instead, I had my big sister, Karen. With two older sisters and two younger ones, I was the only boy. But Karen, who was just a year and four months older, became the sibling who filled that big-brother role. She was

The other day, as I was helping my son move a deer stand, my mind wandered back, taking me all the way to my early twenties, out in North Todd. Back then, I had this young, bold dream—to be a wildlife photographer, capturing the raw, untamed beauty of the deer and landscapes that felt like

In the fall of ’76, my friend and I embarked on a backpacking adventure behind my grandpa’s farm in north Todd, venturing deep into the woods for a few days of camping. We spent our first night under the open sky, nestled in our sleeping bags, only to be pelted with sleet. The next morning,

A couple of days ago I was leaving my farm in my classic 67 ford pickup, as I pulled out on the blacktop and was shifting gears, a memory from long ago came to mind… When I was a child, summers were golden and endless, and I spent them in the cab of my grandpa’s 1967

Every summer, during my visits to my grandparent’s home in North Todd, my grandmother was constantly engaged—tending her garden, preparing supper, or maintaining the house. Yet, on some lazy afternoons, a cherished ritual would take place on the front porch of their old farmhouse, which seemed to sway in harmony with the seasonal rhythm.This was