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Anyone who has ADHD knows we have moments. Actually, not “moments.” More like a 24/7 highlight reel of chaos. You start out on a noble quest to do laundry. But then—oh look—the hall floor needs sweeping. While sweeping, you glance into the pantry, and it hits you: the chip basket has fallen! Civilization as we know it cannot proceed until you fix it. So you pick up 47 snack bags, sweep under the basket, and

I’ve been treated to quite the menagerie since moving to the ridge—everything from cute, twitch-nosed bunnies to the ugliest flying beasts ever designed by nature (buzzards, who apparently missed the “soar gracefully” memo). But one creature had remained conspicuously absent from my personal wildlife encounters: the raccoon. Oh, I’d seen evidence of them, mind you—mostly in the form of flattened remains along the backroads. And Willie has managed to catch a glimpse of one in

It’s a myth, you know — the so-called “peace and quiet” of the countryside. Folks who don’t live out here picture chirping birds, gentle breezes, and maybe a cow lowing in the distance. What they don’t picture is the daily soundtrack of real country living — and believe me, it’s got a beat. The other morning I was jolted awake by a rhythmic thud… thud… THWACK! spaced just far enough apart that I had time

Most folks already know that Willie has a soft spot for the blues. Not the guitar-screaming, amp-melting modern kind, but the real blues. The kind that reaches down into your ribcage, grabs your soul by the collar, and reminds you of every heartbreak you’ve ever had, including the one caused by running out of barbecue. Over the years, he’s introduced me to the greats. Thanks to YouTube, I’ve met long-gone legends brought back to life.

It was such an unexpected find. I’d assumed the archives might hold the court papers representing the estate settlement of Willie’s great-great-great-great-great grandfather—but I certainly hadn’t expected to see the individual receipts that made up the settlement. Line after line, page after page: “XXX to XXX for XXX,” followed by tiny slips of paper bearing the signatures of those who had received their share of the inheritance. There was even a receipt for the coffin,