Plenty of Hay
Unfortunately, horses do about as well being cooped up in the barn as we do being stuck in the house, and it didn’t take long for tensions to rise.
Unfortunately, horses do about as well being cooped up in the barn as we do being stuck in the house, and it didn’t take long for tensions to rise.
I pictured the coyotes silently circling, their yellow eyes and bared teeth ready to make quick work of the nylon between us.
But this year I learned that Dad had found her the next weekend, fifty yards from my stand.
Our family has been talking a lot about tradition these days.
Picture a croissant but folded into a crown shape and coated with coarse sugar that carmelizes over the already crispy exterior.
Both spaces have shown me the need for traditions that bring us back to joy, especially when the night is dark and the howling, frigid wind finds its way through every single-paned window and every batten board of the barn.
Each night I picked a spot at least a hundred yards from our tent and then listened, obsessively, for the sound of mischief.
I learned to wriggle my fingers deep into the mud at the base of the green leek stems and to gently coax the bulbs from the earth.
I walked our meat department every day looking for the perfect bird on which to dote and ultimately roast to golden, crispy-skinned perfection.
The viewer is given a picture of a lifelong activist who is as filled as ever with righteous fury. But now, Krasner has tasked himself with changing “the system” from within.