The barns have changed — different fields, different seasons, different kinds of hard — but the view from my side of the barn has always taught me something. Slowly, the way farm lessons tend to come. Not all at once, but worked in, like compost into tired soil.

Faith. Loss. Patience. The strange mercy of starting over.

Every barn has a door that is either creaking open or gently closing- and is a story waiting to be told.