An Indiana Farm: 1/25/1978

Robin limped down the wooden staircase in the dark. When she reached the kitchen, she removed the lid of a stainless steel coffee pot and filled it to the brim with well water. And then, just as she had done every morning for the past 15 years, she sat in front of the kitchen window and waited for the sun to rise. At 6:47 a.m. the sun crept above the winter fields of white snow. It hid behind the shroud of a willow tree before rising over the concrete grain silo. The willow rustled and creaked against a gust of wind, as a flock of birds landed on the smoky roof of a distant farm house.

“Morning, Mom,” Justin said. He stepped inside the kitchen, opened the pantry door, and reached for a box of oatmeal. He tore open one of the packages with his teeth, spilling flakes of cinnamon dusted oats into a lime green cereal bowl.

“Hurry up and eat,” Robin said. “It’s gonna be a busy day. Dad wants you to chop wood, and it’s gonna take awhile to get the milking machines started. Forecast calls for a snow.”

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