On Writing the Hard Truths of Rural American Life
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When I was growing up in rural Maine, I never told people that my father was a farmer. Not because I was ashamed, but because my father wasn’t a farmer like the other farmers in town. For those men (and they were all men), who milked dairy cows, raised hogs, or cultivated acres of blueberries, farming was their livelihood. My father had grown up that way, on a subsistence farm in Colorado that sold milk and dried beans, but with the support of the GI Bill he’d earned a PhD and become a psycholog
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