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Opinion

ROBIN WRITES: The warmth of grandma hands

It takes a lifetime to grow Grandma Hands. A little girl is born with tiny fingers and doughy palms. Moist and pliable, they bend and flex for baby games. Patty-cake. Peek-a-boo. Her hands are the first thing she explores, tastes, manipulates to learn the many textures of her small world.

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ROBIN WRITES: The First Snore

The Garden of Eden could not have been Paradise if Adam snored. The first man was perfect at first, so he didn’t. Eve could lie next to him, cover his deficient ribcage with a loving embrace, and drift off to sleep in Heavenly Peace.

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RIDGE RUNNER CHRONICLES: Christmas Morning 2025

As the years go by, I must admit that I get a slight case of melancholy on Christmas Day. Maybe it’s because I miss my parents, long gone now; maybe it’s because Christmas can never again be what it used to be; and maybe it’s because the world today is no longer peaceful on Christmas.…

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OUTDOOR TRUTHS: Expected Obstacles

I was back in my barn during rifle season. And just before daylight several does began feeding just in front of my window. The late rut was still happening so I was hoping a buck would show up to check out the ladies. As more sun began to illuminate the area, I noticed a buck…

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RIDGE RUNNER CHRONICLES: “Grandpa?”

By, Bill Hoagland I answered our land line recently with a “hello” and was greeted by a soft-spoken female voice with just one word—“Grandpa”? I responded with a “Yes” and was advised by this young voice that this is “your oldest granddaughter” at the other end of the line.

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