The Cruellest Month

Here we are, well into April already, the poetry month. In a nod to T.S. Eliot, St. Louis poet, buried in familial Somerset, I spell the word “cruellest” his way. In 2010, we read T.S. Eliot in the garden at Hays, Brent Knoll, in Somerset. My father, Brian, and his two brothers and sister were

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February Be Gone!

This has been a difficult winter, to say the least. I had hoped there might be some Springlike days by now, but not really… So, what has happened here at Bronze Fox Farm during this shortest, but interminable and tedious month? Well, the big news is that the horses have moved to Great Griffin Farm,

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