By Rory Feek, Plain Values
Most of the time when I’m writing this column, I’m in pretty much the same place. Sitting at the kitchen table in our farmhouse or at my desk in the milkhouse, with a view outside of the backfield and within earshot of Indy and the other kids playing on the playground at the schoolhouse. But this month, I’m parked in a chair at a much larger table in Paradise Valley, Montana, surrounded by big, beautiful mountains, with the gentle sound of the Yellowstone River flowing nearby. Each summer for the last five or six years, my little girl Indiana and I have packed our things, climbed behind the wheel, and driven 1,750 miles to spend a month out west together.