Caterpillar, one of the legendary periodicals in 20th century American poetry, set out with an intriguing premise – that three years was about all a literary journal could do before repeating itself or exhausting its commission. (Never mind that it went twice that.)

Somehow, Friends have found that for some offices, three-year terms work best; while they may be extended, six years becomes the upper limit. After that, the officer rotates into a new place of service.

The Red Barn’s been at it five years now – launching its four subsidiary blogs along the way. And for those of you who’ve been blogging much longer, you’ve truly earned my respect. It’s a lot of work, no doubt about it.


This past year, especially, has been intense as I’ve released some long pent-up emotions and thoughts about polity in action. (Remember, though, my degree was in political science, and I entered journalism with a sense of public service that was, in a psychically bruising degree, thwarted to the corporate profit sheet.)

So here we are, in face of the thugs who’ve been attacking our free speech and American values. However the election turned out.

And I’m still fired up, even if I’m looking at a more leisurely pace in the year ahead.


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