A Life Guided and Preserved by Les Hill
I grew up on a dairy farm in Massachusetts. What I remember most is space—wide-open fields, old barns, and a house built in the early 1700s. Life on the farm was steady and demanding. We had chores twice a day, every day, with no breaks. In the spring, we planted corn. In the summer, we made hay. In the fall, we harvested for feed. Life was simple, but it required discipline and endurance. As a child, I was surrounded by work, but also by moments of wonder. Early in the mornings, especially in April, I would hear the sound of a small plane spraying for mosquitoes over the nearby swamp. I would run outside and stand under it as it passed overhead. I did not know it at the time, but that sound and that sight planted something deep in me. That may have been the beginning of my desire to fly. I enjoyed farming, but I did not want to spend my whole life milking cows twice a day, seven days a week. There was always a sense inside me that I was meant for something more. In high school, I play...
