Barbara Harroun

Today, my daughter crosses a threshold. She turns thirteen. Thirteen glorious years. I try to avoid clichés, but honestly, that profound moment—the moment…

On a beautiful, sunny, late February Sunday, I worked with my parents to put up a basketball net for my son, Jack's, ninth birthday. I knew this was a…

My knees turned to liquid and my legs shook uncontrollably. My hands trembled. Sweat beaded at my hairline and my palms were slippery wet. I fought the…

On January 13th, in the basement of Spoon River College's Washington Street Campus, Adult Education Program Coordinator Cynthia Johnston patiently…

At the end of the semester, my writing students reflect on the semester, revise their work, and attempt to mine instances of failure for valuable lessons.…

I believe in magic. The magic of words and books and music. The magic that happens in kitchens. The alchemy of cooking, and then the beauty of sitting at…

On Monday night, I walked my dog along one of our normal routes. It was unseasonably warm and windy. The sunset was the autumnal colors of changing maple…

On the first day of school for my children, and for me too, I ran into my fifth grade teacher, Judy Marshall, in the County Market parking lot. Mrs.…

The day after the most recent round of bad news, I woke, mournful, and palmed my cup of coffee in silence. I read Mary Oliver’s "Mindful," a poem that of…

On February 29th, my children and I found ourselves coatless in Chandler Park, enjoying the pink evening hour of a jeweled day. My daughter and I…