There almost aren't words to convey how cool I think that is. I've been reading Hoard's Dairyman since ... since before I could read. I found hours of entertainment in those pages. Chicago cheese markets intrigued as only a child can imagine a bazaar of gaily-tented stalls and people haggling over exotic foods. Yeah, I know, but it was wonderful imagery.
But unlike the reality of cheese markets, the glossy cover has stayed true. Those beautiful letters are still framed with bold red trim, and I smell my Grandfather's wintergreen lifesavers when I see an issue. I hear chains rattling in the barn, and I remember running down the path to find him.
When I was just a little bit older and had my own heifers I had my very own subscription. It was the first periodical to come, just for me, and I wore the hinges out on the mailbox checking for it.
Thirty years later Hoard's is following me on Twitter, and it's cracking me up. In all the right ways.