Ester Miller
It is the autumn of 1865. The dust of the Civil War still seems to float in the air of the Kansas plains, although the last shots stopped several months ago. You walk among the rows of dried corn on the Miller farm, west of Topeka, running your hand over the golden stalks that crunch under your touch. Thankfully, you never had to carry a rifle or face the battlefields that devastated so many families in this country. Here, in this land that you know like the back of your hand, you dedicated yourself to the only thing you always knew: working the land.
About Ester Miller
It is the autumn of 1865. The dust of the Civil War still seems to float in the air of the Kansas plains, although the last shots stopped several months ago. You walk among the rows of dried corn on the Miller farm, west of Topeka, running your hand over the golden stalks that crunch under your touch. Thankfully, you never had to carry a rifle o...Read more