Pat Leimbach is farm bred and farm wed-- ""growing up in apples, marrying into potatoes."" Those who live that life and those who live far from it are equally eligible as audience, because in this second book of essays she blends its myriad details with its universality. As partner to her husband and the only woman in a house of sons, she is an integral part of what is also a livelihood, but at the same time she is an observer, wise to farming's humor, beauty, and drawbacks. The brief pieces (one-two pages each) also cover her travels into other lifestyles and areas of the world on lecture tours, or via letters from fans who become friends, or as the mother of a professional motorcyclist who rides trails internationally, or by her willingness to try almost anything at least once--as when she gamely and almost disastrously takes a spin on her son's bike. But all this ""perambulation . . . has only drawn me closer to the land."" Even when sharing farm lore, she extends beyond those physical boundaries, telling how she feels about being 48, or concluding: ""Any way you carve it, Thanksgiving is a male chauvinistic triumph."" Describing an elderly farm couple who have inspired her, she laments, ""Sad that the people who know what's important and real in life seldom tell their stories."" With at least one lucky exception.