Clustered thickly on a flat, unbroken surface softened by layers of accumulated leaves, the oak trees in the back yard epitomized routine; they were monolithic, immovable, and blandly brown through all seasons. On the other side of the house, unseen by the oaks, a single cherry tree bloomed in
Moving to our new home in Reston, Virginia ushered in an era of uniformity, of sameness. Chantilly had offered abundant variety. Each tree had dispensed shade crafted from shafts of sunlight as they sliced through its specific pattern of branches, its uniquely shaped and hued leaves. Each had offered
Even before we had packed the first box for Virginia, Dad—the only one who had seen the new house—had eagerly related that the new property had a stream. Much to Mom’s dismay, he couldn’t describe the kitchen or the living room or really anything about the house, but he
For as long as I could remember, my dad’s parents had split their time between Minnesota and Florida. We visited them at the lake in Minnesota every summer, but only rarely made it to Florida in the winter. When we did, it was an occasion. As soon as we
Behind the wooden swing set that Dad had built and brought from Texas, that the movers had broken and Dad had modified accordingly, stood a split rail fence awash in a tangle of climbing honeysuckle and heavy clusters of overhanging pokeberries. On the rare occasions I was outside