Halfway between the garage and the road our driveway made a T, likely intended as an extra parking spot or a turnaround area. Our parents generously parked elsewhere, donating the area to us as our private domain, perfect for young, wobbly bike riders, for lavish chalk art, and for
Soon after we moved to Virginia, we began attending a church that met in a restored and reclaimed barn, still bright red. Sunday school classes met in the farmhouse, a classic white. I loved the history and architecture of these spaces. I was proud that we had repurposed rather
The tulip poplar was an excellent listener. Protective and nurturing, it shaded the windows of the bedroom I shared with Missi, two years older, and Lydia, four years younger. Towering and expansive, it overheard our silly conversations and sympathized in our small dreams, disappointments, and pleasures. We slept in
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
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