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
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
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
A little girl was playing outside when her daddy pulled into the driveway after running early morning errands. She ran to welcome him home with a hug, her nose pressing against his large, engraved silver belt buckle, the one he always wore with jeans on Saturday mornings. He opened
Behind the garage was Dad’s woodworking shed where we occasionally helped him with a project and where we schemed and scurried in secretive shifts before Christmas. Under the cheerful red glow of the heat lamp, we could see our breath as we eagerly built each other marble races, wooden