A True Story from Home To me, Mrs. Olave Thurston was the lady in my grandpa’s stories---as if she was another Ma Ingalls or Miss Rumphius. When we ate chicken for dinner, Papa would tell how Mrs. Thurston raised, butchered, and boiled her own. When spring came and I cut fresh flowers for the table, … Continue reading Gravestone Flowers
There will probably never be an end to the stories pulled from the rubble of 9-11 --- stories of brave men who shouldered people in wheelchairs down a hundred flights of stairs, or ferrymen who swallowed smoke to sail crowds safely off the island, or a woman who kept her head and stayed on the … Continue reading Victory Cry
"Time to get up." His voice cut into my sleep like soft butter, a corner of my mattress dipping beneath him, a hand on my ankle, frost in the corners of the window, crumbs in the corners of my eyes, a pink sun kissing the bare treeline, he in a white dress shirt saying, "Little … Continue reading Talitha Cumi
One of the main characters in Wendell Berry’s novel, Jayber Crow, is the river itself, which moves through the story like Jayber does, picking things up as it goes, sometimes setting them down again. The river is always changing---sometimes fat and angry, “as if the mountains had melted and were flowing to the sea.” In … Continue reading Everywhere the River Goes
“Today is the longest day of the year,” Mom would say one evening late in June, then shoo us out the back door to drink up every last drop of light, because, she said, the evenings would only be getting shorter from now till December. So I’d lie over the swing after dinner, brushing my … Continue reading The Longest Day of Light
Aspen trees grow on the mountains out West in light, shining forests, because they are knit underground by a root system. Each tree sends out shoots that sprout into nearby aspens, so if the mother tree should get chopped or die, she’ll send her last life to her children. The “clone” trees of a mother … Continue reading An Aspen Forest
A New Creation Poem Remember that at one time you were a howling wilderness, the haunt of hyenas who cackled among the thistles under a ghost moon. But now in Christ Jesus you are a fresh spring, cooling the rocks and watering the hills that roll under a young sun.
We stood at my grandma Karen’s grave on Palm Sunday, the wind matting the grass and making all the fake grave flowers tremble. Dad brought a bundle of daffodils from Papa Larry’s garden, and as he tucked them in the granite vase, I said I hoped they wouldn’t blow away. But it’s early April and … Continue reading Grave Flowers
A True Story from Home It happens every eight seconds, they say, but it’s no less weird and wonderful. I’ve never seen a baby be born, but my big sister has— twelve of them, actually. She earned her birth assistant’s certificate because she’d grown up the oldest sister, the babysitter, the Meg March of the … Continue reading Winter In Her Womb
On Saturday, I did three things respectively: I planted a fall crop of bibb lettuce and kale; I wrestled chicken wire to build a fence around the box; and then I wiped sweat from my neck and dared the squirrels and deer to have a go at it. For good measure, I also took clippings … Continue reading Dead Wood
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