"There's just one spot on this road where I always feel suddenly... 'I'm home,' said Anne. It's the top of the next hill, where we'll see the lights of Green Gables." ~ Anne of Windy Poplars Author Conservatory A novel tucked into Mema's wheelchair pocket The Habit episode with Taylor Leonhardt Running the highway to … Continue reading september ttmmh
Our porch lights were on when we pulled up the drive at 1 A.M. last Tuesday morning – Joel, Trent, Janaya, and I. A strong, warm wind was in the trees, and a patch of stars blinked between clouds. (Maybe it's the way music works in me, but things always seem more vivid and alive … Continue reading Souls
The people I know say they’ll never forget where they were when the first tower fell, then the second. Mom says she was in her room, I was on her bed, and she was changing me. I’d only been around for seven months and already wore a birthmark of the world; 2001 was a year … Continue reading Never Forget It
The “what-are-you-doing-for-college?” question comes my way a lot, and I have trouble packaging an answer. I’ve sort of wandered the web since I graduated, taking free classes like English Comp and Public Speaking and Theology. I worked with Jonathan Rogers over at The Habit for a few weeks, whipping my writing into something more earthy … Continue reading The Conservatory
The swing set oak is forty years old — taller than our maples, cedars, even its pin oak siblings. Mr. Adams planted it when our neighborhood was still his field and my mom was a kid who ran through it. Planting a tree is always an act of faith, but it’s also a selfless thing … Continue reading By Faith, Plant Sequoias
"August has settled in like honey -- sticky and sweet ...Summer is fading into something more earnest." ~ Kaetlyn Ann, "A Homesteader's Diary" Walking the pond banks, barefoot Bullfrog Saturday morning lightning storm, oatmeal, and wind Escape Room Houseful Papa walking through the gate again How God can use hula hoops and Zacchaeus skits to … Continue reading august ttmmh
I listen to a news briefing as I walk Edgewood, warm winds tossing the trees. I hear there are bodies being flung from planes. I don’t remember seeing the little American flag on Rivara’s mailbox before. Old Highway 50 is hot and quiet, and there are black-eyed Susans and zinnias growing around that tin-roofed house … Continue reading Homefront
June 12 Papa, This comes a day late, since we fell into bed after midnight last night. I slept like a rock, a dog, and a baby on the hotel's wonderful pullout couch. We left New York City late, after missing our Lyft ride because we were standing in the wrong spot, and so trotting across streets, … Continue reading Day Seven: Quiet Work & Chaos
My bare feet were in a patch of dirt when Dad smiled and said, “You swing like a boy.” He always offered pointers: Level it out, kick up your elbow, bend that knee, wait on your pitch. But “You swing like a boy” was the praise that sent me rocketing to first base. I made … Continue reading Our Diamond
June 11 Papa, I've only just started the Quartets, but yes, I hope to see the present here for what it is. I hope to do that every day, really. Dad asked me last night what I think about when I walk the shoreline, and I said, "I feel like I should be thinking deep and … Continue reading Day Six: Last Day at the Sea
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