The property was maybe a forty-five minute drive from my grandparents’ house in the St. Louis city limits, but the contrast between the expansive country acreage and the tidy urban parcel led me to believe that we must have circled the moon and stars to get there. I can’t even remember the color of the outside of my dad’s Aunt Joan and Uncle Dave’s massive Victorian home, but I clearly remember the musty smell that filled me with wonder each time we entered through the parlor

As we pulled up the long drive to my friend’s house, we were greeted enthusiastically by a little girl, the picture of sunshine, wielding a squirt gun and pulling the trigger as she announced that she was giving our car a wash which, indeed she was. We had come to buy a few jars of honey. The elderberries had been harvested for the season, and I needed local honey to make this year’s supply of syrup. We left, escorted out by the sunshine girl, with our honey, and also with a

Love, young love, I hope you are well. At least we now both Have a story to tell. —Keaton Henson, “Sarah Minor” I should have known by the way she spun in a circle as she moved among the pine shavings, even somersaulting as she crashed into the other chicks. Sometimes, she kept one eye closed. Soon, she couldn’t stand up without tipping over. It turns out she was “stargazing”, looking skyward, for she had wry neck, a neurological condition perhaps due to a vitamin deficienc

As a little girl, on my sick days from school, the best part of the day was the half hour when I could sit in my dad’s recliner in my pajamas and watch Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. I found great comfort in staring at the trolley while it circled the neighborhood, where I could pass some of my time with this great man who had so much to show me. He always knew the right thing to say to make me feel better. After nearly thirteen years of fostering, we surrendered our license, whic

I guess you only get so many chances, at least in this life. Nancy, my favorite chicken, went quietly in the early morning cold of All Soul’s Day. She had never really been the same since she had survived the raccoon attack last winter, though she tried her best to keep up with the others in the flock. I could tell she was slowing down. She mostly hung out under the roost in Coop #2, which seemed to be the place for ailing chickens, chickens at low places in the pecking order

The purple couch was like an old friend. It accepted us, its people, where we were, with our dirty baseball cleats, fevers, and bad attitudes. It has been sat upon by State of Illinois caseworkers, librarians, hundreds of children, and a chicken. I nursed my last birth son well into toddlerhood on that couch. I spent the night there with a mug of chamomile tea after disagreeing with a seafood salad from a local sandwich shop. My children lined up on the cushions through nearl

I’m sorry. I understand. I mean I don’t understand, but I think I might know why. Not exactly…maybe… I watch you. I can see you clutching your secrets tightly near your heart as you melt, ever so slowly, as a candle burning to nonexistence, into your grave. I tried walking beside you, leading the way, following. There mustn’t have been room on the path, or maybe you couldn’t bear the thought of having company. Let me help you with your bags. They must be heavy. Today, I am st

Darkness had already fallen when I finally made my way out to close the chicken door on this cold March night. I was almost startled by the nondescript, shadowy figure that mimicked my gait against the grain bin, until the motion sensitive light snapped on, taking me with it, back to the reality that it was just my own image. It could have been anyone, though, in the dark. I could have been anyone. My first semester of college was going just fine. I had a fabulous roomma