Boluisce I root my fingers, burying them back and down. A twist into black, acidic soil, deeper than anything man-made....
Even after so many years, tears still fill my eyes when I think of my brother’s farm accident. That was...
The Irish are renowned storytellers. From Nobel prize winning literature to pub talk we are saturated in stories. We listen...
I was twelve when I figured out God. Mom was a devout Presbyterian who taught Sunday school. Every evening she...
A Meditation on the Land —remembering a farm foreclosure. For Darrell Ringer, 1953-93 “Thank you,” he said, while the black...
All day they mumble in a clump outside the hive. I water the days of an unexpected life. I fill...
Crossing Places At the crossing places when the river is still and ghosts untangle themselves from the trees you can...
“I know what Winnie the Pooh would say,” Jasmine tells me. She is driving with one arm hanging out the...
My father had been in and out of the hospital for fifteen years. He survived three heart attacks, cancer, multiple...
In 1980, the year I worked for the Census, there were over 30 days when even the nighttime temperature was...
A story from rural Kenya. From the Becoming Erick Collection. Edited by Poppy Johnson. A Mother’s Manual Dreamily he watched,...
It was a struggle for her, getting around to the back of the house this morning to gather up the...