Stories about neighbors, small towns and strangers who show up.
My husband still shakes his head about it, all these years later. He’ll be sitting in his recliner watching the news, and I’ll be putting... Read more
My father’s horse was screaming in the dark, and the vet was over an hour away. I want to start there, in the mud, because... Read more
There is a particular kind of quiet that settles over a house after you have lived in it alone for fourteen months, and I have... Read more
The bell over the door at Stitch and Hem is a small brass thing, worn smooth on one side from fifty years of hands pushing... Read more
My son was the one who noticed I’d stopped putting things in the cart and started taking them back out. He is seven. Old enough... Read more
The box was already open on my kitchen table when the knock came, which is its own kind of strange, because I have thought since... Read more
I have replayed the sound of that water more times than I can count, and I still cannot describe it right. Everybody who has heard... Read more
The first night I came home alone from the funeral home, I sat in the truck in my own driveway for close to twenty minutes... Read more
My name is Harriet Whitfield now. For eighteen years of my life, the first eighteen, I was Harriet Dietz, and I grew up in Bellwood,... Read more
I have made blackberry jam in the same enamel pot since 1994, and I have sold it from the same corner of the Millbrook Farmers... Read more