Stories about neighbors, small towns and strangers who show up.
For four winters I never told one soul in Coldwater County how close we were to going under, and then three days before Christmas I... Read more
The photograph was four inches by six, in a thin gold frame, and for five weeks it was the only thing in that room that... Read more
The drought broke me before it broke the wheat. I want to start there, because most people who knew me back then would have said... Read more
My name is Arlene Whitcroft. I am seventy-eight years old, and I know what my neighbors say about my yard. I’ve known for two years.... Read more
At 9:47 on the last Friday morning in May, I was standing at the end of the third row of folding chairs in the Cedar... Read more
The first time I caught my mother stealing, she was seventy-one years old, and she was stealing from herself. I want to tell you what... Read more
The grave had been bare for eleven months when I finally admitted to myself that it might stay that way. I want to be honest... Read more
For thirty years I ran a diner on Route 9 and I never once kept a tab. People think that is a saying. It is... Read more
For most of my life I was ashamed of my father’s barn. I need to say that plainly, right at the start, because everything else... Read more
I have lived in the same building on Larkspur Street for nineteen years, and for eighteen of them I would have told you I knew... Read more