First-person narratives based on real human experiences. The moments that change us. The relationships that define us. The lessons we carry forward.
The clock above the pie case at the Copper Kettle read eleven forty when Cassidy Boone set her briefcase on my counter, pulled out six... Read more
I was scraping cold potato salad off a paper plate into the trash can behind the fairgrounds pavilion, three weeks out from twelve straight nights... Read more
Four dollars is what a thrift store paid out in trade credit for my mother’s wedding quilt, the one my daughter-in-law Shaylene decided was clutter... Read more
The clock on the Wheeler’s Bend town hall tower read six fifty eight when Emiliano wheeled himself up the ramp he built with his own... Read more
Woodsmoke and wet pine hung so thick over my porch that evening I almost didn’t hear the phone ringing inside. Behind me, Sawtooth Ridge was... Read more
It was my twenty eight week checkup, forty minutes before my ultrasound appointment, when Deputy Trace Boone’s cruiser rolled up my gravel driveway instead of... 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
I was up to my elbows in a customer’s water pump, the shop radio muttering out the noon grain report the way it does every... 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
“Grayson already has a mother. He doesn’t need two.” Meredith said that to me across the Easter ham, smiling the whole time so nobody else... Read more