I listen to a news briefing as I walk Edgewood, warm winds tossing the trees. I hear there are bodies being flung from planes. I don’t remember seeing the little American flag on Rivara’s mailbox before. Old Highway 50 is hot and quiet, and there are black-eyed Susans and zinnias growing around that tin-roofed house … Continue reading Homefront
My bare feet were in a patch of dirt when Dad smiled and said, “You swing like a boy.” He always offered pointers: Level it out, kick up your elbow, bend that knee, wait on your pitch. But “You swing like a boy” was the praise that sent me rocketing to first base. I made … Continue reading Our Diamond
I wrote a letter to my friend, Sarah, last week and told her I’m suffering from Gardening Shame. There are weeds in every box, and I haven’t re-mulched the paths, so black tarp shows through like the garden’s underwear. My tomato plants won't take to the soil and stand limp. Zoysia grass creeps in and … Continue reading Gardening Shame
The swingset oak is forty years old, taller than our maple, cedars, even its pin oak siblings. Mr. and Mrs. Adams planted it when our neighborhood was still a field and Mom was still a kid who ran through it. Early last fall, the tree started browning— far too early. By November, it was naked … Continue reading A Good Sign
“Well, do you think spring has sprung?” he asks, and I look up to see things from his view. His yard is a patchwork of green and yellow, the trees at the crest of Edgewood are leafless, two brand new tulips stand awkward and alone off his front porch. “I—I think it has. I hope … Continue reading Is Springing
For seven years, I stood on my neighbors’ porches every other Friday to hand them some pages I’d written, rolled into a rubber band and labelled: Argyle News. The neighborhood newspaper was mostly a briefing of the birthdays, holidays, and graduations in my family, sometimes headlined by a tree that had fallen across Edgewood Road … Continue reading Front Porch Ambitions
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