They Stole The Log Cabin My Grandfather Left Me And Learned The Deed Still Had My Name

age. She’ll try to tell you what’s valuable, Caroline, he’d said. Don’t let her. You know what’s real. You’ve got good roots, kid. Don’t ever let her chop them down.

Now, scrubbing pink paint off a hundred year old wood burning stove with my knuckles raw from the effort, his words echoed back to me with new weight. My mother didn’t only hate spiders.continue reading …