Last fall, a band of nimble men descended on our house. They ripped off crumbling shingles, tore up rotten plywood and installed a new metal roof, guaranteed for fifty years, considerably longer than I—at age sixty-five—expect to need it. Standing…
As a forager from a long line of foragers, nothing pleases me more than finding wild berries. I will scale a small mountain for low-bush blueberries that ripen in high summer just short of the peak. Sometimes abandoned roads pass…
Pawprints in a dusting of snow. A bowl of tuna on the steps. Gone the next morning. And the next. Until one evening, at dusk, she revealed herself—a tabby we called Shadow. She ate our offerings but kept her distance.…
