I woke to this thought–I live three hours from my great-great-grandfather’s childhood home. The weather report promised spring sun and warm temperatures, perfect for a cemetery hunt. I gassed up my car, plotted out my routes, and headed out west through the Endless Mountains. I couldn’t help wondering why Ira Sayles’ parents and grandparents picked up […]Read More On The Trail To Tioga
Camera and binoculars bounce on my vest-padded chest as I leave footprints in week old snow. I am headed to the river, to watch the ice floes flow. Here at the bend, where West Pittston says hey to Pittston, the Susqhehanna is open, ice clinging in nooks and crannies. A dozen Buffleheads ride the current toward […]Read More The River Is Floe-ing. Spring Is Coming.
May Laura Stevenson lay under covers, listening to eight siblings rustle from bed’s warmth into cold, thick wool layers. Procrastinating would not reduce her chores or delay the walk to school, so up she sat, throwing off her blankets, reaching for her clothes. In quick fluid movements May covered her shivering little body, and joined […]Read More Walking Down May’s Street: mappy monday