The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DIPLOMA

1988

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

February's prompts are chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

DIPLOMA

The pictures from my high school graduation show a shining girl in a red gown and yellow cords. Every shot looks staged, though none of them were – one of my parent's friends from church took the photos. I never even saw the photographer-friend in the stadium full of people there to celebrate this class of approximately 400 students.

The girl who is me is blonde and smiling. She's the star of her own movie, and this is a climactic moment – or an effort at characterization: see the happy all-American girl with the world opening its doors to her!

The pictures are true and not true: I was smiling, but not because I loved the people around me or that particular night or because I felt any huge sense of accomplishment. I was a good student and had always done well – my graduation had never been in question, only what honors I would receive and how many college scholarships would line my pockets. I'd attended school with these kids since 9^th grade, yet I walked beside a girl I barely knew. I spoke to only a handful of my fellow graduates at the ceremony, and as soon as it was over I escaped with my sister and best friend to get away from all the hoopla. I just wanted it to be done, so I could get on with my real life.

The girl who is me doesn't need a diploma to prove her worth. It will take a million other things for that.

Fun fact: Favorite diploma I ever received: a Mouster's Degree from Disney College Program. :)

Fun fact #2: My poem "I Give Thanks for Trussville, Alabama," appears in THE POETRY OF US, edited by J. Patrick Lewis. It taps into some of my feelings about the place where I attended high school.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DINING ROOM TABLE

by Norman Rockwell

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car. February's prompts are chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

DINING ROOM TABLE

We ate at the kitchen table, as none of the homes I remember from my childhood had a dedicated dining room. In the Burns Lane house in Birmingham, Alabama (the last home I shared with my family of origin), we had to walk through the kitchen through a narrow opening to get to the table which just fit between the stove and bay window. (I believe the table was oak, and oval-shaped, with a leaf that never came out, because our family of 7 needed all the space we could get!)

For Sunday meals we would crowd around, all scraping chairs and bumping elbows to behold the table covered in dishes: pot roast (which my mother prepared in the morning, so that it could cook in the oven at 325 degrees while we attended church), pear salad (a lettuce leaf topped with a canned pear half then sprinkled with grated cheddar cheese), rolls. 

We joined hands and someone – my father, usually-- would say the blessing, that went something like this: “Thank you, Lord, for the food we are about to receive, and for the nourishment to our bodies. For Christ's sake, Amen.” We all chorused “A-men,” with a long A, and then we dug in. We passed the dishes counter-clockwise around the table so that everyone could get their portion. We talked, we laughed, we teased... these Rockwell moments never lasted long, but I do treasure them. I'm grateful to my parents for their efforts toward making these traditions a part of us.

The poem “Family Dinner” in CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? (with Charles Waters) also chronicles a family dinner tradition, though it wasn't one from my childhood but from my parenthood:

art by Sean Qualls and Selina Alko

Best and Worst

Each night we go around the supper table, say the best part of our day, and the worst. Bests are easy as creamed potatoes: an A on a math test, Pajama Day, new shoes. Worsts stick in my throat like tiny fish bones: the bracelet I lost and still can't find, my sniffly nose, what Shonda said at recess. But saying it out loud helps. We listen and laugh. After supper we all play a trivia game and once I even win. - Irene Latham

And here is a new poem:

Kitchen Table

I've known card games,

homework

all sorts of stains

and scratches.

The busy hum

of a sewing machine

quick click

of a calculator.

I've endured tears,

fists,

easy swipes

and hard polishes.

But nothing compares

to Sundays

when the plates

sit heavy,

warm

when the jostling

and chair scraping

has stopped

and they all link hands,

resting them ever so lightly

on my face

and someone says,

thank you thank you

A-men.

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DESSERT

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit poet-goddess Robyn at Life on the Deckle Edge for Roundup.
For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

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DESSERT

When I think of desserts in my childhood I think of my grandparents, and I think of summer: fresh warm watermelons cracked open on the back picnic table, their red or sometimes golden meat attracting birds and ants; peaches off the truck my grandfather hauled from Georgia; homemade ice cream churned in the electric freezer, that grind of salt and ice better music than any ice cream truck ever produced; and strawberry jello mixed with store-bought whipped cream – a special concoction Grandma Dykes always made just for me.

Here it is, in a poem:

A Taste of Summer

warm melons

cracked open

on the back

picnic table,

their red

or golden meat

arousing songbirds

and inviting

black ants

to trail in –

always enough

for everyone

peaches fresh

off the truck

Granddaddy

drove all the way

from Georgia,

the scent

of gasoline

and tickle

of sweet-sticky

juice dribbling

down to our elbows

as we would

bite in

the whine

of the electric

ice cream maker

and the slush

of ice and salt

as we waited:

is it ready yet?

strawberry jello

mixed with

whipped-cream

clouds

in a glass bowl

at the end

of the table,

Grandma saying,

something sweet,

for a sweet girl.

- Irene Latham

This brings to mind "Knoxville, Tennessee" by Nikki Giovanni, which is also full of rich, summer-y flavors! If I were to title mine after the place of my summers, it would be called "Port St. Joe, Florida." Some may recall that Port St. Joe got slammed by a few months ago by Hurricane Michael I still have family there -- everyone is fine -- and it reminds me again of how very resilient coastal Floridians are. So, if I were to title a poem "Port St. Joe, Florida," it would likely be about many other things besides the summer deliciousness I experienced there. 

Maybe some of this will come up in my responses to future Butterfly Hours prompts later this year?? We shall see. :) 

Thank you for reading!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DESK

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

DESK

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Today, a poem:

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Desk

memories are dust

stuck in the grooves

of the roll top

dreams hide

in dark cubbies

beside bottle tops,

ticket stubs

and a tiny cat figurine

I plunder the drawers,

find stacks of poems,

stories

written in a voice

that's mine

and not mine –

a thousand scratches

and scars

only deepen

that warm oak glow

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DANCING

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For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

DANCING

For a brief moment in time, I was a ballerina. I remember the white tights and black leotard; the soft pink shoes and how they whisper-slid along the hardwood studio floors. I stood with half a dozen other little girls at the bar as a teacher showed us five basic feet positions. My arms and legs felt warm and elastic, and I knew I was a three-dimensional being. It was as if I existed as a bubble of energy as we watched ourselves in the long wall of mirrors on the opposite side of the room. When my teacher told me I had a dancer's neck, I really sank in: I would be a real dancer someday – one who wears toe shoes.

That never happened. As with so many of my dreams, this one was cut short when our family moved to another town, and I was forced to leave behind the dance classes. On the upside, this gave me an opportunity to try and learn new things -- like baton twirling and horseback riding. But my fasciation with dancers has continued. One of my favorite books in recent years was an out-of-print bookstore-sale find DANCERS ON DANCING, edited by Cynthia Lyle.  You can read my post that includes excerpts here. 

I've written a few poems about dancers or dancing, including "Audrey Hepburn a the Dance Studio," which appears in my out-of-print poetry book for adults THE COLOR OF LOST ROOMS. (Audrey was a dancer before she fell into acting.) And "The Last Poem" which appeared last year as part of ARTSPEAK! Harlem Renaissance, in which dancing becomes metaphor for poetry. I can relate to the dancers in the James Van Der Zee photograph!

Side note: This past weekend I was introduced to The Alexander Technique for actors and dancer and all performers. It's about our relationship with our bodies, and how we carry anxiety. As someone who does public speaking, and now as a cellist, I found it fascinating! I'll be doing some more reading and researching about it in the coming weeks.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: COUCH

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma. COUCH

We moved a lot when I was a kid. And as a family that included five kids, were quite rough on furniture. I'm sure we always had a couch, but I can't really remember any of them! So I've written a poem about some of the things I remember happening on the couch -- even though I can't quite remember the couch. :)

Couch

Blue couch, green couch –

snuggle-up-and-read couch.

Green couch, brown couch –

let's-all-watch-TV couch.

Brown couch, yellow couch –

Mama's-taking-a-nap couch.

Yellow couch, beige couch –

wait-right-here couch.

Beige couch, blue couch –

all-grown-up couch.

- Irene Latham

Another Kind of Valentine

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Jone at Check it Out for Roundup.

Yesterday I featured poems about a different kind of Valentine... and today I have yet another kind! Read on!!

In the past few months Charles Waters and I have been honored to find our book CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? on the following lists:
NCTE Charlotte Huck Award for Outstanding Fiction Honor Book
NCTE Notable Poetry Book
ALA Notable Children's Book
CYBILS Finalist for Poetry (Congratulations to the winner: A LONG WAY DOWN by Jason Reynolds -- it's a phenomenal book!)
Pennsylvania Young Reader's Choice Award title for grades 3-6
... and another state award list we can't announce yet. :)

We hope this recognition means more readers will be having conversations about race, mistakes and friendship. We are always thrilled to be a part of these conversations, too. This past December Charles Waters and I zoomed with Mary Lee Hahn's class at Daniel Wright Elementary School in Columbus, Ohio.

This amazingly diverse group had read our book, and wow did they have some great questions for me and Charles! It was a joy to spend time with these engaged learners.

And then... the Valentines arrived: I got in the mail a bundle of thank you notes!  Mary Lee even enclosed an envelope for me to forward the notes to Charles -- which I did! He loved them, too, of course.

Valentines!

All the notes touched my heart with their words and art.  Two of the notes included poems that I am delighted to share with you today, thanks to permission granted by these students and their parents.

Here's the first one, from Zitlali:

the front of Zitali's card

Irene and Charles

Irene and Charles
They are best of friends
They stood out
And made a book
It's the best opritunity [sic] they took
And even though,
It might be scary
In the end,
look at all the messages,
That you have sent to ...
   The World.

- Zitlali

To Zitlali: Thank YOU for recognizing the courage it takes to write a book... and most of all, thank you for being a brave poet yourself! Your words -- and your message -- is beautifully written and so very important.



And now, 2 acrostic poems from Jasmine:

the front of Zitlali's card

Incredible
Radiant
Erisistable [sic]
Nice
Extraordinary


Caring
Hero
Awesome
Radient [sic]
Loving
Example
Sent a message

- Jasmine

To Jasmine: I want to live up to all those adjectives! Thank you! And I want you to know that those adjectives actually say far more about YOU, the poet, than they do about the subject. Thank you for showing us -- and the world -- the beauty in your heart!

And: so many thanks to Mary Lee for being a brave teacher. These conversations aren't easy, but they are essential in helping us to shape a more loving world.

I'll leave you with another valentine: a gratitude poem I wrote during ARTSPEAK! Portraits (2017):

Gratitude

And I would give you

milk

from the morning's 

first coconut

a symphony 

of palm fronds,

the scent of salt

I would give you

the eye of every hurricane

waves to bathe

your every shore

this red dress

with its lace collar,

this brown skin

all the sunshine

that lives inside

an island flower

all the sunshine

the sun

- Irene Latham

Valentine's Day Poems by Aileen Fisher & Irene Latham

Valentines

I gave a hundred Valentines.
A hundred, did I say?
I gave a thousand Valentines
one cold and wintry day.

I didn't put my name on them
or any other words,
because my valentines were seeds
for February birds.

- Aileen Fisher



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Valentines

I didn't get any Valentines.

No Valentines at all.

My pockets are empty.

I'm feeling very small.

Then a snowflake hits my nose.

A cardinal flutters by.

Can it still be called a Valentine

when it comes from the sky?

- Irene Latham

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: COOKBOOK

Bobbie, cooking
(from a page in the scrapbook-
cookbook I gave her in 2005)

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.



COOKBOOK

While the primary cooks in my life during childhood were my mom and my Grandma Dykes, I probably learned the most about cooking from my mother-in-law. She loved cooking – and eating – the holiday feasts. But she was very much the a-little-of-this, a little-of-that kind of cook, seldom using a written recipe. So one year I shadowed her through the Thanksgiving meal preparations. I wrote down how much and what. From that I created a cookbook-scrapbook for her that contained recipes from her early marriage (she learned to cook using the classic Better Homes and Gardens cookbook) on up to the present-day. I included family photographs in the book, and also comments from family members about certain dishes. She loved it! And now, after more than a decade since her death, I still pull out her cookbook to make the recipes she brought into our lives. 

So: for anyone out there reading this who enjoys a loved-one's cooking, maybe shadow them through a meal? They will love the attention, and you will be so glad you took the time!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CONCERT

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

CONCERT

The image I remember,
though my poster
was in color (purple!).

When I was in 9^th grade, I was in love with Prince. And I wasn't alone – my then-best friend Michelle shared my passion. We listened to his music nonstop, and we had poster of him in our bedrooms. Mine was on the back of my door, carefully secured with tape on the back of the poster, so as not to mess it up. Prince liked purple –so did I! Prince was different – so was I! He was a great early teen celebrity crush, because yes, he was a man, but he was small and non-threatening. I wasn't ready for anything more. So, when his tour brought him to Birmingham, Michelle and I begged to go. By some miracle, my mom said YES – and she would be our chaperone. The concert was held at Boutwell Auditorium. We had seats on the floor, and it was LOUD. While we swayed and sang along to the songs, my mom sat straight-backed, her brow furrowed and lips a thin line. And then when the scent of marijuana drifted our way, my mom crumpled into her chair, head in hands. Later she told me it gave her an instant headache. I'm surprised she hung in there and didn't whisk us out of there right then. She did so much to make me happy! Midway through the concert when Michelle and I weaved our way through all the throbbing bodies to get to the bathroom, strange boys turned faceless by the dark auditorium grabbed at us. The concert wasn't as much fun after that. I don't remember attending another concert for a long time. Eventually the Prince poster came off my door. Michelle and I drifted apart. But my love of Prince's music remains.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CHURCH

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For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

CHURCH

I grew up in the Episcopal Church, and I have many warm memories related to my experiences at the various churches we attended in all the places we lived. (I have some not-warm memories, too, but today I want to focus on the “good.”) And because this prompt is bringing up so much for me, I've decided to use this space to simply catalog some of the experiences, without going into great detail. My intention is to come back to this post later and expand some of these memories.

Interestingly, I recently learned that my mother was a reluctant Episcopalian. She switched to the Episcopal Church upon marrying my father (at his request), and when she spoke of it, it was with some regret and a twinge of anger. This came as a surprise to me, as I'd always imagined religion was more important to my mother than it was it to my father. It shows you, doesn't it, how our childhood assumptions are so often faulty.

In Ft. Meade, Florida, I was part of a couple of church musicals – Music Machine and Down By theCreek Bank being the ones I remember best. It was my first taste of musical theater, which has been a lifelong love. I can still remember many of those songs by heart!

Erin, Irene, Kim
Christ Episcopal Church
early '80s

At Christ Episcopal Church in Covington, Louisiana, I sang in the choir and participated in the youth group. I had my first crush and broke my arm in the church parking lot. I was the first girl acolyte. One year we buried a time capsule, but by the time it came to unearth the capsule (which was such a great idea!), our family had already moved to another place.

While I was in high school, we attended Holy Cross Episcopal Church in Trussville, Alabama. That's where I got my first taste of public speaking – on the topic of “Faith” at Happening, a teen weekend retreat.

Throughout my childhood my most cherished friend-groups came from my churches, not my schools. At Holy Cross it seemed to me we were a group of misfit kids from Irondale and Pinson and Roebuck and Trussville... and somehow we all fit in at our church group. It helped that we had devoted, inspiring youth leaders – 2 couples: Mary and Murray and Karen and Roger. We rode in Mary and Murray's “Blue Goose” to Camp McDowell, which remains a favorite spot of mine to this day.

At Halloween we got in lots of trouble for attending a Judgement House at a Baptist church (instead of a regular haunted house, which had been the plan). This was a big deal because Baptists and Episcopalians disagree on their beliefs about hell and salvation, and some parents didn't want their kids exposed to those other ideas. To us, it was just entertainment. We loved being with one another. I'm so so grateful especially to Jennifer, Jeff, James, Anthony, Bucky, Tommy... and to my siblings Lynn and MicaJon, too. I'm not sure how I would have gotten through those years without the love and support from all of you.

"The New Puppy Promise" poem

Rosie

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Laura at Writing the World for Kids for Roundup! The big news around here is that we got a new puppy! Her name is Rosie. She's the second Aussie we've owned, and she is such a sweetheart. Among all the usual things, we've successfully introduced her to our daily walk (she went the entire way without a problem!); the stairs down to the dock (she was a little scared at first, but as soon as we put her little feet on the first stair, she was good to go); the lake (she put her paws in and got a drink; a boat ride (she let the wind ruffle her fur then curled up next to my feet for the rest of the ride). She's just an easy-going, friendly, doll of a puppy. I'm in love with her! And I want to do the best I can for her. And so, I give you "The New Puppy Promise."

The New Puppy Promise

Puppy, I promise to make a home for you

where you will always be safe.

I will be patient with you as you learn

where to do your business

and what not to chew.

I will play with you every day

and take you on grand adventures,

so you, too, can see the world.

I will listen to what your ears and tail

and eyes are telling me.

I will help you find your favorite spot

to be scratched.

I will let you be a dog who barks and romps,

but I will also take the time to show you

how to be courteous to me and to others.

Sometimes we may disagree.

Sometimes we may get mad

and hurt each other's feelings.

But Puppy, I promise to never give up on you.

Please don't give up on me!

I may be slow sometimes, but I will learn.

I will do what it takes to keep you healthy.

I will be generous with walks and hugs and treats.

Each day we'll discover new things together.

You will be mine, and I will be yours – forever.

- Irene Latham

Some Thoughts About Home

front porch chalk message

Today's Spiritual Journey Thursday is on the topic of "home is where the heart is." Please visit Donna at Mainely Write for Roundup!

Nothing makes me appreciate home as much as taking a vacation. :) Of course home is mostly being with the people you love, not a place.

But it IS a place too.

When Paul and I started out, we lived in a house he bought before we met, in a Jefferson County neighborhood that was a little too close to the place where I went to high school.

Before we were even married, we bought 40 acres on Beaver Creek Mountain in St. Clair County and soon built a house in the center of it. Talk about secluded! And we had these marvelous mountain views... we lived there for 5 years before deciding to move for better schools and to be closer to Paul's work. It was such a tough thing to leave that place! The things we do for our kids...

our 20 year house

For 20 years we lived in the suburbs of north Shelby County, and yes, I was happy. Yes, we had so many good times! And it was a great house, for what (and where) it was. I mean, we raised a family there. And I wrote quite a few books there!

But no place has felt like home to me the way our current home does, here in rural Blount County.

"Love Shack" art,
complete with 2 blue birds (!),
a found treasure from Key West.
I love how it's a little wonky -
just like us!

At first, when we weren't living here full-time, we called it "the lake house." Then it became the "Love Nest." Which, yes, is cliche, but it fit! Sometimes we called it the "Love Shack," too, but that just sounds so, well... you know.

Since we've moved in, we've wanted to give the place a more formal name. I guess we have, sort-of. We (well mostly I) call it the Happy Rabbit Hideaway. (The house came with quite a few real and not-real rabbits.)

To carry on the naming thing, my studio is The Purple Horse Poetry Studio and Music Room. (The name traveled with us from the last house... turns out creative studios move right along with their creators.)

the Easter Porch 

Also, we have a slab of rock at the top of the bluff overlooking the lake that we call not so originally "The Overlook." And we have a deck/porch mid-way down the bluff we've just christened the "Easter Porch" -- because the first meal we shared with family there was on Easter of last year.


So anyway, maybe a home is not just the people you love, maybe it's a place you can name?

Thank you for reading! Looking forward to reading everyone else's thoughts about home!