SG | You don’t go for the gas,offered from two pumpsbleached by decades of sunthe handles thick with grease,the corroded metal lever that makes the gas comea mystery. You’re unsure if it would even shut off automatically,or if gasoline would spill outwhile you’re inside,stammering an archaic-feeling“Fill-up on 2, please,”as the gas pools along the roadsideand the... Continue Reading →
CG | When I was a kid in the early 80s, Pop and I used to walk the property at his fish cabin on Lake Jordan, checking the bluebird boxes. If I’d unwisely chosen to go barefoot on one of our forays, I’d find myself anxiously threading my way between pine cones, fire ant hills,... Continue Reading →
SG | Several times over the course of a Tuesday, my family and I passed a plump, iridescent cicada laying belly up in the driveway right in the path between the garage and the car. Late in the day, on my last trip outside, I happened to pause and study the poor little guy, as... Continue Reading →
SG | In my grandparents' boathouse on Lake Jordan, northwest of Wetumpka, Alabama, there was a three-foot long span of one-inch metal pipe leaned up near the doorway. You could find it there year-round, except for one day when it was called into service: the Fourth of July. On that day each year, it would... Continue Reading →
