I’ve dropped my broom
Recent Articles
Gathering Chips
One of my favorite photographs hangs in my bathroom. At its center is a wheelbarrow, with wooden handles, braces, and legs. The ten-spoke wheel is iron. Cow chips – dry dung – are stacked two feet high in the tray. They also litter the grassy landscape, which is over-exposed and unending. In black and white, each chip looks like a […]
John
This summer I walked behind John in the woods. I followed him as he followed the trail. “Flies are getting bad,” he’d grumble, reaching for the tobacco in his pocket. I quickened my step whenever John puffed on his pipe, trying to reach the smoke without clipping the backs of his old leather boots. Woodsmen like John know that smoke […]
In town
I followed my mother down a winding forest path. The trail head peaks through the trees that line the softball field down the street from my house. You wouldn’t know it was there if you weren’t looking for it. Gnarled tree roots reach up from the soil, weaving across the path—the perfect snare for an imprecise step. Gusts of wind had recently […]
Stacking Wood
This piece was originally written as part of a larger poetry and prose project that explored the author’s relationship with his family’s farm in Tennessee. Over a month-long span, he reflected daily on the lessons that the place and its people have taught him. The piece has been adapted for publication here. Two Decembers ago, we cut up a few […]