After living on a Farm in Tennessee (my version of Isak Dinesen’s, “I lived on a farm in Africa”), and walking the dirt, chert, gravel, and asphalted roads day after day, year after year—falling in my share of puddles along the way—learned their crooks, dips, and turns, and became accustomed to walking in the dark. Of course, it was much easier when we got flashlights, but even they were no guarantee on very dark nights. I witnessed the stages of the oak trees and their leaves from sprout, to bud, to leafing out, and then their turning and their fall. These were the trees through which we carved out our roads that connected us to each other and to the outside world. Continue reading →