Now, more than ever, I needed to go home to Mother.
I spent much of September watching the hummingbirds fight over sugar water. What a waste of energy, I thought.
The American Dream is alive and well just around the corner, a short walk from Trouts Farm.
“Chicken TV is keeping me sane,” she says, as we soak in that timeless world, mesmerized by their languid pecking and the occasional drop of a leaf.
Fun with Dick and Jane followed: a secular version of worldly wisdom with pages splashed in pictures of apple-cheeked children under blue skies. I devoured my lessons, turning them over in my mind before I fell asleep at night, wondering which ones held the key to family harmony.