Tidal Playground

This is a longform post in response to the Discover: Memory challenge. I spent my girlhood riding in the bow of a motorboat, through labyrinths of spartina grass, pulling wet hair from my eyes, licking salt from my lips, gathering sunlight on my freckled skin. My playgrounds were the brown rivers, the salt marshes, the barrier … Continue reading Tidal Playground

Oak Trees

Our oak is naked right now. Twiggy, brown, and bare. A few dry leaves hang on from last year, and at any place in the oak’s crown, it looks like you could snap a branch in half. I know it’s alive in there, but it’s hard to remember that this time of year. The stripped … Continue reading Oak Trees


When I was six years old, my parents began building a house on a tiny island called a “hammock.” We lived on Wilmingon Island at the time, in a ranch-style house in a small subdivision. Wilmington Island had several neighborhoods, but it was pretty far out in the boonies at the time — 10 minutes outside … Continue reading Lumber


My grandfather had a great round belly, and he wore dentures. He and my grandmother lived on a hundred acres of hilly land in dairy country, in Eatonton, Georgia. When we visited, I knocked the spider webs out of Nannie’s rubber boots each morning, and I walked through the dewy grass with Grandaddy to the … Continue reading Dentures