The heavy heat of summer left on a cool fall morning. On a desk in the downstairs office was an
open, green composition notebook and a newly sharpened Ticonderoga pencil. On page 1 was the date and a short list of
attainable goals for housecleaning, that day.
The house on Popcorn Road raised one happy eyebrow and creaked with joy.
Daybook: Backyard. This will take months. Her mother was a gardener. Her husband is a gardener. She loves wildflowers, butterflies and birds and the smell of good dirt and manure, but not digging in the dirt. Months ago, the husband brought home what looked like 3" fused pinecones and left them on the dining room table, which is where they sat gathering dust, no explanation given. They were hard and deep brown. In clearing off the dining room one day, they were shifted to a cardboard box, out of the way. Weeks later a thin, dark brown vine grew out of the box, exploring the cabinetry above. They were alive. She asked him, “What are these,” and he replied, “Some kind of potato. MaryAnn gave them to me.” ‘Rock-hard potatoes,’ she thought, 'Anything that wants to live that badly deserves water and dirt.' She carried the 3 pinecone potatoes to the backdoor stoop to find them a home. A larg...