⚡Read✔[PDF] Dawn in the Dooryard: Reflections from the Jagged Edge of America

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Refections Fro? A?erica-'s Jagged Edge
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Dawn in the Dooryard Reflections from the Jagged
Edge of America
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Ive finally concluded that I am a writer. I
explained to a friend that I tried to keep it a
secret from myself. I felt that a public
admission, or worse, a declaration, might drop a
rusty anvil on how easily some stories drift
into my mind. Suddenly, my lifelong affliction of
excessive daydreaming made more sense to me.
Whether the world agrees with me or not, I amat
leasta writer. I could not tell someone that
with a straight face for a time. I can say it now.
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My close friends are not writers, and very few of
them read my stuff. Occasionally, during periods
of jest, they take friendly jabs and make
humorously derisive comments about choosing
writing as my second career. I often remind them
that words are easy putting them together in the
proper order has got me flummoxed. We laugh, but
they dont realize that I am not kiddingat all.
The order of the words is so essentialnot to
please grammarians, and certainly with no bowing
to critics. The order of the words must make me
feel as if Ive been successful in sharing my
stories with you. Ill never make it to the top
of the lists for the lauded, but I will walk
away knowing Ive been faithful to the stories
that float around within my head like maple
leaves released from branches by invisible yet
mighty autumn winds. Many of those stories have
settled on these pages. As for Dawn in the
Dooryard, its a collection of stories because I
am a collection of stories, just like you are.
ExcerptCast Iron Stories Poor planning reared
its ugly head at 0337 hours. My nose indicated
that I should have put in a little firewood. I
slept with the sliding glass doors wide open, and
I was under the impression that the sleeping bag
was going to be plenty. Then, dawn showed up and
immediately made it clear that her toes were
cold. Ellie began using her nose to nudge me
from my slightly chilled slumber. It was a 400
oclock conundrum. I decided if she was going
out, I might as well head to the woodpile to
grab a few sticks of yellow birch. This was a
summer with very few fires in the wood stove.
Usually rainy daysand some Mondayscall for a
smudge of a fire to dry out your bones. This
summer has been very warm with few rain showers.
I found a couple of paper plates that had been
thrown in the stove from happier and more
festive summer gatherings. I added a few pieces
of kindling and discovered that the dormant
Vermont Castings stove was still willing to creak
and groan to life. Cast iron talks, and its
nice to listen to the stories. We are cutting
wood later today, so
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this warm little space, complete with a
now-snoring dog, is a good reminder of why we
cut and split wood in the first place. We do it
because dawn will have cold toes for the
foreseeable future. We want to make sure we try
to keep her happy.
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Dawn in the Dooryard Reflections from the Jagged
Edge of America
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