Around the fire roasting a mastodon long ago, or fishing with ripe hot dogs, storytelling is as old as language, as old as man. It’s the anchors we bury, story by story, into our the landscape of our lives. Our local stories hold us against the current, hold us from floating away, alone.
lunch we made in the parking lot after buying most of the makings at the market: corn, potatoes, whole wheat bread (with Claire home made hummus) cole slaw and tomatoes. Everything from the market was so fresh it was probably picked that morning It reminded me of my Mother’s summer lunches.