The per capita density of ATV's and guns must be pretty high in West Virginia, and my parents' place is no exception, so Jack and Julia enjoy the thrill of driving. We shoot old soda cans from the rail-road track across the yard. But mostly we just explore the woods and the river. Point out the way a birch twig tastes like root beer, or how sycamore trees with their peely white bark lean out over the river. Jump off rocks and splash. Walk or drive up the road to a high spot for cell phone reception to check in with Caleb and Luke once a day. Watch 1940's movies with my mom at night (Cassablanca, you can't beat that, and the lesser known The Best Years of our Lives, which is a post war re-entry tale that hits close to home in many ways). There is some time here to be quiet in the woods, to listen and pray, that we need as we head into a month of testifying and travel.
If by sea or land I roam (and we have done both), still I think of happy home (not sure where that is, but this is as close as anyplace), and my friends among those West Virginia Hills . . .