My husband is thirty-six today. Here he is, newly two. I love all his childhood birthday pictures. He is darling and earnest, ready to pounce on flames and frosting.

Some things never change.

Springtime brings thoughts of bulbous robins, drenching rains, and flowers powering through soil and winter’s debris. It also brings to mind gruesome family folklore. Tonight, the woodchoppers will come.

Woodchoppers visit people who go to bed with dirty feet. According to my dad, who heard the tale from his dad, who probably heard it from […]