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every hour for snacks and potty time,” I told Nana after our embrace. We were standing under the enormous cherry tree that divided the property line between my dad’s house and Nana’s house. This was the very cherry tree which held three rope swings when I was a kid. I would climb up the tree, jump out while grabbing onto the rope, and swing my short little legs around a small log my dad had tied into the bottom of the rope for a seat. I was always a little shorter than my sister and all my cousins, so when I jumped, I was swinging for about three seconds with just my hands on the rope before I was able to wrap my short legs around the log. I remembered the tree being the biggest thing in the yard growing up, but it never reached the house. I looked up to see a branch overtaking my dad’s roof. It was light in color, and without the leaves the rest of the branches showed.
    “Daddy, have you thought about cutting that cherry tree branch? It just might wrap itself around your whole house soon if you don’t cut it. It even looks as if it might be dying. The rest of the tree is okay, right?” In the moment, I noticed how big all the trees were. When my parents built the house, the lot was a soybean field. Now, the holly trees we planted when I was a little girl were taller than the house and wrapped around each corner of the house in giant prickly hugs. The maple tree I ran over with the lawn mower as a young teenager looked to be about thirty feet tall; and to think I was afraid I had killed it summers long ago when it was barely a twig.
    “I trimmed it about two years ago, Nikki, but the past two years I’ve had to get Nana’s yard cleaned up from the tornado, so I haven’t had time to work much on my yard,” Dad said. A devastating tornado had ripped through the little town and dropped the tops of dozens of trees close to homes and cars just after it had torn apart one of the many beautiful local churches. The whole town spent the summer cleaning up after the tornado. Many were still rebuilding more than two years later. From our home in Boulder, I watched the news and saw reports of all the damage in the area. I remember feeling helpless seeing images of people I had once known and buildings where I had once played falling apart. When I came to visit months after clean-up had begun, it still resembled a weather war zone. It always amazed me how such a beautiful place could be so unknown or so forgotten in the big world. It was where real life happened. Those of us who live and work in or near cities have no clue what country life is really like. Those people worked their land, traded for food, and drove fifty miles to fuel their cars and gather a few groceries. Those were the reasons I left, but there was still a beauty to it, to which I find myself attracted. But I was always quickly reminded of what I didn’t like about it on my third trip to the grocery store fifty miles away. Life there was not about convenience, it’s about living, sailing, fishing, and gossip. I found it fun about one to two weeks a year.
    An hour later, we had the car unpacked and had heard all the latest gossip from Nana. I found her gossip was true since she knew everyone and usually got it all firsthand. I could be away from this place for years, spend an hour with Nana, and be caught up on everyone in town over a couple of cups of hot tea. Chris called to let me know he was on his way with our children in tow. Everyone was worn out and hungry, so I started rummaging through Dad’s cabinets and fridge for food with an ounce of nutrition. One thing I’ve noticed is when men are alone for too long, their diets turn to frozen food, chips, and soda. Vegetables and fruit can spoil, so they tend to not bother buying them. I made a note to drive the several miles to the grocery store and stock up for the duration of our visit. My kids would love eating junk food, but I could only handle them on junk food for about one meal. After one meal,