Fall 2014, Sustenance
This fall my family gathered at my parents’ house in South Carolina for a weekend of canning. It felt fitting, in the midst of editing work for this issue, to put food by for the winter.
Hungry and observant cooks would have noticed the texture of the pages salvaged from the spent fire, a crispness and pliability recalling firsthand accounts of certain meats.
I told her fishermen only ever care about two days, one being today, and the other being the day they swear they caught the big one.
Determined to nourish her bereaved grandfather, a mother conquers the bathroom scale of her childhood and works to accept the tension between eating too much and too little.
Revisiting a beloved poem, a writer parses the “glittering voices” of birds, her boys, and Ellen Bass.