With the poetry of plain speaking, Shannon Hitchcock recreates the daily drama of a vanished world.

This is how you hold onto your family. You hold them with open hands so they are free to find futures of their own. It's just that simple.

Only the nonreader fears books.

Grandma, how old is she?" "Oh I don't know." Grandma said. "You'd have to cut off her head and count the rings in her neck.

I caught a glimpse of happiness, and saw it was a bird on a branch, fixing to take wing.

I read because one of these days I'm going to get out of this town, and I'm going to go everywhere and meet everybody, and I want to be ready

The only way you can write is by the light of the bridges burning behind you.