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"There was a fire pit behind the trailer, in a circle dug into the ground and lined with stones. Tinder had been gathered from the woods that ran up the hill and over, toward the creek. These were branches downed by storms, lightning-struck trees, or just some clearing out of brush that the farmer did. The real farmer, that is. The man who worked the land and lived in the real farmhouse. Not to be confused with my husband, who owned the land and worked in the city two hours away. It was our farm but we lived like tenants in the trailer, because mostly we weren't there. With the memorable exception of that summer, when I brought Del out of the city and Harry commuted to and from his office on the weekends. It was supposed to be a vacation, like summer camp, except we didn't go anywhere and there was only us: the farmer and his family in the house and me and my daughter in the trailer and my husband in his car, coming or going, depending on what day of the week it was..." Read the whole story in Moon City Review