Grace

Finding Grace at the Northernmost Border

From Chicken to Dawson City Driving away from Chicken, I paused on the hillside across the creek and used my binoculars to look down at Tisha’s schoolhouse. I could barely see the roof of the building—but at least I could claim that I had ‘seen’ it now. My postcard would have to suffice for a photo, though. The Milepost showed that I would need to travel 108 miles to reach Dawson City, Yukon Territory. My route would take me over…

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Refined by the Library

Nursing a Grudge From the moment I learned to love books, I have had a love-hate relationship with the library. Before I could read, I loved the library because it held a treasure-trove of books with pictures. I could pull them off the shelves and invent the stories in my head. Sure, I knew that someone else had created words that directed the story of the pictures, but I didn’t care. The pictures contained all I needed to create my…

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How to Carve a Turkey With Grace

Two Turkeys He strutted into my fifth-period English class late and noticed I stood firmly in the spot across from his girlfriend. He grabbed a chair and swung it over a classmate’s head and plopped it in the narrow space between where I stood and his former seatmate. I bent down and whispered, “Remember. You don’t sit here any more.” “Yes I do,” he said. “I can sit wherever I want to.” “Actually, you can’t,” I said. “You’ve been distracting…

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