By Liz Garton Scanlon and Tricia Springstubb
Liz: I like to imagine we’re together in an actual garden – dirt underneath our fingernails and a bunch of seed packets newly emptied into the ground.
Tricia: Oh, yes! Is anything more hopeful than planting a seed? When I was seven or eight, I grew two straight lines of zinnias. The magic of watching a small, shrivel-y pod send up a green shoot,
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By Tricia Springstubb
For years I’ve visited a small, Lake Erie island, a short ferry’s ride from the mainland. I go there in the summer or early autumn, when the water is still warm and the light golden.
Along with the other tourists, I walk the shore, drink the bad local wine, sigh over the sunsets.
Come the first hint of winter, though, I’m out of there,
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