And why did I never ask her a simple question?
What was it like where you were born, Mama? Was the countryside beautiful? Did you see mountains? hills? a river? Was the snow very deep in winter? Did you pick berries in the spring?
The truth is that even if I'd asked, Mama wouldn't have been much help. When it came to the natural world, she tended to be a little high-handed, Marxist even; something on the order of nature simply being an instrument in the course of human progress. "It was nice," she might have said. Or, "It wasn't so nice." Or, "It was the way it was. Snow? Berries? Sure, we had them."
How I Came Into My Inheritance by Dorothy GallagherPosted by naomi at Enero 8, 2004 07:46 PM