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Category: Romance
Description: A Collection of prizewinning love stories from the writing contest of eBooksonthe.net, including stories by: * Suzanne Mays, Grand Prize Winner * Brenda Boldin * Briseida Sancho * Mary Cox-Bilz * Brenda Hardy
eBook Publisher: ebooksonthe.net/ebooksonthe.net, 2003 ebook
eBookwise Release Date: December 2007

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [192 KB]
Words: 44319
Reading time: 126-177 min.

My name is Ada Johnson and for the beginning of my life I lived at a place called Fogged In Mountain. It was a rural place, far out in the country, that had forty acres of steep wooded hillside, a creek that ran close to the house, and a rutted driveway that went to the road.

The road was dirt for three long miles til you got to the hard road. The state crew came twice a year to grade it, but it was difficult, especially in winter, to live there. Over the years, most folks had moved away. There were still a few old falling down places, people came back to every summer. And there was still one mean old man who lived even farther up the road than I did. His name was Pappy. We were not kin, but since he'd known me all my life, he felt like he could tell me what to do. I always felt lucky to be born in a place that I liked, that way I never had to leave it.

My house was an old one. It was made of sawn oak logs that were chinked together and was exactly what you thought a log cabin should look like. It was a comforting house. Downstairs there was a large kitchen and a sitting room, with a stone fireplace in between them. Upstairs there were two small bedrooms under the eaves. Dad had enclosed the back porch for a bathroom, and I had running water and electric. It was exactly all I needed.

I built log cabins. Little ones, they're a doll house. I made all the parts from materials I got in the woods. I used small sawn logs, twigs, and little rocks for the chimney. My dad did this first and mom made all the extras. A tiny broom with real straw tied to a twig, cotton curtains, a stitched quilt for the bed, a rag rug for the floor. They did this as long as I remember, and after they died, I kept it up for myself.

The one thing that was different about my cabins was that I included my tree. There was a giant oak, before the house was. It was at least two hundred years old and had always been in my life, towering over the house like a huge protecting friend. Since the tree and the house were in my mind together, rooted to one another, it was natural for me to craft them together.

I loved my tree as much as my house. From my bedroom window, I looked out in summer and saw baby birds in their nests. In winter, I watched squirrels chase one another on branches piled with snow. And at night when I lay quiet and listened, my tree swayed in the wind above me and made peaceful, singing sounds to put me to sleep.