Dogwood Chapter 2

The Castle on The Mountain

I grew up in a boarding house with a dogwood tree at our gate and for nearly three decades my family has seen a never-ending tide of guests flow through. At last count, I have met a lot of people and made a lot of beds.

My mother (The Believer) was born to welcome strangers and none of our guests stayed strange to each other for very long. When I was 6, she hired college students to design and paint my bedroom into a castle so that I might have my own refuge from our home’s unpredictable parade. So strong are The Believer’s gifts, she even taught the walls of our house to cast their own spells.

The artists came in shifts during their free periods to work on the fantasy that wasn’t meant for any school play. They giggled at their college kid gossip and I watched the plaster walls of my bedroom transform to sponge-painted turrets opening to endless blue sky.

I have built my life and my work on the belief that home is both haven and art project. My castle fortress, those who painted it, and The Believer’s ceaseless imagination taught me the tangible care we can give each other with humor, rest, hospitality, and more than a little make-believe.

haus of bambi dances on that foundation.