When i first moved to this valley in hopes of uncovering my own Morgan Bones, my familiar family history told in Grandma Morgan's leather tooled photo albums, i noticed a home cradled by the bough of one grand cottonwood and got an idea: what if i just sat with that old wooden lady and let her tell me her story....well, it all came together yesterday as i actually got invited in to help a friend memorialize her great, great grandparents home...the old wooden lady under the tree. As i took the photos the stories unfolded...stories of how grandma would wash on tuesday, bake bread on monday, turn up the radio and tell the grandkids to hush every hour on the hour when there was a news update.
I know now that i am to pursue the skin prickles, follow my senses, gather the images, note the words...the story must be told. This is all i know today.
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