Summer is here again; every year is the same and different. The price of Rescue-Me hardbacks from the library has dropped to zero, and now they land by the boxload right next to a room where I teach. One night last winter I thought I was dreaming, culled for hours, and walked out with eighteen beauties.
Today at home, one of my students walked in with a copy of his uncle's book, autographed especially for me. Fiddler's Ghost. No person raised on Missouri lore could fail to be moved.