I haven’t seen much of my husband lately. It’s a side-effect of Dana’s day job and his having grown up in Maine, working alongside his father, who ran a campground. By age 10, Dana and his two older brothers began learning how to drive a tractor, split wood, shock a well, wire electricity, run plumbing and build whatever was needed. I used to joke that I’d married the plumber, the electrician and the handyman.
Eighteen years ago, God blessed my husband, Dana, and I with our first home, a snug white New Englander abutting hundreds of acres of towering pine trees along your busy High Street. We brought our 9-month-old son, Judah, our long-haired black-and-white cat, Achilles – named for the black spots on his heels – a U-Haul of second-hand furniture and our dreams.