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The man took one look at the name, ran out the door, jumped into his truck, and tore off down the road trying to catch a van. He never did. By the time he reached North Fork, he turned around, went back to the store, and copied down my address.

My daughter came home from junior high with an extra credit assignment—fill out a family tree going back to her great-grandparents. She set the blank papers on my desk and headed off with her girlfriend.

Every story on this site began somewhere. For me, it began with a trip I took in the summer of 1972—long before I knew what I was really looking for.