Vol. 4, Issue 3 | December 2018 - March 2019

 
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editor's note

I lived on the same cul-de-sac from birth to graduation, and it wasn’t until I went away to college that I realized how rare that is, especially considering the reason my family has stayed has nothing to do with nearby relatives, job security, or even a tight budget. My childhood weekends were filled with open houses, running through plastic-covered carpet hallways fighting with my sisters over which room would be mine.

Today, twenty-six years after they bought that home in 1992, my parents are still spending their weekends touring bigger and more modern houses between the hours they spend mowing the lawn, tending to the garden, and vacuuming the floors I grew up on.

“Neighborhood” is one of those terms no one seems to need an explanation for. On a surface level, it’s the street you live on and the people around you. Our cul-de-sac was filled with a variety of personalities: my little sister’s best friend; the baseball coach from our competing high school; a family of musicians who eventually moved to Nashville to start a recording studio; and, of course, sweet, blind Mr. Bill who, despite his 6:00 P.M. bedtime, doesn’t slow down for a minute. . . . Read more in the journal.

Katie Howerton, Editor-in-Chief