Little Cabin By The River

I was about six years old and a bit feisty. Some things never change. My mama was fussing at me-so I decided to run away. Mama saw me packing a suitcase and asked what I was doing. "I'm running away," I told her. She informed me that it was probably for the best since she was so mean and all. She only had one condition: I was not allowed to take anything that she or my daddy had bought for me. We went through my Hello Kitty suitcase together and removed all such items-which left me with nothing, not even a suitcase. Mama cleared her throat and said, "Those shoes . . . we bought them . . . and the socks . . . and the shorts . . . and the shirt . . . oh, and those panties." Butt-naked, with my hand on my hip, I grabbed the lip gloss I had purchased with my own money and marched right out the door. I hopped on my bike, which was a gift from my godparents, and rode down the street to our music minister and his wife's house. I told them how my mama had taken away everything I owned but my lip gloss and my bicycle. I asked them if I could live with them. --Emily Bray, 38 years old, Memory Project Participant Little Cabin on the Trail inspires folks to assign great value to their seemingly insignificant memories and encourages them to use those memories to become their family storytellers. Personal stories give everyone permission to pause and consider that there really is a bigger picture, an eternal picture, where past, present, and future generations are linked, not only through their blood, but through their stories. Little Cabin on the Trail will certainly entertain readers with its view into one very ordinary family's life; but more importantly, it will help them to realize that they, too, have stories just begging to be told--better stories . . . because they are theirs.