When we, Lord willing, move to Nanticoke, this will be our new cemetary. It's in the middle of a cow pasture, and, for the record, it's where I'd like my earthly skin laid down. My Grandpa and Grandma Manwaring and Aunt Shirley are buried there, and I've spent many hours sitting with my back against those trees.

Right after he flew back from London, on his first surprise visit to Nanticoke, John and I walked there in the cold and darkness with the snow falling thick between our shy knowing. Six months later, just a few months before our wedding, we walked there in the heat and cricketsound, comfortable and silent together. He lost his pocket watch among the tombstones, and though we almost lost hope, we finally found it nestled against one, caught in blades of grass and the beam of our flashlight.