Uncle Art, our family historian, always had stories to tell—and the blizzard before Christmas and the Davis Road Church was one he especially loved. When Art was a young boy, horses and wagons took parishioners to church. It was nearly an all-day affair, with the women bringing a hearty meal to share at noon-time. Mid-December brought frigid temperatures, and extra wool blankets in the wagon did little to ward off the cold. Then a blizzard came. Snowdrifts higher than wagon wheels halted...

I managed to sneak in a beach walk just ahead of sunset, in between one of this week’s tremendous king tides. Massive driftwood logs were scattered across the shore as if they were nothing more than toothpicks. But now, everything was still. Not a single wave reached the shore. The final full moon of the year—the Cold Moon—brightened as the sun lowered in the sky. I knew I’d need to turn back soon, but I kept walking. I had names to speak aloud on that beach. There’s Wyatt—enduring brutal but...

When I was eleven, our school band needed new equipment—and that meant selling candy bars door-to-door. In a neighborhood like mine, I knew everyone, and everyone knew me, so it wasn’t hard. But I saved Mr. Hermes house for last. Mr. Hermes was a neighbor several homes down from my own. He had a meticulous lawn and manicured shrubs, and he wore what seemed to be permanent scowl. I knocked. The door opened slowly. Mr. Hermes looked down at me with the same authoritarian expression he probably...