This is me, sitting in one of the best "homes" I have ever known -- "Glenburnie," the little cabin my grandfather from Scotland built on the Tygart Valley River near Fairmont, West Virginia nearly 80 years ago. 

I spent most of my summers here, swimming in the river, exploring the hills, catching fireflies at night, listening to God's voice in the sounds of thunder or crickets or hoot owls or wind or rain. Or silence.

Come morning, a symphony of birds would waken us -- all seven of us kids -- and as soon as we were dressed, we'd race down the terrace to the river where we'd either paddle the canoe or swim to the other side of our river and climb on the rocks. This world was ours to explore. 

If any place taught me about who I am, it is this humble little place. If any place taught me how to write, it is this place, too, where I could find the time and space to listen to my own thoughts, hear my own heart, and wonder about this world and just exactly where this barefoot girl might fit in all of it.

I'm still in wonder.