Show Navigation  the house burned down  28 images Created 31 Jan
2013  In December my brother awakened me with an early morning
phone call. "The house burned down," he said, in disbelief. "I'm
on a neighbor's couch."  The house was the house in Hillsboro
where we grew up, where he and our parents still lived. The fire
department could not determine a cause, only that an explosion
had occured, the flames were thirty feet high, and the house was
gone in thirty minutes.  Last week, as I drove up to the ruins,
two deer bounded out of the ashes. I don't know what they were
looking for. I only found a few things that were even remotely
recognizable:  My grandfather's tools and coin collection.  My
father's tie rack, with bits of carbonized polyester.  A couple
cast iron pots.  Melted porcelain and glass.  A stack of my
charred and soaking-wet college papers, all stuck together, with
notes for songs-in-progress.  A sheaf of letters regarding wheat
and other crops, written in very old-looking script.  Metal
skeletons