Juliana says. “You all had so many good places to hide.” Her tone isn’t exactly cozy, but she’s OK. She and I stand together in the Meadow Farm cutting garden next to some purple phlox and coral-colored coneflowers, looking toward the house. I ask, “And where would you hide if you had been a child here?” Juliana gives me a funny look and glances around. “Let’s see.” She puts her finger to her chin and then points. “How about the tree house near the side terrace?” I look at her, surprised. Frank must have told her about our secret tree house hidden in the low branches of that huge leafy sugar maple. Juliana has a twinkle in her eye as she gazes toward the tree that now only holds broken boards, the last remnants of our childhood hideaway. “Growing up here must have been wonderful…” She returns to selecting and snipping the stems of several of the phlox and coneflowers.
