
…built and laddered by my grandfather, hoisted into the joint of a giant cottonwood in our backyard. A doctor and his wife lived across our street a little before it ran from asphalt to dirt, and once when I slammed my finger in a car door, my mother and I found him working in his shop; he quickly yanked off the hanging fingernail and pushed my head between my legs until I had enough blood in my head to stand without wobbling.