One Potato Review

A father writes his children to inform – and to try to console – them about the fate of a tree bearing the name of a mispronunciation from many years before: “... in a world filled with strangers, peace comes with having things you can count on and a safe place to return to after a hard day or a long trip. Which brings me to the point of this letter…” Because the fact of a tree dying in our midst, or in our lifetimes, can seem like a spectacularly unlucky coincidence, and worse, we cannot usually appreciate its blessings till it’s gone: the buds and leaves and cones and rustling shadows and clockwork metamorphoses and places to lean against and climb and hide from winters and predators and each other. How me measure ourselves. Measure time. This book sneaks up on you. Heartfelt and spry.