I grew up hearing tales of what happened "over yonder" in the sound and woods of Currituck, North Carolina. These stories gave me a sense of rootedness I've seldom come close to since my early childhood. I see glimpses of it in conversations with good friends, in the stories that develop as we travel the same roads on our ways to work, school, and the grocery store. As our roots weave across one another's, when our life's energy comes from the same proverbial dirt... this is when we begin to feel we are home. I think our feeling of home comes more from this sense of being rooted in stories, than where we eat dinner most nights. I think our world needs more stories that address this emotional homelessness. I hope to tell those stories!