The barn was lit by a single lightbulb. Cement floors dusted with straw, three by three stalls packed with chickens and goats. The first one to my right held two palm-sized puppies with their mother, her ribs looking like pretzels covered in caramel. She was the old man’s breeder, had watched at least a dozen …
This photo was taken on December 4th, the First Friday arts celebration of the month in downtown York. I had never been to the tree lighting ceremony in the city before, and when my boyfriend, Ryan, found out, he said going was a must. It was stunning: 40-ish feet of a healthy pine with lights the shapes of …
During my junior year at York College of Pennsylvania, my friends and I decided after we got back from semester break to build a gingerbread house. We were unable to see each other over the Christmas holiday, so we figured it would be a fun thing we could do together to celebrate. We listened and sang …
We tell ourselves stories in order to live. —Joan Didion, The White Album I was fond of Christmas as a kid, what with all the presents and candy and general atmosphere. It was a time of year when it was okay to eat too much, watch too much television, stay in one’s pajamas until dinner. …
Finding a Christmas picture took some digging. My family has never done greeting cards or family photos. We don’t have any special holiday traditions, except the standard presents underneath a tree on Christmas morning. However, thinking about it, I can’t actually remember the last time my mom, dad, sister, and I gathered around the …
[This is the first of a series of holiday story-pictures, or storyographies, from our editors and staff.] Christmas Eve. 2013. My daughters, Emma and Sophia, track Santa on Google Maps. “Daddy, he’s flying over China.” And he is—an animated sleigh, the reindeer, bouncing across the screen. “He’ll be here soon, Daddy.” There’s a calm in this moment, …