After the eighth chicken and dumpling bowl was stacked back in the cupboard and the rest of our extended family had departed for home or a nap, Mema and I took long walks on Sunday afternoons through endless pine and oak in the backcountry of southeastern North Carolina. Out of my Sunday dress and into overalls, we’d catch the dirt road from her backyard and follow the sandy wheel paths, she in one and I in the other. White parallel lines lay straight ahead but then disappeared into the maze-dense woods. I never wanted this time to change. But lately on weekdays, you could hear logging trucks rumbling huge trees out to the highway.