I was born and raised in what used to be rural Madison County in North Alabama.

It was a kind of place where everyone knew everyone.

That meant kids always had to be good because misbehavior

would always make it back to their parents. In 1974, when I was eight, we had some of the

worst tornadoes this area has ever seen. My grandfather who lived in Mississippi died during those

from a heart attack. Afterwards, there were so

many trees down, it was hard to imagine it was the same place. There was a family that lived

about a half a mile away from ours who had girls close to my age. We would meet in the woods

and play. We made up names for different stands of trees, so we

always knew where to meet. The big stand that was the farthest from any of our houses was called

big pines. Little pines was closer to their house, and tiny pines was right behind my house. Our imagination in naming them knew no bounds.

Yeah, it's pretty original.

Oh, it just reminded me a story about my son, but I'll tell you all that another time.

She writes, the summer after the tornadoes changed the look of the woods a lot,

especially the big Pines area.

There was one place where three trees had fallen together that we decided to make our clubhouse.

The trees had fallen in sort of a triangle with one on top and two on the bottom.

Once we got inside and started cutting out the inner branches to give us room, it was perfect.

We started bringing in some stuff so that it was more homie and to make it our clubhouse.

It was still a time when kids were given free reign of their days. And I could tell my parents

that I was going to meet Donna in Big Pines and they'd answer,

okay, and that was enough for them. There was no checking in, no specific time to be home,

...