The Jacksons

Andrew Jackson looked up from the newspaper he was reading at the kitchen table. “Did you hear that?” he said. “Hear what?” Andrew’s wife Rose did not look up from the pot she was stirring at the stove. “That noise,” said Andrew. “It was like a thump. Or a crunch. You didn’t hear it?” “No

Good morning Dad.” Jennifer Jackson ran her fingers through her tousled hair, as she sat down in the chair across the sunroom from her father. Andrew folded up the section of newspaper he had been reading and let it fall to the floor beside his chair. “And good morning to you,” he responded. “How did

Andrew Jackson dropped his newspaper to the floor beside his chair and sat for a moment staring out of the glass walls of the sunroom. Rain fell steadily outside and gusts of wind set the oak trees swaying in the backyard. A single yellowing leaf let go of its hold on a branch and was

Look Mom!” Little Allison Jackson pointed excitedly out across the water. The large bird she was pointing at glided silently through the air, so low above the water, that the black wingtip feathers almost skimmed the glassy smooth surface of the lake. “It’s a pemmican!” Allison’s mother, Jackie, laughed, as did her grandmother Rose who

Andrew Jackson ambled up the street in the direction of the café, his boot heels clicking lazily on the hard concrete sidewalk, his old Blue Bomber cap pulled down to shade his eyes from the hot Saturday morning sun. The thermometer outside the kitchen window had said it was 24° when he left the house

Rose Jackson looked up from her section of the newspaper and turned her head to peer out of the kitchen window. “Well, what do you know,” she said. “It’s the longest day of the year. Already.” Andrew looked up from the sports section and followed his wife’s gaze. “Winter is coming,” he said. “No no