Sweetie, it’s to diiiiie for. They make Adirondack chairs out of actual treeeeees. Come with us to the store, you’ll love it.

I scowl. We get out of the rental car, but I am still exhausted. When my brother has a sour fit, he wins his battle. I get frustrated. My parents do not have the tolerance for discipline in a crowded car. They prefer to surrender than to endure the cacophony.

The country furniture store smells of oak, cherry, and intoxicating pine. I breathe deeply, and collapse into a rocking chair made of an entire tree stump. Surprisingly comfortable.


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