I write from an attic on a small farm about the things that mean something to me, with the idea that the personal is also universal.

I grew up with five brothers and a sister in a turn of the century Victorian with hardwood floors, intricate woodwork, nooks and crannies, a tower room, a claw foot tub, and the occasional bat. My mother restored the house, stripping layers of paint off the woodwork and shag carpet off the floors, turning a neglected former duplex into the beautiful home it was built to be. The house, now demolished to make room for a parking lot, is a central character in the stories of my childhood and set the framework for what I consider beautiful.

The house was a parsonage and my father, the minister, built (with my two older brothers) a house for my mother that could be her own. The New House, as we called it during the five years it took to build, sits not far from the Mississippi river on a small farm we call Anderwood.

Since 2010 I've worked as a farmhand on my family's farm, assisting with birthing, butchering, and everything in between.

Contact me: anderwoodattic[@]gmail.com

Unless otherwise noted, photos are my own and may only be used with permission. 

© The Attic at Anderwood Maira Gall.