I grew up on Jacob Street in Wheeling, West Virginia. The house we lived in was enormous and named Ullom Flats. It had three huge floors and crazy back staircases. There were paths and walkways and mulberry trees and a grape arbor. It was the perfect place for a child to pretend and dream. It was my little sanctuary in the middle of a blighted city and a beautiful state. In my mind I still climb the elephant steps and feed the rabbits in the coal shed. I pick the violets and the rose of Sharon and crush purple mulberries under my heels. I still throw apples in the mean neighbor’s chimney and curl up in the forgotten attic rooms and read stacks of books. This haven is never far from my heart or my memories.
