Knock. Knock.

Knock. Knock. Knockknockknockknockknockknock!

Over the past couple of weeks, Sally's abnoxious knock has actually softened. I quickly walk around to open our back door to the familiar face of my neighbor.

"HEY nayber! Just to let you know your spigot's got a leak. Tried shuttin it off but it won't stick. Your landlord's gonna be payin' plus there's plenty of ice too. Say, it don't bother me but I just thought I'd tell ya."

"Come on in!" shouts Rachel from the kitchen. I realize the door's standing wide open and Sally may as well come in before too much cold air does. Sally obliges. Rachel happens to be sticking a tray of

An Unfamiliar, Scary Place

GUEST BLOG by Rachel McClenahan

Because a snowstorm was predicted overnight, I jumped out of bed on Friday morning to see how much snowfall had accumulated.  With just a dusting on the cars in the neighborhood, I got dressed and headed out the door.  Today, a foster care worker and I were driving to Detroit and I would meet the 11-year-old boy whom I was assigned as an adoption worker.

Ethan* is the only child on my caseload who does not reside in a foster/pre-adoptive home.  He is currently in a residential home, or a children’s home staffed by caseworkers and therapists, and today he would be going to a new residential home.  He had run away and threatened staff/other children so often that he needed more supervision and care.  The new home will be his fifth placement since coming into foster care over a year ago.

After a two hour drive, we arrived to where Ethan was residing.  Fifteen minutes later his therapist brought him to where we were waiting and the foster care worker introduced me as his new adoption

I Am My Tracks

Snowshoeing is new to me. I got some for Christmas but this last week is the first time there's been enough snow for me to get out there and stomp around. Yesterday the clouds pulled back, revealing a bright sun glistening and sparkling from the soft pillow of snow covering the whole forest. My new snowshoes were strapped on, pushing through the white and spraying my dark jeans with frosty powder. With snowshoes, it's much more fun to walk through the deepest snow.

I found faded footprints leading up a hidden trail and followed them way back into the woods, toward Lake Michigan. The trail split and headed down into a ravine, where a wooden fence stood guard as I walked around it. The footprints were smaller now, but I was determined to reach the lake. Branches heavy with snow hung over my path. Fallen trees made a jungle gym through which I clumsily maneuvered, my feet framed by snowshoes. Wind blew the treetops above, from which fell big clumps of snow all around. I was