Tucson, 1986 I hang out wash on an Arizona morning. Damp cotton clings cool on my arm. Wooden pins and curve of rope, sun yellow dress, dusky rose towels, underwear bright spots of blue and pink against the smooth sweep of sheets. Down the path to the hen-house I find three eggs under the straw,
Heritage is an inheritance, a kind of gift, good or bad, we receive from the past – cannot avoid receiving, since it’s ingrained in our character and being. Even when we may not recognize it or admit it (and especially if we do), it’s an essential element in who we are. As Quakers, we carry our generally unwritten heritage forward, especially in unprogrammed meetings.