|Cherokee Roses in spring, on the road to Mother Hillery’s house.|
When I’m home by myself overnight, I lock up like Mother Catherine Hillery. She was the thoughtful elderly church mother and dear cousin on Sapelo Island who wouldn’t answer the door after sunset — no exceptions.
She’d call our house in the late afternoon and say “Come get a piece of this bread pudding before the sun go down.”
The kids would scurry down the dirt road to beat that sun because the bread pudding was always warm and delicious, and she usually would slip them some pocket change.
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