Essays by Karen Anderson

The only thing better than reading a wonderful book is re-reading it. Sure, there are plenty of good books I haven’t even read once—but a new book is a risk while an old one is a comfort.

My father wasn’t much of a cook but he always washed the dinner dishes. It was my job to dry and put them away.

Sometimes my mother would ask, in a not-happy voice, “Who was your servant last year?” I knew the answer and she knew I knew.

When I first met Betty she looked up from her book of wild flowers, gave me quick greeting and returned to her task of identifying a flower she had found in the woods.

The carefree life of a barefoot summer.

For the first hour, paddling seems effortless and I watch the scenery going by .... By hour two, my back is aching but when I cross my legs, the ache is gone.

The advice you get when you take a boat out on a like turns out to be pretty good life advice, too.

Practicing piano for popularity, with a healthy dose of youthful skepticism.