The small tricycle rattled along the muddy dirt road, heading towards the village.
As far as the eye could see, there were lush green mountains and clear rivers, a truly delightful landscape. In the distance, small farmhouses were built into the hills, with curling plumes of smoke rising.
Crossing a creek bridge, they arrived at the village entrance.
By the creek, several women were doing laundry. Upon seeing me, they all started scrutinizing me. Blackstone Village was small, with few residents who were all familiar with each other. So when a stranger arrived, it was sure to draw attention.
"Hey! Whose kid is this?"
A group of women started discussing.
Suddenly, a woman stood up, surprised, "Whoa? Is that little Charlie?"
"Little Charlie? Isn't that Nancy's son?"
Nancy Green was indeed my mother's name.
I stopped and looked over, then called out to my aunt. The middle-aged woman who stood up was indeed my aunt, Sarah Anderson.
