I took five cream-colored cardstock envelopes out of the bottom drawer of my desk and laid them side by side on my green blotter.

I took my black fountain pen out of my purse and carefully wrote the names on the front of each envelope: Ron and Judy, Kim and her boys, Jeff and Stacy.

Inside each card, I wrote six lines in dark ink, inviting them all to a hot Sunday roast dinner at four o’clock in the afternoon.

At the bottom of the card, I wrote the location: County Road 14, two miles west of the grain elevator, where the red mailbox stood beside the two willow trees.

I didn’t write the word farm, and I didn’t write the word purchase.