It tasted like summer evenings when Grandpa would walk in carrying a basket and tell me to wash my hands before dinner.

For a long time, I had thought the house was valuable because it had twenty-four acres, a large kitchen, and a master bedroom with tall windows.

Those things had value, of course.

Richard and the accountant could put numbers beside them.

But the deeper value lived in the ordinary moments no appraiser could record.

The years Grandpa waited for me outside school.

The soup he made when I was sick.