I gave one of the doors a pull, but it hardly even budged. A strange smell drifted out of the barn, a living stink. I wondered what was causing it.

“Barn’s been long shut up,” said Grandma.

“Jeez, Grandma,” I said. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Though I got to be honest, seems hard to sneak up on somebody in a field as big as this one.”

“I guess I was preoccupied,” I said. “What happened to this place?”

“Well, after your mom left, we had to get rid of the horses. Didn’t have half the help we used to, understand? Sold off a lot of the equipment, and then it just wasn’t worth it to keep the place open and clean.”

“What’s in there now?” I said.

Grandma shrugged. “Snakes, probably. Snakes and spiders and rats. Can’t think of anything else that would want to be in there.” She squinted her eyes at me. “Certainly not grandkids.”

“I was just curious,” I said.

“Dangerous habit, curiosity,” said Grandma. “Though I find it to be easily redirected.” She motioned with her hand. “Come along, Lee. I’ve got something a little special to show you.”

She led me to the Hummingbird Grove. The birds were out, flitting around, red-throated flames of them cast all over, bouncing and floating and hovering like gravity didn’t even exist, like there were no rules in the universe that couldn’t be broken.

“Sit down here,” she said. “Go on, right there in the grass. It’s a good spot, your momma liked it. It’ll do you good to sit there. No, on your knees with your feet folded under you. Right, like that, in supplication. You know that word?”

“I do,” I said. “It’s a humble prayer, right?”

“Humble is the operative word there, yes,” she said. “When you are in a holy place, it’s always best to take a knee.”

“What’s so holy about the Hummingbird Grove?”

“Well, what isn’t?” said Grandma. “To be frank, what natural place on this earth isn’t holy, so to speak? As in set apart, as in a possible paradise for us? The world doesn’t just exist, dear boy. It was created for us to delight in. Don’t you know that? Don’t you believe it in your heart?”

“That’s what Walt Whitman said, more or less. And Emerson and those guys.”

“I don’t know about all that,” said Grandma. “I was never much for poetry. Literature is a bit of a blind spot for me, always has been. But we collect our own holy texts, don’t we? The Bible for some folks, sure, but whatever’s out there, whatever speaks to you—a good meal, the night sky, the moon, poetry, whatever it is—that’s where your heart gathers its truth. That’s where the world sets its meaning in you. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” I said.

“Good. Smart boy.” She smiled at me. “Now Lee, I’m going to be completely honest with you, and I want you to do the same with me. Agreed? Okay. I know you have a gift.”