You can leave a place in an afternoon. It takes years to leave it properly.
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The Long Afternoon · Book One
Notes on Leaving Home and Finding It Again
“You know you’ve left home when you start calling it ‘back home.’”
Walt Penney grew up in a stone village in the English dales and has spent fifty winters on the Canadian prairie. In Homeward he looks back at both places: the church clock that loses two minutes every Thursday, his mother’s four-minute kettle, the bus that carried him away, and the porch light he still leaves on. Fifty short observations, each paired with a quiet watercolour.

Look inside
Every spread pairs a watercolour with a single line from Walt. Some pages carry a short story. Most leave room to remember your own.
You can leave a place in an afternoon. It takes years to leave it properly.
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Mum’s kettle took four minutes. I could have boiled water faster anywhere. I never wanted to.
She filled it too full; she always had. While it rumbled we stood at the counter talking about nothing, the weather, the neighbour’s new fence. By the time it clicked off, I’d usually said the thing I came home to say.
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My father’s boots stayed by the back door long after his feet stopped needing them.
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The series
Small illustrated books for the quieter years of life. Each one gathers Walt Penney’s observations on a single part of a long life, paired with soft watercolours. Books to keep, and books to give.
Book One · Out now
On leaving home, going back, and the two places Walt calls home.
“At seventy-four I’ve finally learned to walk at the speed of the dog.”
Getting older, with good humour and no self-pity.
“The funeral isn’t the hard part. It’s the first time you buy one of something.”
Love and loss, and the life that carries on after.
Ten books are planned in The Long Afternoon. More will appear here as Walt finishes them.

The narrator
Walt is seventy-four. He grew up in a small stone village in the English dales, came to Canada at twenty-four, and taught woodworking at a prairie high school for thirty-four years. He measures twice, fixes hinges that aren’t broken, and says less than he feels.
He was married to Peg for forty-six years. A white cat that isn’t his sits on his front step most evenings. She disagrees about whose cat she is. Look for her in every book.