Before our dear friend, Ed Parks, died, he would invite us up to his house in Highlands, N.C., on a Sunday and say, “We’ll have supper then we’ll go over to the Little Church in the Wildwoods and sing.” It is a tiny church perched on a perilous hill where a hundred folks crowd into the benches, pull out the Methodist hymn book and sing for an hour or so. We are Baptists.