A Vermont Adventure

Another Literary Grave Pilgrimage

Think of the best summer day you have ever known. One where the skies were so blue they were the shade of hope, accentuated with only the airiest of the occasional puff of white cloud. A breeze stirred the trees, which were lush and deep green, and bees buzzed drunkenly, and butterflies sat happily on bright yellow flowers. The heat of high summer had passed, the promise of fall, still a month away, lingered, and that comforting smell of fresh-cut grass floated in the air.

In an unyielding summer of heat and smothering humidity, where the air conditioner has been a constant hum, and it's been so uncomfortable, I can't remember the last time I heard a bird singing past nine in the morning, we had such a day this week.

Wednesday dawned cool and crisp. I could see the immediate difference as Samwise and Emily began playing the moment we greeted the day. The crows cackled from above. Gently swaying tree limbs seemed to laugh at the rollicking. Milkweed pods were full and perfect and close …