Editor’s note: This piece was written during a fragile moment on the crunchy-cold day before the deluge. I have just returned from the brisk, sun-baked driveway in front of the carriage shed, where, for the umpteenth time this winter, I brushed cordwood debris from my dingy Polarfleece shell. Dirty business, lugging armloads from the woodshed, […]

The man from whom we bought this place, Lute Nims, then 82, now deceased, took me on a special trip to the barn, where he pointed out a faded, chalky-white, wooden flagpole laying along the three-foot wall overlooking the hay pit. The pole was impressive, something I was barely familiar with – a straight tapered […]