Linus, looking innocent.

Fayston, Vermont. Our house sits at the end of a gravel driveway, off of a dirt road. We travel about two miles down the mountain to fetch our mail and to buy groceries. My mom’s family is from rural Pennsylvania, where the trip to the mailbox is down a long driveway. During my rare visits there, dinner was generously served comfort food, created from home-grown ingredients and prepared by the women-folk. Post meal, if a man-folk’s digestion became odiferous, the women would scold “Go check the mail.”

Linus, go check the mail!

Linus likes to curl up next to me after dinner. The moment doesn’t last very long. He eats the same food as Lucy and Charlie Brown.