We carry a blanket and a picnic basket outside with us and up to the back acreage of Sam’s property. Behind us lies the cornfield that stretches all the way to my own property and, beyond that, the woods and the mountain overlooking it all. If we’re very quiet, we can hear the waterfall that runs heavy off Mount Desolation in the fall as it empties into the stream. It’s a magical sound that sang me to sleep so often as a child on those nights where I would leave the bedroom window wide open and the sound of the forest — the crickets, the birds, the cicadas, the dogs, the owls — were all my own.
Sam opens a bottle of white wine while I slice little pieces of baguette and set them on our plates. I also slice some fresh sausage and parmesan cheese, set that onto our plates. For as big and m
