Moving to the Country, 1

Baby and me, just before leaving the comforts of Montclair, New Jersey. I hope I didn’t spend much on that pantsuit. The hand-knitted sweater on the baby, though, I always really liked, and still would, if it had lasted.

In the driveway, a hint of truck exhaust. In the kitchen, scrambled eggs abandoned in a cast iron frying pan. Antique chairs lashed together in pairs, lined up by the door. Bed frames without mattresses. And everywhere, big turds from a very big dog (which, thank goodness, was not present).

This was not the empty home ready for renters on a quiet Vermont hillside that we’d expected. In fact, as I held the baby — finally…