6/22 In the center of Vermont, roughly, on a mountain top (which is what the place is actually called), looking out over a silver greyish lake surrounded by huge green ridges on all sides (which is why these mountains are called the Green Mountains, it makes perfect sense), with a heavy cloud cover above that obscures most, but not all of the mountain rims.

The place is meticulously kept, a sprawling complex of lodge, barn, cabins, and a throughput of – I estimate – up to three weddings per day. 

I can’t gnaw my teeth into what I am told, I forget the stories right upon hearing them, especially if they involve people or even families. And it’s not for lack of trying.