What could be more trite than a writer moving to Vermont? Triter still, moving into an old farmhouse? I get it. I’m aware that the north woods host almost as many writers as white-tailed deer. What then should I do? Should I stay clear of this state simply because so many other novelists, poets, and scholars have found Vermont inspiring? Should I recoil from the risible aspects of a city boy finding this rural state’s landscape remarkable, its history intriguing, its mix of solitude and social engagement congenial? I don’t think so. Or, more to the point: no. I need this place; I want it; I feel no need to ignore it. All the better that Edith, too—herself a writer and a musician—finds Hyland Hill at once reassuring, uplifting, and delightful.
Truman Capote: “Life is a play that tends to have a poorly written third act.”
Well, then: all the more reason to write a good third act.