At 8:30 a.m., I mount my rusty Schwinn 7-speed for a month-long morning ritual of “getting the papers.” I pedal the gravel lane from our “camp” near Long Point in Ferrisburgh, rented on Lake Champlain for my son’s Middlebury College quarantine. I pass dairy cows and sunflowers to reach Jolley’s Mobil station on the Ethan Allen Highway. I pile six newspapers on the counter, and a glazed cruller. “You’re gonna need coffee,” jokes Sue, the clerk. Departing Brooklyn after five pandemic months of sirens, cheers, … (read more)
