Flatlanders Go North. The Road Trip, Day One.

They pack, and after breakfast, the Flatlanders go to draw.

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At drawing, a difficult subject was encountered.

We live in a place where in October and even into November, green leaves can still be found. Our “southerly” location, and our proximity to the ocean, have this year, as happens almost every year, fenced us off from the onset of fall.

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But now we travel north.

We are going north to visit a new grandson, a little baby who has just come into the light.

As you approach the City of Boston from the South, you pass a distinctive yellow-brick tower and accompanying buildings. The ornate structure is the tower of the Pine Street Inn. Here, and in their other locations throughout the area, people in distress, people struggling in seas of difficulty, can find a place where there is a roof over their head, where there are clean clothes, where there is food to eat, and a place to sleep.

It’s a place where life and hope can begin again.

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The Pine Street Inn tower. You want some contrast with this? The glassed and mirrored tower you see beyond is one of many Boston towers where people in expensive clothes manipulate money, words, and power. 
If you don’t know the story of the Pine Street Inn, you might want to digress, either now or after you’ve read this post, and learn something about a remarkable organization.
http://www.pinestreetinn.org/about_us

We zip under Boston, courtesy of a “Big Dig” tunnel.

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The Big Dig will have a final cost approaching twenty-five billion dollars.

In reflected hubcap light, you see the travelers.

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To our east, things are happening in and to the sky.

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We pass a sign to be wondered at.

What kind of deer are these?

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A few more miles down the road, a similar sign is far less mysterious.

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The hills are semi-bare now.

But there is still color in the remnant leaves.

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After a while, we see a mountain in the distance.

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Clouds come and go.

The light is strong.

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More mountains.

Is that snow????

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Yes, that’s snow up there.

Then at last we leave the highway and go down into a valley where there’s a little city with a golden dome in its heart.

Montpelier, Vermont.

Stopping and going in the little city streets, we notice serendipitous welcome music.

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Bumper sticker Beethoven.

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