I grew up in New England, on a bluff overlooking the Connecticut River. We lived in a quiet town with a village green, a local dairy around the corner, and houses lining Main Street that were built in the mid-1700s.
Unlike the deep snows that blanket Vermont in the winter, we lived farther south, in an area known for legendary ice storms. It’s like the weather can’t make up its mind whether to rain or snow, so it rains—then decides to freeze.
