A Farm Of His OwnTim Belknap and Farmer Belknap
The moon has just risen behind Mt. Abraham. Something is splashing around in the beaver pond--probably my dog, Beau. No, there he is, nosing around a brush pile, unfazed by the yipping of coyotes in the neighboring Green Mountain National Forest. It's 10:30 p.m., and I'm planting asparagus. Why 10:30? Why not? It's a starry September night in northern Vermont, I've got the headlights of my tractor to work by, and there's no one around to laugh at me.
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