We live in the middle of nowhere, up here on our hill, but we are not country-folk. The evidence lies in the deep and insatiable interest my children had of the chickens next to the Chittenden Church.

I had a hard time pulling them away...there were a lot of chickens, and the dead one on the roof of the hen house did not diminish the happiness of my children or the chickens.

Jack, especially was fascinated. The next week he managed to get himself into the chicken's fence, and was rescued by his Uncle Joel, smeared with chicken droppings and crying, "Chicken bite mine finger!"