January 3, 1987. The previous day, a blizzard dumps a couple feet of snow on northern Vermont. My flight from Newark is the last one to land before the Burlington Airport is closed down. We spend one last night in the house on George Street, then hours the next morning digging out the U-Haul.
Eighteen years ago today, Allan and I drove that U-Haul, packed with everything he owned in the world, from Burlington, Vermont to Brooklyn, New York. The adventure continues.