I sing the praises of my small charcoal grill that defines homecoming for my godsons Nelson and Will (and me) on their cross-country visits. No longer young apprentices, these now early twenty-somethings commandeer the operation. Nothing intervenes—snow, sleet, rain, nor my occasional (faint) reluctance. Our love renews as the corn turns.
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The same omens that alarmed Lincoln petrify us now. October 18th protests—November 4th elections—60 years of Neil Young. “There’s a full moon risin’ / Let’s go dancin’ in the light.”