As we crawled along at barely over ten miles an hour, single-file, I wondered how much of a delay this would give me. The ventilation system on my 1977 Chevy only seems to work while the car is moving, and so sweat began to trickle down my forehead and along the outlines of my cheekbones. I wiped my face with my palm and took a long pull from my water bottle. The line still showed no signs of ending.

I didn't really mind, though. A slight breeze wandered through my open window, tickling my face with my hair and cooling my damp face. On the air was the sweet, warm smell I've come to associate with the North Country - a wholesome smell of grass and wildflowers in the sun, a smell I'm learning to miss when I'm not north. Driving this slowly, I had the chance to let my eyes roam a little more, drinking in the flecks of purple and gold dancing in the grass which billowed like waves upon the deep sea. It was somewhat a bittersweet loveliness, for it was a farewell look, at least for now. Yet I didn't cry - not right then.

I had chosen the Indigo Girls as driving music, and their harmonies wrapped themselves around me with the breeze. It was a good choice. "Though I miss her when I'm gone, it won't ever be too long till I'm home again to spend my favorite season..." The road work ended as abruptly as it began, and as I pushed the pedal to the floor and felt the acceleration push back I glanced at the wildflowers once more.