He looks just-risen from bed. His voice is hoarse, and he holds his wife’s arm as they make their way out to the front stoop. They look us over. Eddie and I both have gum boots on, jeans, flannel shirts, and down vests. Upstate clothes. Eddie had them first and I followed, not deliberately—item by item—so it snuck up on me that I’d done it. Now here I am looking quite a bit like Eddie. Eddie introduces us as new in town. True enough. Stopping by just to meet our neighbors, which is a stretch. “Quite a layout here. What do you have, a hundred fifty, two hundred acres?” Eddie looks around as though searching for a boundary fence, though he already knows the dimensions of this place. “Three hundred eleven,” she says. “All the woods there behind the creek and the hollow there, to the river. Right up to the Oswegatchie there.” “Beautiful river,” Eddie says, like he’s complimenting her on a watercolor she’s made or a turkey she’s cooked. “Nice little town too.
