Friday, February 21, 2014


Thinking about Wilson some more...
Wilson told me he loved to fish. Fly fishing was his passion. I've never heard anyone use the word "creel" as much as him. One day, he said he had a vacation coming up. I told him I liked to go to Vermont for a few days whenever I was on vacation. He said he'd never been to Vermont.
I couldn't believe him.
Wilson, you see, lived his whole life in Ashby, Massachusetts, which borders New Hampshire. Vermont is on NH's western border. I'm from Pepperell, Mass., also on the NH border and two towns east of Ashby, and I've been to Vermont many times. "You've never been to Vermont at all?" I asked. "It's an hour away!" He'd never been to any other state except New Hampshire, he told me.
"Wilson, you have got to go to Vermont," I insisted. "You'll love it there."
"You think so?"

"I know so. It's my favorite state." (Nine years later, it still is.)
So he went to Vermont. A week later he came back. "Vermont was awesome!" he said. He had pictures of himself fly-fishing in the Green Mountains and everything.
"What'd I tell ya?" I said.
I don't know where he is now, but I'm sure he spends a little time in the Green Mountains when he can...