Where did you get the ideas for Sugarbush Spring and Happy Birthday, America!?
The story of my childhood pets is short and not so sweet. My dog, Buff, died when I was four (choked on a bologna string); my kitten died two weeks after I got her for my seventh birthday (declawing trauma); my hamster died ingesting motor oil my dad had used on the proverbial squeaking wheel; my rabbit, Harvy, became the prey of a neighborhood hunting dog. Not so pretty, but if writing permits us to live life twice, so does having children. My own children’s pets have proven almost immortal: the best example was Mickey (Mickey Fin, to be exact). Mickey, an ordinary goldfish, lived to be eight years old and at least that in length. No, we did not eat him. He painlessly expired from natural causes. In homage to a family tradition of sugaring with our friends, the Flaherty’s, owners and operators of Maple Trails Resort in northern Minnesota, I wrote Sugarbush Spring. This annual ritual signaled not only a natural clock, but also the dependability of nature’s gifts. My favorite warm weath
