December 1995, Greece. As I looked out my kitchen window at the green groves of olive trees, I had an aching homesickness for a different picture of winter. I wanted to be in the Vermont Life calendar photo on my wall, breathing in the cold air outside a tiny wooden post office, its roof covered in fresh, deep snow and a red ribboned wreath on the wall frozen with icicles. Above the door was a small sign:
POST OFFICE. PLYMOUTH. Vt. 05056.
On an impulse I decided to write a Christmas card to the people who worked there. It lifted my spirits to do so, might lift theirs too and … continue