I'm lying in a room that is like a memorial to 10th grade. The walls are covered with good-boy-at-school certificates, decorated paper plates, and Guardians of the Galaxy posters. Through the window I look over Lake Champlain farmland--long stretches of fields striped with hedgerows, though the mountains that are usually visible from both sides of the house (Adirondacks from the front windows, Greens from the back) have been erased by cloud. This is dairy-farm country, forest long ago subdued to grass, a realm of tame and pretty hills. Postcard Vermont. Not my homeland.