The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
. . .
the trout sat by the side of a rill just south of the Massachusetts border,
along a broad swath of meadow ringed with thickets of pine trees and hills
that loomed against the blue night like the idea of hills.
“That’s the Appalachian Trail right through those trees there,” said the
bearded owner as he showed us to our table. “Not too many know that;
people think Appalachian, they think of Tennessee. But you finish your meal
and go along that trail at the back of the parking lot, turn left at the first grove,
Tennessee’s where you’d wind up, you keep walking. When you’re ready to
order, come on up to the counter. Menu’s on the blackboard above the bar
over there. I was you, I’d stay away from the salmon,” he told us with a wink.
Hannah ordered their homemade ale and shepherd’s pie. I asked for a
cheeseburger with fries and a Budweiser. The owner and Hannah both
looked at me and winced, as though I had just asked for a sautéed baby. “Are
you sure you want Budweiser?” asked Hannah, implying that she was sure
that I didn’t. “They make their own beer here.”
“Really?”
The owner nodded and grinned, his eyes closed beatifically: with that
kind of self-satisfaction, I expected perfection in a pint glass. “Then I’ll
have . . . Just bring me one of whatever you’re bringing her.” He huffed a bit,
gave a tight and extra-tolerant grimace, and walked away. I shrugged. “I’m a
philistine, I know. If they had cans, I would have ordered a can.”
She gave a look of mock pique. “I just hope nobody sees me with a rube
like you,” she joked, brushing her hand across mine.
I asked her what she thought of Father Hampden. “Oh, he’s a sweet old
guy. He loves what he does, and he’s just the perfect picture of a New
England priest, isn’t he? What did you think of him?”
I raised my eyebrows noncommitally. “I liked Reverend Makgabo.”
“He’s pretty quiet. I don’t know him all that well. But Father Hampden,
he just seems so authentic, you know? He seems like he belongs right where
he is.”
I knew not “seems,” but Hampden did, and better than he knew “is,” too.
Hardly worth arguing over.
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