On my drive to New England I smiled at passing the signs warning motorists against “Falling Rock”. When I was little and sitting in the backseat, not the driver’s seat, this sign had designs on my imagination. Looking out the back window, I would eye the passing limestone and shale and picture it tumbling down behind the car. Always behind us, never in front, on the way up North. Why? Because I was entranced with my grandmother’s house on Arlington Pond.
I figured if the rocks fell behind us, surely we would have to stay put in this beautiful place..