When I returned from pruning in the orchard this afternoon, Georgia wanted to know what adventures I had out there, but all is chilled and still, and anyway, when I walk, or work, or just stand among the trees I have planted and the wild seedlings I have grafted on to out back here - some of them big as a house now - instead of just feeling kind of proud, I feel like my own grandfather, or my own grandson, or an ancestral ghost, or all at once, and nobody in particular at all. It is cold up on the orchard ladder and I came in early, to avoid turning into a tree, though it was very close. That would be quite an adventure and a tale I could never be able to tell, but it would be a good way to go.