The Hollowers are Vermont to the Core.
Sugar sweet. Farm tough. Can bake. Can rake. Tells it like it is. Can predict the weather by the walking to the mailbox. Wants “Yankee ingenuity” changed to “Erdine Ingenuity”.
Sweeter than honey. Earth mother. No kids. A different pair of Birkenstocks for every occasion. Keeps her Harvard degree in the attic. Saw the Dead 22 times. In one year.
Apples are a part of the land. So is Mac. The apple king of the Northeast Kingdom. Knows everything. Fixes anything. Favorite designer is the guy who came up with camo fishing apparel at Orvis.
Hard as oak on the outside. But maple syrup runs through his veins. Knew John Deere personally. A registered independent since 1963. Still worried about hippies.
Mucked out barn stalls at nine. Wants to drive the tractor. Outside from dusk to dawn with her lab mix Jack. Bored by video games. Knows every plant in the meadow.
Often seen whistling Phish songs behind our donut counter. That old-school wry friendly smile you never see anymore. Always happy to help you change a tire on your Subaru. Owns a tractor, rides a Harley. A real “VER-mont-A”, as the locals say.