By Bill Skiff
Brother Bobby and Bove’s
It was a regular Vermont December evening—but not for me. I was clinging with desperation to the backseat of my grandfather’s ‘39 Packard as my father and I raced toward Burlington to deliver Mother, so she could deliver.
As we peeled around the corner in Jericho by the Old Mill, a huge deer leapt into the middle of the road. We collided with a BANG. Next thing I knew, I was flat on the floor behind the backseat. A deafening thud fell on the roof as hair flew around the back window. Dad never slowed down. He kept the accelerator to the floor and we roared on toward Winooski. [Read more…]