Growing up in New York, I was under the impression that Connecticut was a large state. Man, I’d say, heading up the interstate. Connecticut is huge. When will we ever get to Boston?

This, I think, is a typical northeastern problem with scale.

All this is changed now that I’ve spent five days driving across the country, from Arizona to Massachusetts, where I’m setting up home in North Adams, way up in the northwestern tippy-top corner of the state. We drove in ten- to fourteen-hour days with the dog and cat in the backseat and just a couple of our most essential personal items in the trunk of the car that we purchased a scant few days before leaving.

And now, well, I’m a resident of the small northeast again. Outside, lush green hills rise up to a pale blue sky punctuated by steeples and three-storey clapboard houses. Inside, the windows are practically floor-to-ceiling and the hardwoods gleam. Tomorrow, I’m off to Vermont — that skinny little green state — to visit the Bennington Famers’ Market to get goods for our first One Local Summer meal.

Ah, back in farmers’ market territory. Expect more on food and Yankee life soon.