and the answer changed. Inside the barnthe boys build bongs out ofcopper piping, electrical tape, and
jars. All of the children here haveleaky brown eyes, and a certain precisionof gesture. Even the maple syrup
tastes like liquor. After dinnerI sit the cutest little boy on my kneeand read him a book about the history of cod
absentmindedly explaining overfishing,the slave trade. People for rum? he asks,incredulously. Yes, I nod. People for rum.
— Maggie Nelson, from Thanksgiving