What better way to say ‘New England-born’ than baby portraits on a stone wall, in a town by the name of Coventry? I love Connecticut.
And I love Robert Frost. Well, his poems, anyway:
“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. “