We didn't have goldenrod in New Orleans. But at my grandmother's in August, the sight of goldenrod signified the end of summer in Pennsylvania - and i didn't want to go home. I wanted to see what winter was like; i wanted to sit by the fireplace as we did occasionally if unseasonable cold in July. And i loved the solitude of the house at the end of the road in the very small (pop. under 200) village of Upper Leehigh.
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