LIKE WOODSMAN, LIKE SON

One of the first signs that we fit in here in New Hampshire after our move northward happened while Marc was at the post office one blustery day. (They don't deliver the mail here--you actually have to go to the post office to pick it up. And what exactly is trash pickup? We wouldn't know. We take our own trash to the dump--and by "we" I do mean "Marc.") Anyway.

Marc was wearing his typical winter uniform--scruffy beard, wool cap, oversized flannel jacket and Carhartt work pants. As he turned from the counter with our mail, a local old-timer gruffly--and approvingly, I like to think--announced, "You look like a woodsman."

Today was very cold, and The Doodle was dressed appropriately, which delighted the grocery store cashier. What do you think she cooed at him?





"You look like a woodsman!"

The Wog and I love our woodsmen, big and small!