My first summer working at the stables in Graeagle was full of adventures and moments of growth. None so prominent as the ordeal I went through when I decided I really liked being in Graeagle.
It was the middle of July and I had finally gotten in the groove of my new job. I knew every horse’s name, I was starting to enjoy spending time in the little town, and I finally could lead trails without getting lost. Or so I thought.
I just learned that an old friend of mine passed away. Her name was Cheryl and her family had a cottage on the same road as mine in Bradford, N.H.
I was closer in age to her two older sisters, but the three of them, my brother Mike and I, and our next-door neighbors John and Mike, were quite the gang of teenagers on Howlett Road in the early ’70s.