Dead Farms in Northern New England Veinous snapshots of Dad Before He Went Over. All black and whites, they’ve sat so long on small tables that sons can’t notice them now. In the dark of their trailers, in the absence of color, sons will have to imagine cornsilk’s yellow, gate-columns streaked with marble, bright galvanized roofs, the glint of reds in fieldstone. But the sons aren’t a kind to imagine. Their elders chose– or was it their women?– these farmers’...
