Excerpt
The end came for Jane, and so for us, at the edge of spring, when the leaves of the north country were washed in that impossible shade of lemonade green. A color she said always reminded her of a certain crayon in the old Crayola 64 boxes she had as a kid one labeled simply yellow green” - a clumsy name with no hint of the promise it held, which was like an early thought of summer, before summer gets quickened by the sun. I was struck by how easily, how routinely she made such connections, coupling little shards of nature she found as an adult, to some encounter when she was young. For her, then, wild country was a way in a means of inciting the sweet startle of childhood.