As the picture suggests, we had no trouble relaxing during our one-day retreat in Vermont at the inn where we had our honeymoon. Apart from Bedlam Farm, it is our favorite place in the world.

I suppose it is our safe place – no Internet, dogs, farm or e-mail, no doctors visits, traffic, trucks, noise,  calls, texts, or news. It is a place of pure bliss.

We got to the inn, relaxed, read for three hours, slept for one or two, had a wonderful dinner, slept and read some more, got up early, read and talked and slept, had breakfast, and came home.

There is heavy snow in Vermont, too dug in for us to walk around. So we had no choice but to sleep, read and eat. Maria and I always enjoy one another, even sitting together in doctors’ waiting rooms or hospitals. And especially in beautiful old inns.

I did some wonderful reading day and night. I finished The House In the Gerulean Sea by T.J. Klune; I like it; the book was warm, original, and timely. Oddball children are under siege, and it is refreshing; it was a pleasure to read about people who fight to protect them. It was strange, fun, and uplifting.

I started reading Force Of Nature by the gifted Australian Mystery  Writer Jane Harper. I’m 150 pages into it and loving it. She has a clear sense of split and keeps to the narrative. She does a great job with Aaron Falk, the federal investigator from Melbourne, who is also warm and determined.

She’s got me hooked, and I love the sense of Australia, down to the language, customs, and landscape. Australia is a vast and diverse country that lives close to the edge in many ways.

Harper knows what she is doing; her mysteries don’t spin off into the horrific or the crazy, or the bloody. She reminds me of the best British writers – James, Ann Cleaves, and Christie: no bullshit, just a good and gripping storyline and an appealing hero.

Harper’s tone is so skillful and lightly deployed that it’s easy to miss. I love her professionalism.

On the other side of the earth and in another time is Walter Mosley’s Every Man A King, set in Harlem; the excellent guy is  John Oliver Kling, a black ex-detective framed and nearly killed by crooked police in the NYPD.

He gracefully approaches racism, corruption, and poverty, showing it without sticking it down our throats. The deck is always stacked against King but never stops or slows him down.

In this story, he agrees to try and help a white nationalist he should be hating. Governor DeSantis would not like him, as he tells a powerful story of life in Harlem, where the fix is always in for African-Americans.

They won’t be buying his books in Florida school libraries. Yet Mosely has some of the best and most colorful characters; his books are great fun.

Oliver is a fearless, crazy investigator who never stops being a good cop and fighting the bad ones.

Mosley does a beautiful job of capturing African-American culture in old Harlem.

It’s a perfect counterpoint to Harper’s new book. I’m eager to finish one and get to the other. I’m lucky to have some great books to read.

The place we go to in   Vermont is beautiful, comfortable, peaceful, and private. The staff knows us well and knows how to be hospitable, and we love catching up with them.  They are like family to us; they have known us since the beginning of us.

We feel safer, more welcome, and uncomfortable in this than anywhere but the farm.

I love the morning sun lights up the walls; it’s a signal to get up and read. Maria is a better sleeper than I am; she usually wakes up an hour after I do. It’s a beautiful time to sit and read or meditate and think. I treasure it.

We have learned that we must take a break once in a while, even if it’s only for a day.

I think we are both too devoted to our writing and art. No other place or thing is as nourishing and good.

I’ve never seen Maria relax so quickly and thoroughly as when we go to this inn, as we have been doing at least once or twice a year for as long as we’ve been married. It is, unfortunately, expensive.

As I left, I couldn’t resist booking another visit for one night in June, on our wedding anniversary. We’ve had a lot of changes in our lives, all kinds of ups and down; this is a fixed point for us; it is extraordinary to go there, just as unique to come back.

And we both need it. I’m back and all charged up. I’ve got a week and a half to decide if I’ll agree to have my troublesome big too amputated; Monday, I go and get my brace adjusted, and Tuesday, I see an optometrist dealing with computer straight and some other tired eye issues.

This weekend will be a continuation of quiet, hopefully.

The animals are never alone on the farm; I’m not sure they even notice that we are gone for such a short time. They are very well cared for and very adaptable. We don’t do the separation anxiety thing, we’re glad to get a break from them, and I suspect they are just as happy to get a break from us.

We have no desire at all to bring dogs on our vacation.  I love my dogs dearly, but I’ve never quite grasped that. I know many people love it.

But we are delighted to see the animals when we return, although nobody gets too excited about it. We don’t make any fuss about coming or going, nor do they.

The animals are happy to sit in the sun again, soaking up the warmth and waiting for the grass to show. The donkeys were quite mellow and didn’t bother to get up. At feeding time, they were up braying and raising hell.

As she often does, Fate slipped out the door when we came into the house and were unloading. She also was mellow and just lay down in front of the sheep. The sheep were chewing their cuds, one of their great forms of mediation.

I think every life form on the farm is mellow today, sensing and feeling the first whispers of Spring.