From Chapter 3: "The last time I drove along the Rock River I was twenty-two years old and I had just graduated from college up in Minnesota. I drove all night with all my clothes and books and records in the back seat and trunk of my Mustang from Duluth down to Half Moon, not because I was in such a big hurry to see the farm or my mother or father, but because I had the romantic notion that it would be wonderful to be driving along the Rock River when the sun came up. It was wonderful. The dew was so heavy that every leaf and blade and spider web was encased in silver or gold, the grasses and weeds were lush, and the Rock was wide and placid and thick and brown, bounded in mud, closer to the element of earth than of sky. I drove slowly along route 2 with the windows down feeling the thick air pass over my face, wanting to remember every dazzling plant and slant of light."