“No, there’s a reason for all these plantings,” he insisted.
“We don’t worry ourselves much about such things out here,” she replied, with charming humor. “We don’t even worry about the weather. We just take things as they come.”
They walked on talking with new intimacy. “Where is your home?” he asked.
“A few miles out of Bear Tooth. You’re from the East, Bill says—‘the far East,’ we call it.”
“From New Haven. I’ve just finished at Yale. Have you ever been to New York?”
“Oh, good Lord, no!” she answered, as though he had named the ends of the earth. “My mother came from the South—she was born in Kentucky—that accounts for my name, and my father is a Missourian. Let’s see, Yale is in the state of Connecticut, isn’t it?”
“Connecticut is no longer a state; it is only a suburb of New York City.”
“Is that so? My geography calls it ‘The Nutmeg State.’”
“Your geography is behind the times. New York has absorbed all of Connecticut and part of Jersey.”
“Well, it’s all the same to us out here. Your whole country looks like the small end of a slice of pie to us.”