Letter writing is another good part of snowbound days. There are special friends and relatives that I like to visit lavishly with, and this takes time. I have neighbors in many places all over the world that I can write to and hear from in these days. For instance, there is a woman in Alaska whose husband is a trapper. They live in a kind of scow tied offshore, and she keeps house in a small cabin on the scow. She has an old rotting rowboat on the shore in which she has, in season, her garden. I have never seen this woman, but we are friends because we correspond about our gardens, mine in New England behind a white picket fence and hers in an old rowboat in Alaska. We also trade recipes, although I cook on an electric range and she cooks on a galley stove. There is another woman in Rhodesia; and one in Caracus, Venezuela; and one in Bristol, England. We have so much to say to one another about our houses, our dogs or cats, our gardens!
Stillmeadow Seasons 1950
Doesn't this sound like all of us?!