After the long uphill drive from the Jamesville Reservoir I
pass through the little cluster of buildings known as Pompey (if you live in the area, by the way, you know that's pronounced "POMP-ee"). I cross Route 20 and start down
the other side of Pompey Hill, toward Fabius. The land sweeps down and away
ahead of me and I can see for perhaps five or six miles across farm fields and
woodlots, and into the first of the big wooded hills, and I am reminded again
just how little is out here. "Not what most people outside of New York picture when you mention New York," I thought (not for the first
time - and as a non-native New Yorker, I know this is true).
Today though, underneath my usual inner dialog, there is something else lurking in my mind - something deeper, wordless and primitive... fear. I feel it
strongly as I drive down the hill from Pompey.
