A light-blue Chevy truck that looks like it fell straight from an old film slows down in front of me. My lips part when I read Bennett Orchard Farms on the side and meet the deep-brown eyes of the man driving.
He’s here to pick me up.
I flew from California to Vermont, and after two connecting flights and three gigantic coffees, I’m finally here. The Bennetts insisted they drive me to the farm from the airport, and after pricing a rental car, I agreed. It was too expensive.