Vermont

“Why are you crossing here?”

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“I am just following the map and my GPS.”

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In 2016, I drove across Canada and attempted to enter back into the United States somewhere near Lake Champlain.

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My first passport ever issued was still valid, but the picture of me was very old and taken in college, and I did not look the same. I had long hair, a goatee, and my face was very red because that day I walked to the post office for my passport picture in temperatures below freezing.

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“Do you have another form of ID? This picture is very old,” the border patrol agent inquired.

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It was a very quiet and seldom used border crossing on a small two-lane road from Quebec to Vermont.

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She asked me to divulge every detail about my trip.

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“That is a lot of driving,” was her only comment.

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After seizing my oranges and disappearing into her guard post for a while, she let me enter back into my own country. It always amuses me how difficult it is to reenter America from a foreign country.

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I need to go back to Vermont. I drove through on my way to the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and the only stop I made was at the Fischer Covered Bridge near Wolcott.

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