  August 10 from the landing strip at Buffalo's airport Brandon summed it all up on the dot, and this mythic "early start" keeps eluding us. i was disappointed to miss the open hours of harriet tubman's home, and in our rush to get to senecca falls before nightfall, we forgot to visit her grave down the street. new york farm country is ghostly old. red barns and dells, 3-story wood-slated houses, dairy cows, corn, and cemetaries. it all floats like fog in an old scooby-doo cartoon. i've been quite the audubon naturalist collecting rattlebox, queen anne's lace, something like hemlock, and another i've named magenta candle. now the maiden in the mist is hollarin at me, late again. 
