The hemlocks lean in as if eavesdropping while the three of them pick their way down the stone-dusted trail. The air is damp, resin-scented, and threaded with the muffled hush of the Charles. Little Luke pads ahead in his blue coveralls, small trowel at his belt, shoes scuffing and squeaking on mica flakes. Jessie follows … Continue reading Back to Hemlock Gorge