Oddly, none of the people making these books lived anywhere near my neck of the woods. The East seemed to be the place for artists. When the time came for college, I headed to New England to study art.
I live here still, in New Hampshire, where we have squeaky-clean air and long dazzling winters. The landscape closely resembles those scenes in the children’s books that fed my imagination for so many years. And sure enough, you can’t swing a dead cat around your head without hitting an artist.
I do miss Lake Superior, but in a pinch, there’s always the Atlantic Ocean.