Armed with little more than the shirts on our backs and what can only be described as a "disk" of banana cake (all praise due to Franca Marzilli), our intrepid, dashing, young explorers set their course for the Great White North. Sights were seen, gear was bought (sheepskin fleeces? A barely functional headlamp for $2.99? Don't mind if I do!), and Patti LaBelle was sung. When drafting our itinerary for the trip, most wondered why we would dare start by going up when New Orleans is, well, not. To the doubters, we ask: Have you ever tasted a maple-blackberry creamie while watching the sun set over Lake Champlain? It's true what they say, folks. Burlington really is the Paris of Vermont. Though dearest Michael won't be joining us until Washington D.C, his sister Ariana was kind enough to show us around. Also, special shoutout to Sarah Schwartz for housing us--your peony garden is gorgeous, your dog is adorable, and the patience you displayed by playing Settlers of Catan with us is unmatched. Until next time, here's a picture of that killer sunset, and a highly androgynous street mural of Muhamed Ali:
^^^Kind of looks like a woman, right?
Maybe ... but he sure is pretty! ... Aunt Sue
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