Yes, another ice cream story. Being that it's summer, and being that I try to eat ice cream 365 days a year, I offer no apology.
Somewhere in the backwoods of Orange County, Vermont, the rental car was trailing plumes of dust as Jane and I careened along winding unpaved dirt roads hunting for the Strafford Organic Creamery, to which a tipster directed us for what he called "the world's best ice cream." Our location was remote enough that the cell phone showed no bars and even the GPS couldn't find satellites. When we finally came upon it, we were chagrinned to discover that the Strafford Organic Creamery is strictly a working farm: no dairy bar, no colorful roadside stand selling creemees, nothing whatever for a hungry passer-by. Observing our sad confusion, a farm hand took pity on us and said that if we wanted to taste the ice cream made here, we should head back to South Strafford and Coburns' General Store, where it is sold by the pint.