, my friends and I reenacted on the Cherwell River in Oxford. We rented a punt, bought a loaf of crusty bread and a bottle of Buck’s Fizz, made flower crowns and began a faltering cruise down the river, crashing into the banks and stopping at intervals to read the Tennyson poem aloud. “Willows whiten, aspens shiver. /The sunbeam showers break and quiver.” The line about aspens thrilled me; I hadn’t seen any since landing in England. I had been at Oxford for the year, and I missed my Wyoming home. I found all the green and the trees claustrophobic. I had never been any kind of athlete, but that year I took to running around the University
