The Taste of Spruce Gum — Jacqueline Jackson

"They were traveling through Vermont now---Papa's home state. He had told her about the hogback hills where whippoorwills called lonesomely, and streams tumbled down through tall timber, past sloping farms whose rocky pastures were bordered with stone walls. Some of the stones, he'd said, were big as pianos, and it took three men to roll them from the fields with levers. She could hardly imagine such stones. It was difficult to find one the size of her fist in the flat cornfields at home."