from Jamaica Kincaid  One time, when our four children were ages eleven, six, six, and three, my friend Sandy Frazier and I took them for a trip to Glacier National Park. We came in through the main entrance, meaning to go up to the Continental Divide by way of the “Going-to-the-Sun” Road. First we took a walk through a path to see some trees, but I was only interested in the Tiarella at their feet, since I had never seen that shade plant growing in its natural habitat before. Then we drove off on the road to the sun, going uphill, passing miles and miles (or so it seemed) of burnt trees and scorched landscape, the remains of a notorious fire; sometimes there was nothing to protect us from falling off either side of the road and the road itself was very narrow and winding, each twist revealing some natural spectacle liable to distract and perhaps lead to your doom; a road meant for a pilgrimage. Sandy then remembered a time not too long before this trip we were on with our children when he and George Trow had taken this very road and somewhere midway up, at what Sandy believed to be the most dangerous part, George began to recite the words to a song by Noel Coward, “I Went to a Marvelous Party.”