In the final days of autumn I bring in the last crops of the year, working most days well past dusk, racing against bad weather. I have to be done not...later than the Harvest Moon. Not just for the sake of a good crop, but each year since late puberty the Harvest Moon triggers what I call my inheritance. And then all hell breaks loose. I’m not exactly sure why, but my wife and I have never spoken about the inheritance. For myself, I don’t have real clear memories of what happens, although for. She hit it very far indeed, but not straight. Her ball veered far-right -- safe from the water hazard but deep in the trees and undergrowth. She was, perhaps, closer to the pin than her rival, but unless she had a miracle lie, she was going to have a far-tougher second shot.When we got there, a little crowd was standing in a semicircle, a polite distance from Tess' ball. The lie was not that bad, and there wasn't much debris to contend with in the little clearing where her ball had come to. More

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