The gate is closed, the driveway grassed over, but the old place still stands, hidden behind a grove of cedars. A few years ago, perhaps 4 or 5, I stopped here for a garage sale. The old white chair in our attic came from here, as did a child's rocking chair. It was a lovely home, tucked away between the fields. With tears in her eyes the woman agreed when I complimented her home. It was the family home, it had been for 150 years. They sold it. Sold it 10 years earlier, to developers, and then rented it back. Her husband had built a home in NB, on the ocean, a timber frame. The new place stood empty, for 10 years. The woman couldn't leave the family farm. She was afraid of the house falling into disrepair, of 150 years falling into ruin.
And so it did.
Crocus in September?
Remnants of a former garden.
It is a bumper crop for apples this year.
I wonder who it was that planted these and who it was that picked the fruit.
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