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- The puppy and his roommate are moving the last of their things out of the house right now. They're headed 100 miles east. The owners are selling the house. It's hard to think about strangers living there, someone buying the place and not caring about the amazing yard, splitting the property and something new and fancy getting built on top of the back yard. My dog and I went over there today - my strawberries look really nice, my hops are still languishing by the back fence, the asparagus that I planted from seeds I gathered on the island is doing really well. The burr oak sapling I got at a race is taller than the fence. The sour cherry tree I planted had some cherries this year. The weigela I put by the front fence. The breadseed poppies that popped up out of nowhere one year. The weird gnome tree, covered with some kind of growth, squat and awkward looking but so cool and unique. That side of the house, shady and jungle-like in the summer. The white poppies, the pink poppies, the phlox and day lilies, that one lovely variegated tulip. The beautiful thick carpet of grass out front. The rocks and flagstones I dismantled from that old pond and distributed around the yard. The puppy, who turned 9 last week. His roommate. I was reading my journal from back when I moved in, 2011 - I was so miserable before I moved there. After I moved in, everything was different. I wish I'd written more about the details of living there then, I wish I'd taken pictures of the yard (and who knows, maybe I did - I still have film sitting around that I'll be getting developed any day now). I miss that time. I've been thinking lately about how much this town has changed, how it isn't the way it used to be - and I miss it. I'm sure it has changed but also maybe mainly the fault is mine, I don't know. But I miss that time, I'll miss that house and that yard, I'll miss the puppy and his roommate. I always get melancholy at the end of summer. The end of summer - I fucking hate it.
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