I was walking with my dogs in the field behind my house today, that my wife and I call the back forty, though it isn’t anywhere near that big. The hounds were nosing around, reading the news of the night before—the invisible trails left by deer and rabbits and geese and who knows what all—and I turned to look back at my house, and wince at how disreputable it is. There are weeds and scrub trees, and shaggy honeysuckle drooping everywhere, and I always make plans to spend a day hacking it all out, but I never do. I call our property the Radley place, after To Kill a Mockingbird.
An Old Guy Remembers His Neighbors...
An Old Guy Remembers His Neighbors...
An Old Guy Remembers His Neighbors...
I was walking with my dogs in the field behind my house today, that my wife and I call the back forty, though it isn’t anywhere near that big. The hounds were nosing around, reading the news of the night before—the invisible trails left by deer and rabbits and geese and who knows what all—and I turned to look back at my house, and wince at how disreputable it is. There are weeds and scrub trees, and shaggy honeysuckle drooping everywhere, and I always make plans to spend a day hacking it all out, but I never do. I call our property the Radley place, after To Kill a Mockingbird.