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The more things change...

Change is not so much what we make as it is what happens to us unawares. Not everything that changes is progress but it is inevitable that everything changes. The seasons flow on, all too quickly. We tighten our life-vests, and try to steer clear of the rocks. Along our way down the river, we are grateful for every resting place. Here's ours. Above, as it was in our first August here in 2016, and below, as it is now. We still miss the old cherry tree in the foreground of the first photo. It died the year after we moved here. We've carved a garden out of the hill and planted blueberries on the slope above. One thing hasn't changed. We're still here. It's still home. We'll hold to that reality as long as we can.


The houses in Drovers Gap are more than mere wood and brick and shingle. They each have their unique personality, as peculiar and spritely and lively as any of the humans living in them. Indeed, the houses generally maintain their presence longer than the humans, some hosting their families over generations.

If you were carried to our town in a dream and awakened after a rain in any yard here, you would immediately know where you were. A shout of color, a gentle indifference toward propriety and the subtle tang of ozone in the air would assure you that you were in this place and no other.

Henry's books.

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