Our time here is drawing to a close. This weekend, Abby, Bex and I are moving to an apartment ten minutes from the Little White House, and Grace will continue to live with us off and on until her own housing situation works out.

It’s a little sad. These first months have passed away like golden dreams and I don’t want them to be over yet. There’s a great deal about Our Little White House to mourn the loss of. . .

Starry skies viewed from our own back-lawn–Panama–our big, airy windows–our dorky yellow stove–the porch: it deserves a paragraph all its own, for the sunny afternoons spent reading on it, and the chilly nights spent thinking–the creak of the porch swing–privacy–a little plot of land of our own to tend green and growing things–the neighbors we’ve grown to know and the regular passerbys we recognize and make stories about–being walking distance to the grocery store, post office, library, and two different used bookstores among other things–being walking distance to parks–the cute, old-section of town–wood floors–our charming 1910-vintage house–the creepy, dusty shed–the white-picket fence–the chorus of crickets–and the train whistles! Oh, the train whistles!–springtime lilacs–our mailman, Patrick, with the safari-hat–a pristine lawn of snow in the winter–tramping downtown on snowy mornings before the snow has melted off the sidewalks. . .

Oh, there is much to miss, and dreams to be left behind us. I’m not sure what the fate of this blog shall be now that we are leaving the Little White House. . .but no doubt the adventures shall continue wherever we find ourselves.

To the new tenants of the Little White House: “Tread softly because you tread on our  dreams.”


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