The house behind ours has been vacant for months and months. It languished on the market for ages, and finally sold back in April. As far as Robb and I could tell, nobody had set foot in the place until the recent July 4th holiday. While Robb and I were tidying up for our backyard party, workers were smashing glass, demolishing walls, and throwing the debris out the second story windows. Every smash made me flinch, not because the workers were making so much damn noise, but because they were trashing what little historic charm that poor house had left.
Hours of destruction on a national holiday was followed by ... nothing.
Nobody has been back to clean up the mess. This gigantic heap of crap has been sitting unattended for the past two weeks. The gaping windows are uncovered, no doubt inviting all the local pigeons inside.
I have a foolish sympathy for older homes. I have this idea that they have a spirit, and need people to love them. This poor house is not getting the love it deserves.
So, today, Robb and I pried off a few fence boards, and I snuck into the back yard. I'd been there before, when my bees swarmed into the neighbors' fruit trees. I'd returned wayward dogs, on more than one occasion.
And today I did one of those weird sentimental things, that are so typically "me."
I collected all of the fallen peaches from the back yard. It just seemed so sad to let them spoil on the ground. It seemed disrespectful to the tree that worked so hard to produce the fruit, and insulting to the person who planted that tree, many years ago.
Because I'm frightfully shy, most people mistake my sober reticence for lack of feeling. But in fact, I'm a total softie, about things like neglected orchards, unloved houses and scraggly kittens.
Blog readers please have mercy. Stop me, before I morph into some maudlin character from a forgotten Chekov play.
And don't let me fail to cook those peaches.
If you're interested in seeing what other folks are harvesting, mosey on over to Daphne's blog for the weekly round-up.