May 13, 2013

LEE'S HOUSE


I'm not surprised how easy it is to lose track of the days when there's no one around asking me to remember them. The only difficulty I face most mornings is getting through the paper's crossword with Nate. Still, I've discovered being in transit like this does a body good, and the black rings settled in underneath my eyes go to show.

Lee and his Jack Russel Syd live down a dirt road somewhere in Virginia where the farmlands look from out of a storybook. Lee gives us a tour of the grounds that surround the hundred year old property while Syd follows us stick in mouth, ready for fetch at our convenience. After a short walk in the woods, I spend an evening pulling dozens of ticks from off my body, the dogs', and for a moment I hatch a resentment for summer in New England.

Lee gives me banjo lessons in the morning in between sips of coffee and stories of Syd's nine lives: the times he wrestled with a copperhead, a turkey vulture, a pack of German Shepherds, a family of raccoons. I peek into his office later and find only the necessities, evidence of a writer in solitude: a dictionary, a guitar, and a BB gun.






1 comment:

  1. i love these pictures :)

    great blog you have here*

    ReplyDelete