Proceeding across upstate New York between Rochester and Buffalo on our way from New Hampshire to Ohio, Susan and I pulled off the Throughway to drive through the village I lived in from ages twelve through seventeen. Beyond the small downtown, we continued out on a small highway to Colby Road, where the hundred and fifty year old farmhouse stood on a hill back from the road. We proceeded up the driveway where we met the gracious current owner, who seemed pleased and curious to have a visit from a former resident. Apparently this has happened before.

The house was extensively remodeled. She invited us in to look around, and I noted that my small former bedroom (with the 50's space travel wallpaper) had become a dining room off the kitchen.

The large hay field South of the driveway was now a wooded lot with mature hardwood trees. This is the single most age-awareness-raising things I have yet to encounter.


Mom's old hay barn and stable for her two horses now lies in ruins, with trees growing out of it.


How I used to loath mowing the huge lawn around this place with the little gas rotary push mower. The current owner was riding around on a commercial-grade landscape machine, such as you might find at a golf course.

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