Dateline: 15 August 2016

This post picks up where my last one left off, discussing the area where I live. In the photo above, I’m at the top of a valley, about to walk down. The woods on the left side of the photo are part of the property I own with my wife.

As I walk down the road, I pass this house. It’s been empty for a while and has fallen into disrepair. I’ve been trying to purchase the property, but legal complications have stalled the sale.

Past the house, the road slopes down sharply. During the winter, it’s unusable, but I have fond memories of sledding down it in my youth.

Instead of taking that road down, my usual walk continues straight, where the road curves left. Several houses are clustered here, including one owned by my son and his wife, and another owned by the son of a man named Phil, who used to live in the house my son now occupies.

Phil lived in this area his entire life, and the road is named after his family. I often spoke with him while gardening.

This is the view after I walk past those houses. The field on the left is part of my property. The road continues, leading to a farm that was once the Murphy family farm.

My high school friend Art used to live on the farm. I recall him harvesting maple syrup as a teenager, a practice my wife and I now also engage in.

This is the top of the rise, with the old Murphy farm. This entire area was part of their property.

Sadly, Art passed away from cancer a while back. This road evokes numerous memories of him. His brother also died tragically a few years later, and their mother passed away some time after that. The farm is now owned by a man who was fostered by Art’s family.

Past the farm, there was once a pond and a cabin. They’re both gone now, but in high school, my friends and I often gathered there. I remember camping there with Art and the man who now owns the farm when he was just a young boy.

The road then leads uphill, passing woodland areas.

This field is where Marlene and I played a prank on some friends. We startled them with a scream while they were having a campfire, making them believe it was a wildcat.

Past that field, the path continues, eventually reaching a dying ash tree.

This marks the halfway point of my walk. In the distance, there’s a dead elm tree which used to stand beside the Buckley barn. The barn was historically significant, built with impressive craftsmanship. I have vivid memories of spending time there during my high school years.

One memory involves Homecoming night in 1975. Art, our friend Bill, and I were at the cabin with others, intending to meet up with some girls. To avoid bringing the others along, we planned to make a quick escape in Art’s fast car.

We managed to drive off, but our friend Norm chased us in his own car. Art stopped at the Buckley barn, hoping Norm wouldn’t see us.

However, Norm lost control of his car, crashing near the barn. The accident resulted in injuries for Norm and his passenger, and totaled his car. The police, ambulance, and even our high school driver’s ed teacher, who was a volunteer fireman, arrived at the scene.

The Buckley barn met an unfortunate end years later. A hay bale unloader was purchased, changing how hay was stored in the barn. The new method destabilized the barn’s structure, causing it to collapse. It was eventually burned down by the fire department. All that’s left now are remnants of the foundation and the driveway.

This area holds many memories for me. I often reflect on these experiences during my morning walks.

In the next post, I’ll share photos from the walk back to my house.