Photos from the school – Centro Decolar Maria Auxiliadora Familia Fabreto- where Matt and Hil performed volunteer work.

View larger image 

View larger image

 

 

“Mike, there is something I need to tell you, but I can’t right now.”

 

 If you fall off the chimney, or if the platform which supports my ladder collapses, you’ll bounce off the roof, tumble about two stories and then fold yourself on the air conditioning unit below. Chris stood on the top of his ladder, behind the chimney, as I stood precariously perched on mine, and we both struggled to place a newly formed copper cap over the top. I was unaware that as we moved the cap back and forth to find a firm fit, my ladder was walking towards the edge of the plywood platform. Until Chris, trying not alarm, gave me that rather amusing heads up.

 

The cabin porch was saved from destruction by a combination of luck and a skinny, but resilient limb that caught the crushing force of a falling tree . Adam and I spent two hours surgically removing it, section by section, and then finally swinging what was left, still clinging to its upright half, away from the roof. From that tree we crafted a bench on which to sit in front of the fire,  and enough firewood to reload the porch area for Ed’s next winter trip. Or our own next Grok Hill visit, whichever comes first.

Yesterday at the lumberyard.I walked in, picked up gate latches and hinges, and then shuffled to the desk to order the stock I needed to build a custom door in the back of an attached garage in Carlisle.

I was helped by Betty, who is small, probably in her forties, and has zero distinguishing features other than her voice. She sounds like Betty Boop — high-pitched and childlike. Betty stopped me somewhere between my ordering plywood and primed pine to complain about this wet weather breeding mosquitoes. I told her I had been camping in New Hampshire, and indeed they were ferocious. To which she said, “Tell me something. I talked to my ophthalmologist, and he said it was the light and not my eyes. Can you really see more stars if you get away from city?”

I thought to myself, you can see more stars if you leave The Home, but I said, “Of course. The further from the city, the more stars. Try Montana.”

I left, walked to the yard, loaded my truck, and on the way out I stopped to talk to Watson (known as Georgia – why, I don’t know). Georgia is a gentle-hearted guy with nothing but distinguishing features – from the creases in his face deep enough to plant potatoes, to ears like airplane landing flaps. Georgia retired years ago, but couldn’t tolerate doing nothing, and he’s now back making sure the lumber on your truck matches what’s on your slip.

“Georgia, I won’t mention any names, but someone inside asked me if you can see more stars the further you get from the city. Can you imagine that?”

Georgia reached up and pulled the bill of his Red Sox hat away from his face, thought for a moment, and replied, “You know, at my house in Littleton, there are so many trees I can’t hardly see any. But if you go to the Walmart in Hudson, New Hampshire, the sky is covered with them.”

View readable image
Page Two
Photo Gallery