Three Maple Trees (part three b)

These three neighbors were retired but lived their retirement without resignation. For me, they were the essence of the apartment building. They had been there when I got there, and acted as if they owned the place but were willing to share it with you. They’ve since passed away, and the place seems that much smaller without them. The people that have moved in are pleasant. They’re somewhat younger and definitely quieter. No longer will I hear Betsy and Jim outside at the picnic table late at night smoking cigarettes and talking about their lively pasts.

I think I feel somewhat the same about those lost maple trees. Pleasant Valley seems that much smaller, to paraphrase Robert Frost, a diminished place. I guess that's the danger of living in any location for an extended period of time. Places change. They’re always changing. Whittier’s Pleasant Valley isn’t mine. And the Pleasant Valley of ten years ago isn’t the valley of today. But of course, Whittier’s valley wasn’t the same valley of the Pennacook Indians either.

More to come about that in Part 4.

-part one
-part two
-part three a