So Long, Old Friends.

Retur n to the Peacock I nnP. Crockett

THEY are not long, the weeping and the laughter,

L ove and desire and hate:

I think they have no portion in us after

We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:

Out of a misty dream

Our path emerges for a whi le, then closes

Within a dream.

Ernest Dowson, 1867-1900

Page 1 of 12

Growing Into The Mystery

The Last Days of the Peacock InnP. Cr ocket t

So long, old friend I never really had a chance to know...

Is it foolishness tof eel for an old house, a simple one, really, even falling apart at the

seams? A building that was once a home, but had quite obviously been given up on

long since? Houses, exactly as those who build them, are held together only by the

attentive care, sustained efforts, and generous time of those who might care, and

there is no hiding its lack.

Is it ridiculous to wish to simply acknowledge it that it had once been very much

loved, and feel the need to express to the house (as if it had ears, or (for that matter)

were even still here) a sense of gratitude thati t had loved in return? To remind it

that, in the deepest and truest sense, it once had a place in a world that was rapidly

changi ng? To simply bear witness, and declare, “I r emember ?”

Abandoned houses ared on e, because we consider ourselves through with them.

And they go without a protest, returning to the Earth from which they first took

shape or under the focused might of a wrecking ball. And I can only imagine their spirit calmly whispering, all the while, “Thank you, for I have been given to serve,” knowing in some mysterious “house wisdom” that this will always remain true. No matter what. Always.

For all that we fancy ourselves, for all that we are or will ever know, having a place

in such a way may well be the one and only thing that ever has really meant

anything, or ever will.

Page 2 of 12

Growing Into The Mystery

THE PROPS assist the House

Until the House is built

And then the Props withdraw

And adequat e, erect ,

The House supports itself

And cease to recollect

The Auger and the Carpenter--

Just such a retrospect

Hath the perfected Life--

A past of Plank and N ail

And slowness then the Scaffolds drop

Affirming it a Soul.

Emily D ickinson

The property immediately across the street, now green lawn and steps leading graciously to nowhere.

Just beneath the thriving, hustling surface of today’s Coconut Grove, in fact all around for any who take the time to see, are remains. Not simply architectural remnants, stubborn stone and mortar and brick, butev i d en ce. Of an era now forever gone, of a way of life that we can scarcely imagine, try how we might.