I don’t feel sorry for old things the way some people do.


It doesn’t make me sad that people don’t want to stay here anymore, that these cabins have been empty for thirty years, maybe more.

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The place looks like it has no regrets, looks like it has lived every minute that its wood and shingles, nails and window panes afforded, looks like it won’t quit until it’s ready to sink into its own green earth.


I understand that and feel at home here.