Buck Tibbitt | May 25, 2016
I moved into the old farm house on Buck Bay Road 13 years ago with my then wife Julie and pup Pettibone. At the time we knew not a soul in the area. The house is gone, the dog is gone and the wife moved to town years ago. The black crater in the yard in front of the shop is, when I look at it, a reminder that all is not lost but severely altered. So much attention can be applied to the loss that the real practicalities may be missed.
The deaths of Pettibone and my other dog, Davis, and the impossible reckoning of their final horrific moments render my heart not unto some Caesar but to the lightning that befalls mortals. Beyond that loss I have awoken to the depth and character of this community. My community.
This is my home, this is where I live; this is my life.
This life - to paraphrase Eugene O'Neill - is my strange and wondrous interlude between what has passed and what is yet to come.
Thank you all.
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