I had the chance to give a friend a tour of the building yesterday. I’ve done that a few times in the past, but not for a few years. It made me miss it, really. Life in Burlington was nice. Walking to work every day, walking to Zero Gravity, walking to the building. There’s a universe where that’s what I’m still doing, with Roby on my shoulders. But that’s not the universe that I’m from, and that’s kind of sad, because it seems like a very nice universe, I just don’t live there. 
I think for somebody a life in town, more involved with that amazing, miraculous place, would be perfect, and in some ways I wish it were perfect for me, but it ain’t. I like being out here too much, with the piles of wood and the ability to shout and question every car. 

It makes me wonder about Roby. I imagine this place that I’m working on, this property, in twenty or thirty years. With the proper beautiful wall and another living place and cows and a big garden and a wood-mill. I imagine all that goodness and her choosing instead, Bushwick or Shanghai. 

The building is like that. With the former skate ramp, the silk screening studio, the artists, the community, the whole thing. But that’s not my dream, and mine won’t be hers. 

Of course I have notions regarding the reality of Robinia’s future America and they aren’t exactly peachy, particularly in the urban arena. If even a shadow of what I expect to be, is, a farm’ll be a good thing to be on, especially one on a hill, especially one with a wall, especially one with your dad on it. 

But who knows,
not me, 
I hardly know anything.