Florence is still a presence in this house, a spirit perhaps. As happens with new houses, it is our house now, and not anybody else’s. We bought some pieces of her blue glass, and that is mostly what remains of her time. Everything else seems different. Rocky was a metaphor for her life, and as her granddaughter said, when he died it was no longer Florence’s farm and the transition seemed complete.

It is not as simple as that. I got to meet Florence, talk to her and her spirit remains in the place for me. In its sturdiness, hardiness, simplicity, character. We are doing well by her place, bringing it back to life, bringing it up to speed. It will take more time, and more money, of course, but when I think of Florence I think of courage and determination, a simpler and more meaningful life. I mean to have the same thing.