The words and images on this post were originally assembled in late-April, 2022 and shared only with family members. The names of non-family members referenced in this post have been changed and the story about them abbreviated for this public reposting of the walkabout.

As I often do when traveling near and through Philadelphia, NY, I decided to check in on the dairy farm formerly owned and operated by my Grandparents, Beatrice and Merrill Tryon. They had moved away from the farm many years ago and as the years passed since that time, the once-loved and meticulously maintained farm gradually declined. Each trip I make past the farm floods me with wonderful memories and simultaneously breaks my heart to see what now remains. This particular visit was especially painful.

Moments before I arrived at the deserted house in late April, 2022, I passed a group of four people standing in the driveway across the street. My car was moving so slowly at that point, I assumed I had probably triggered their suspicions. I parked at the end of my grandparent’s driveway, got out of my car, and slowly walked toward their old garage, expecting that one or more of the onlookers would show up and start asking me questions or try to chase me off the property.

I wasn’t disappointed: A minute or two later, all four of them walked up the driveway toward me.