Saying goodbye to 606 Willers Court

For five years, since Mom passed away, the Miller kids (of two generations) have used her little twinhome at 606 Willers Court in Lake City, Minn., as a retreat and Coveted Burnt Wienie party pad. In 2008, I bought out Chris and Chats' portion of the place, and have loved having it, and kept it a while in hopes that eventually Joe and Mavis would be able to sell their larger place and move into my smaller place. Didn't quite work out that way, thanks to the worst housing recession in memory, which has hit little Lake City especially hard, making it hard to sell a place unless you practically give it away. When the opportunity arrived to sell the twinhome slightly above tax value and gain a little financial security, I took it, selling it to a couple from Hastings. The closing is March 15. Giving it up is bittersweet, but exciting because it's a step toward my dream of building a small place someday in Old Frontenac. Took some photos yesterday, moving day: I used these highly professional movers to relocate the last furniture from Lake City to my place in Robbinsdale. If they look familiar, it's because they're COUSINS (and a friend who's almost family). Thanks to you movin', groovin' kids -- Jamie Rae Blackburn, Zachary Miller and Noah Johnson. (I keep calling them kids, but they're 21, 21 and 22 now -- all grown up with dreams of their own.) The great room before we locked up. Hope the new owners love it as much as we did.

The kitchen where we had all those large, delicious Burnt Wienie desserts.

After loading the truck, we met Elmer and Mavis for a large, delicious, calorie-heavy supper at Bronk's in downtown Lake City. Noah and Zachary sat under posters about Lake City Tiger championships in the 1970s.

What would Alverna think of us moving her last little home out of the family? Don't know for sure, but it might be worth noting that her Christmas cactus, which tends to bloom at odd non-Christmas times, took off this week, shooting out pink blossoms in my Robbinsdale living room. I'll take that as a sign that she approves of the Old Frontenac dream, which is next up.

A bittersweet little poem that friends Holly and Todd Willmarth sent me when I told them I'd sold Mom's last house:

Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows:

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those? That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.

-- A.E. Houseman