A little over 18 years ago we moved from the San Francisco Bay Area to a New England town of approximately 15,000 people.
Today the town, with almost the exact same square miles as Manhattan Island, has grown to just over 27,000.
There are many many wonderful things here: a State park and a large wilderness area as well as over 4,000 acres of town controlled open space.
But then there is the Gill House. It is old.
It hasn't been touched for many years allowing it to fall into ruin. The rurination has progressed slowly over the 18 years.
First the porch roof, then the porch itself.
The roof near the chimney caved in. The entire rear collapsed soon after.
The entire structure, made of very old and very dry wood, sits only a few yards from a busy state road.
It has been a wonder to me that a stray cigarette from a passing motorist hasn't ignited it.
This morning on the way to work, I noticed a Real Estate Company's sign in front of the house.
The first thing a new owner would do is tear it down. We'll have to find something else to watch decompose as we travel to and from town.
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