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On the north side of our house is a long double-row of white pine trees. We planted them ourselves, from wispy seedlings we got for free from the Indiana Dept. of something-or-other in charge of giving away free trees. It seems like only yesterday that I was mowing double-swathes between each tree and hoping I didn’t accidentally mistake a seedling pine for a weed.

Now those trees are twenty feet tall and the ground between them is solid needles and pine cones. Hordes of rabbits and quail live in there. The trees are beautiful and full, and they protect the house from a lot of the north winds of winter.

Just on the other side of that piney grove is a big field. The new owners, besides loving their early-morning four-wheelers, have built a large pond there and stocked it.

I can’t see it through the pines so I really didn’t think about it much till last night.

Last night, as I stood on the front porch, I realized that, after dark, my neighborhood now sounds exactly like Dagobah.