Circle of Life

Our house is right next to our town's Catholic church.  On the corner of the church property, there was a little blue single-wide mobile home. It was occupied by an older lady, whom we would often see outside in good weather, tending to outdoor chores as she was able. Several times a month, she would spread a banquet of scraps and bread crumbs out on the street beside her home, and crows would gather from far and wide to partake of the feast.   It is a testament to our lack of connection to this neighborhood and this town (our fault or theirs...who knows?)  that we never learned our neighbor's name or sat down with her to have a cup of tea.  But we did learn her story.

The family who donated the land to the church had stipulated that their last unmarried daughter--this older lady--have a place to live on the property until her death.  When we first moved in next door, there was an old, empty white farm house on the property next to the church.  This must have been the original family home.  At some point, the last daughter of the house must have decided (or had it decided for her) that the house was too much for her to care for on her own, so she moved (or was moved) to the little blue mobile on the corner.  

There it sat, for all the seventeen years we rounded the corner and passed by it on our way to our own driveway.  Sturdy and reliable, it knew neither disrepair nor improvements in all those years.  About a decade ago, the church burned down the old family home and erected a grand parish hall a stone's throw behind the little blue structure.  But still, it remained; and the little lady donned her straw hat in fine weather, tended her lawn and her garden, and scattered bread for the crows. 

Early last spring, "Estate Sale" signs appeared on the corner, with arrows pointing at the suddenly abandoned and forlorn little trailer; followed shortly by a "For Sale" sign in the window.  We learned that the elderly occupant had indeed passed away, and the Church was looking for someone to purchase her tiny home and take it away so they could finally claim the land upon which it rested.  Honestly, it mystified me that a church couldn't make some use of the tiny asset.  With all the struggling poor, immigrant, or battered families in our county alone, it seemed to me the little trailer would have been an ideal place to house someone in need of sanctuary.  Isn't that what churches are supposed to do?    

Their sole short-sighted solution was to have the trailer disappear. 

And, evidently, they couldn't find a buyer...  Monday morning, a wrecker with great jaws on the end of a long arm drove up and beat the little structure to bits; it threw the debris into the back of a dump truck, which will, I assume, haul it to whatever place accepts mangled remnants of a human life.

I passed by the bare patch of dirt yesterday afternoon.  The gray sky wept silent tears, and the crows sat in the little tree beside the now empty space, looking lost and forlorn.

So goes the circle of life...