The man was no doubt in his 60’s and his golden labrador puppy less than a year. He wore his years and experiences on his face and his body, including an eighth-month-preggers-beer-belly. He stopped by our car’s open window and began to chat. Said he had lived here 43 years and was now trying to sell his property via Craig’s List. [That surprised me, given his age as a means for selling.] He was, he said, dumbfounded by the dumb clucks that showed up to view it. They asked him if he would rent it to them, maybe sell it, but better yet, give it them. “What’ s wrong with them”, he asks. With no wife or kids, he lives half the year in Florida and would like to make that year around. He cheerfully answered questions about the Hamlet. “It was thriving when the train from the City was in operation.” He pointed out the decrepit train station hut, ‘They would get off the train and walk to the hotels. That one there, [he points to the house/hotel] has a ballroom on the third floor. It was quite the times. But then the train dried up and the hamlet shriveled. There are now maybe 42; in 1895 there were 400.”
He says it all so matter of fact.