April 25, 2018

The Yard Fathers have been working on my new fence for two blustery, bitter wintery days, and so far as I can tell, have completed it. It’s clean and handsome. It’s shorter than the previous one; I will not be protected from the scrutiny of my neighbors on the hill, though I will be from that of people on the street. I liked having three fit young men pass up and down through my yard. I liked their lively little dog, Hank, friendly and curious and aching at each moment for contact and adventure. The yard is a gouged and muddy mess. The cartons of plants which have been piling up on the porch may now be settled. Jesse Israel phoned to say they have a mulberry for me.

During office hours yesterday, G came and talked to me for a long time about art, poetry, and his future. After Irish class, C talked to me a long time about music, art, and his future. In each case I ached with anxiety to say the right thing, hear the thing that was actually meant, to be helpful and understanding and able to aid these young men in steering the right course. I smiled the whole time. I hope they didn’t think I was taking their tribulations lightly; I was merely taking pleasure in their company.