I live in a place that’s been a place longer than I’ve lived in it. Even in the same era, it’s experienced in versions. Stories of another place with the same name and location meet my ears or Instagram messages. They are real. They are not where I live. Where I live is real. It is not where they lived.

Some people I encounter dislike where I live because for them, its streets and buildings are a map of sorrows. They stay away from here, lest they retrace memory’s footsteps; it feels like walking on tacks for them. I am grateful my home does not feel this way to me. It is life, and life is notoriously unfair.

My South Buffalo is explored on foot or bike. The places that mark my memories are largely places of joy. Bike shop. Pizza shops. Cafes. Grocery stores. Parks. Fire pits surrounded by trees. Bodies of water I’ve kayaked. Bodies of water I’ve seen birds. Living rooms and living rooms of people I care about very much. Every spring the formerly abandoned house has a hundred tulips pop up. It’s because I planted them.

I say hello to my neighbor on their porch, the owner of the bike shop, and the employee of the pizza place. Neighbor is walking with her dogs again, I wonder how she is? Thankfully Other Neighbor has that tool and lets us borrow it. There are so many people that I talk to. There are so many people that I do not talk to. Rainbow flags and municipal gossip are in the air of the places I visit. The food continues to be good. You know the person I know too? They are making Buffalo better, again. Yeah, I feel lazy compared to them too. Did you see yet another missing cat? My kids did.

There’s a man shouting joy outside of my window into his phone and I do not know why. Sometimes people are shouting arguments from their porches. Blessed be, they’ve yet to involve me.

The deer eat my garden. The deer ate my garden. Did I see that the deer made snacks out of my roses? Yes. Yes we did. Ah, you got a video recorded on your phone. Sure, I’ll watch.

When the winter came, it stayed outside. I went outside with a shovel, or a snow blower. My husband will do our side of the street’s sidewalks, including those of the people we don’t like. The winter though, and this is key, stays outside.

It’s autumn now and I am marking it with my traditional mild head cold and admiration of fleeting beauty. I’m going to stretch this garden as far as it will go. I’d love to walk to your home. I’d love to see you. I’m so glad you are here too.

Welcome to my home. It feels different to everyone.