If you’re visualizing quarter-acre, suburban properties, with nicely groomed lawns, perhaps some hedges, and a few trees that stand decorously alone, don’t. He has fifty-four acres. I have fifteen and a half, almost all of it untended. There’s only a thin layer of soil over rock and stone. It’s what’s called a “dirty forest.” Trees can spread their roots wide, but not deep. Strong winds, heavy snow, even a lot of rain that loosens the dirt, will bring them down. Many stand tall, but many fall, the ground is littered with broken branches and entire trees. The only way to tell where my land ends and my neighbor’s begins is with a property map and a surveyor who has to work from old iron stakes pounded into the ground decades ago.

My woodland safety deposit box is covered with a large flat rock. It’s one among many, that look like they were tossed about by God, or nature, in a moment of dishevelment.

I put Liz’s gun and the phones and their parts in the box and replaced the rock. I drove into Kingston to the bank. It had been a local operation when I signed on, but it had recently been take over by Bank of America. I parked, entered, and went up to a teller. I said, “I’m $7,800 in arrears on my mortgage. Here it is,” and I put the cash on the counter.

She asked for the account number. I gave it to her. She typed the numbers into the machine in front of her, waited a moment, read something I couldn’t see, then said, “Just a moment, sir,” and went away.

I waited. The clock ticked. Waited and waited. So as not to grow irritated I thought about how much better it was than being on hold on a telephone and forced to listen to obnoxious music.

Eventually she returned. She said, “I can’t accept it.”

“Why not?” A genuine question, politely asked.

“I was told not to. You’d have to speak to someone in our mortgage department.”

“OK,” I said, feeling patient, pleasant, and tolerant. Why not, it was like God had intervened, and He’d said, Hey, wake up, Tony, don’t look a divinity’s gift in the mouth, and here I was with the money to save my home. “Where are they?”

“No one’s here right now. You would have to come back tomorrow. Or call for an appointment.”

“Hmph,” I said, still more thoughtful than annoyed. “Hmph, can I get something notarized?”

“I’m sure we can do that.”