Before we even built the house, we stuck three sticks in the ground. The other day, when I took this photo from atop our mound, and I saw the magnificent trees that our sticks have become, I thought of the name for our 3.33 little acres of paradise: Three Willows.
They say you shouldn’t name a stray puppy unless you want to keep it. Does that apply to 3.33 acres of paradise, too? If so, I guess I plan to stay here forever.
There are plenty of worse alternatives. Three Willows sits along the frontage road that used to be what is now the four-lane highway uphill from us. But downhill! There is the approximately one-acre field that I named Willow’s Field long ago because of the way our beloved golden retriever loved to run and retrieve her orange disc — I called it The Ting as in, “Get The Ting!” and she would do it over and over tirelessly.
About another acre, sloping downward, is a lovely little woods of about an acre, and down below is a wetland. The land is pie-shaped, and the point of the pie is 150 feet, more or less, from the waters of Green Bay. Because of the woods you can only see the bay in the winter, but you can certainly hear it on a windy night!
It took 11 years of living memories to come up with the name, but it feels like it fits. And so, welcome to Three Willows.
P.S. I posted this picture and this thought on Facebook on Monday and had four dozen “Likes” within four hours. I guess the name is a hit!