On Saturday we returned home from an afternoon out and about and found a huge bag of corn waiting by our front door. Although there was no name attached, we knew the corn had come from our neighbors diagonal to us. We've also, in the past, been the lucky recipients of vine-ripened tomatoes, knobbly homegrown cucumbers, and the odd green pepper or two.

The other day T. and I drove through our old neighborhood, past the turn-off to the street our old house used to be on. I felt a tug of nostalgia suddenly, but I'm not sure what for, really. I don't miss the house--I love this house and this new neighborhood, and the friends we've made in the nearly two years we've lived here--but the tug was there, nonetheless, like a homing instinct pulling me down the street.