The Hoakes' farm loomed well before the bus had stopped. It stood, isolated, between two big oak trees and, from where I was, I could even see an orchard behind the house, a shed, a barn, a children's swing and two rows of petunias and gladioli. They all looked modest but functioning, flowers included. Mr Hoakes was a talented carpenter, but ever since his mental breakdowns, which had resulted in him being committed several times, all the hard work had fallen on the shoulders of Mother Hoakes. At least I imagined that to be the case. I know this piece of information because everybody in town knows this piece of information and, to be honest, this was one of the few that actually interested me and I bothered to retain. I didn't know if I would bump into him during my visit or whether he was
