Explore "My Unwilling Neighbor" by Frank R. Stockton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I was about twenty-five years old when I began life as the owner of a / vineyard in western Virginia. I bought a large tract of land, the / greater part of which lay upon the sloping side of one of the / foot-hills of the Blue Ridge, the exposure being that most favorable to / the growth of the vine. I am an enthusiastic lover of the country and / of country life, and believed that I should derive more pleasure as / well as profit from the culture of my far-stretching vineyard than I / would from ordinary farm operations.
I built myself a good house of moderate size upon a little plateau on / the higher part of my estate. Sitting in my porch, smoking my pipe / after the labors of the day, I could look down over my vineyard into a / beautiful valley, with here and there a little curling smoke arising / from some of the few dwellings which were scattered about among the / groves and spreading fields, and above this beauty I could imagine all / my hillside clothed in green and purple.