This is also where most of the ancient and immense oak trees stand, their extended, heavy branches reaching out gracefully. One great grandmother tree has her very own tree-deck. Below it in the garden is a bronze bench with Mr. & Mrs. George frozen in a fond moment as they sit together. I must say, I felt like I could just go up to them and make simple conversation, maybe chat about the beautiful day and thank them for their hospitality. Mrs. George had a puddle of wet leaves in her lap, and a serene smile on her face. Mr. George looked upon his wife with tenderness. I’d like to think they were good people.
One lady was spinning wool. Sitting in the breezeway of the cabin, she spoke as if she were living in the 1830’s. Some of my favorite chickens were happily pecking the ground around us as she spoke. I felt as if I might have transcended to another time, for just a moment.
We even had a delightful conversation with a man who turned out to be the person who runs the park, although he told us his name was Henry Jones.
Since we both had managed to not eat breakfast that morning, our bodies were feeling a bit depleted by 3 p.m. It was time to find the parking lot and head back to 2012 and some welcome eatery. Oh, and there was also the faint call of my studio, wondering why I had not paid a good painting visit. This weekend, my precious.