Good times

Good times in West Brookfield yesterday. Two of my nieces (ages 7 and 9) arrived, chauffeured by my mom, and paid for their nickel tour. They were both a wee bit freaked out by the place, I don't think they could get out of it fast enough. Oddly, it was the farthest from home they'd ever been, and the most country. They are complete and total city slickers, which made for some amusement over the course of the day. They had heard that there were lots of deer around, and hoped to see them, and didn't understand that I could not just summon a deer at will. I think I cleared that particular misconception up for them while on our brief jaunt across the yard to the peach tree. They'd heard of the fabled peach tree and it's bumper crop a few weeks prior, but again, did not grasp the fact that there were no more peaches to be had until next year. They found that very odd. They also asked, repeatedly, where my horses were, and I seemed to think that I was already living in the house, sans mondern amenities. I cleared that up for them too.

We went apple picking at a nearby orchard, and I spotted a bald eagle soaring very close by, and so low it was easy to identify. That was a neat thing to be able to point out to them, but again, they were not as enamored of it as I was.

Returning to the house, we then took a walk out back, down the logging road towards the clearing that isn't a clearing. We left the road to go out into the woods for a ways, and then rather than backtrack, we had to do a bit of bushwacking to get back to the road. Nothing major, just winding around to find the best footing and least thorns, but the girls were really, genuinely concerned that we were lost in the woods. Luckily, we spotted some wild, fragrant concord grapes within arm's reach and assured them that even if we were lost at least we wouldn't starve! I don't think that made them feel any better. I don't think they felt really better until our cars were back in sight.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, an hour or so of cutting back underbrush revealed the oft-glimpsed, never touched cornerstone that is the end of the stone wall. I cleared it back enough to sit on without being attacked by thorns. Couldn't do too much more than that as one weedwacker looked like its gas somehow got contaminated, and the mower deck is still out for repair, waiting on a part. So after apple picking and our walk in the not-quite-hundred-acre wood, I found a trunk of winter clothes, loaded up the cowgirl cadillac, and headed home.

It was a quintessential New England fall day, replete with family and foliage.