Another Dreamy Day

I snapped this picture of our little crab apple tree yesterday before we left. Oh, she smells sweet and has tiny roses all over her. (She also has band aids, sigh, because something attacked her inside her trunk, but she's strong and still looks lovely.)

Then we traveled through green, lush countryside, picked up lunch at a supermarket then drove farther to have a picnic with ggggg-grandpa at the cemetery where we ate and read books inside our sunny car.

Then miles and miles down the road we arrived at the tiny book cabin, a former voting booth from 1912. Have I ever shown you a picture? Well, here's one, but the sun was in the way of the best view:

I told you it was tiny! I carried three whole boxes of my books inside, my donations for all the books I've pulled from shelves there, then browsed a bit, buying just one, placing my coins, clang! Inside the can beside the door.

Then I walked around, taking more photos for you. Do these little buildings take you back to the 1930's or what? I love old signs like the one which says 'Men.' Ancient! And check out this sign which I consider rare...


How often are you told to park on the lawn?

All of these sit behind a tall, sturdy cobblestone museum, an 1800's church:



I took other photos in the quietness, but you get the idea.

We drove and drove some more to a guitar shop out there in the deep country on the edge of Rochester and left a guitar of Tom's there to sell on consignment. Then we headed back, pausing for an ice cream cone as we passed hundreds of old farmhouses which, for 18 years, have made me crazy with desire. But now? Now I gazed upon their old-fashioned beauty and their huge lawns and barns and thought, "Eh. They're nice, but they're not for me. Too much work. I'm ready for something new. Something else."

Oh, I watch myself changing lately and am scared and excited simultaneously. But mostly excited.

And because anything is possible on a gleaming countryside day, I came up with the craziest idea! "What if," I told Tom,"What if we sold our house, put all our money in the bank and our stuff into storage and then just took off in our car to travel across the United States? We could bring a tent, a comfy rolled-up foam mattress and our plug-in ice chest, then camp our way across. Visit friends old and bloggy-new. See Route 66. And do it all without having a real home. We'd just end the trip in the state we wish to live in, buy a house, then send for our stuff."

Ah, a day in the country can so easily spin dreams like those inside your head.

Happy sigh.





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Why dream inside a box? Most of us think and live inside that box of The Way Everybody Else Does It, but should we do our dreaming in there, also?