Gardens and history and fresh air and serendipitous run-ins with church friends. It was still gray, but it wasn't raining, so we tromped about the muddy gardens to look at the last gasps of azaleas. The kids planted radishes in the colonial kitchen garden and brought home sunflower seeds that will never flourish in our mostly sunless yard.
And we all felt a little better for having gotten out.
My love of gardens surprises me. I think my friend Katie was right when she commented a few weeks back that there is something about getting older that makes you turn to flower adoration. I didn't know it was in me, really, I didn't. But now I find myself wanting to travel far and wide in search of blooms. Much like my love of the ocean, this new love for flowers feels profound and visceral.
Beautiful, fleeting, and vitally important. It makes for a heady cocktail.
I hope to go back to London Town in June for the last homeschool program of the year. I want to know more about the history of that ferry crossing and the role it played in colonial times. And more than anything, I want to imagine what William Brown's Tavern was like back in the days when George Washington was stopping there. Imagine the whispers of revolution in a sparsely populated land.