There are days where you plan to have a good time, expect it, sort of demand it, and it just doesn’t happen. The weather, you are out of sorts, you partner is out of sorts, the world is out of sorts, or the stars simply won’t align.
And then there are days when you have no expectations.
That was our yesterday.
When we are in town, breakfast at Lake Wylie Pizza, is usually a given. The two scrambled eggs, bacon and Belgium waffle for me. Oh, with strawberries. And Nick got his standard, two scrambled eggs, corned beef hash, hash browns, (which he really doesn’t eat), and raisin cinnamon toast.
In good weather, we might take Winston and sit outside. They love Winston. He is part of the team.
Yesterday, we ate inside. We at next to a table that had four men, older, (that is relative). We like to listen to other people’s conversations ad sometimes I will strike up a bit of a conversation. I did that, yesterday.
I love people I don’t know. Chit and chat and get on with life.
We had to pick up some things at Walmart. while in the checkout line, a kid, about 5 or so, standing on the front of his mother’s cart, looked up at his mom and said, “Do we need to get daddy some dip?”
I couldn’t help but laugh So did his mom, as she herded him out of the store.
Instead of heading home, Nick turned right on the road that goes to the country, past the open land, tree-lines, rolling hills, forests and fields that I look at and dream.
Before you knew it, we were headed to Bush N Vine, a farmer’s market where they do actually grow the produce and fruit. They have a long side porch that is lined with rocking chairs where you can sit and eat the best strawberry ice cream you will ever taste.
And that’s what we did. Heck, it had been a couple of hours since breakfast, and I am in the phase where, life is short, eat what tastes good. No, it isn’t the healthiest of modes of operation, and i am certain that the piper will be paid, later. But, screw it. I don’t have to explain.
We sat and rocked and talked about arrowheads and delighted at the taste of the strawberry deliver.
Again instead of going home, which I could have done, happily and content, after having a few delightful episodes, Nick asked if I wanted to go pick cotton.
Of course. I had tried to a couple of weeks ago, but it rained.
The ride to Cotton Hill Farm is delightful. There are fields to the left and right. You go on a two-lane road and once you get past York, our county seat, there are some cotton fields. And they are in bloom. Ripe with cotton.
There were some harvesters working. It is time. Some of the cotton has already been harvested.
Arriving at Cotton Hill Farm, Nick said he’d wait in the car. He gets tired easily. So I traipsed in to see if there was cotton left to be picked.
After talking to the gentleman who works the stand, I knew that it was going to be an ordeal to pick it. He had to get ahold of so and so and see if this field or that one had been harvested. He told me thy had some fresh cut cotton over in the ten where all of the pumpkins were displayed.
At first I wanted to pick my own, but I decided to walk to the tent. Um doggies, did I change my mind. There were two huge boxes of stalks of cotton, straight from the field. It was fabulous and very reasonable. Only $1.500 a stalk, and each stalk had multiple stems and loads of cotton.
I grabbed 7 big stalks and walked back to the car with a rightful grin. Pooey on picking my own cotton. those stems looked pretty tough to cut. This was better.
On our drive home, we saw the Brattonsville sign. Brattonsville is a plantation from the Revolutionary War and was where a good portion of the movie, “The Patriot” was filmed. It is also one of my favorite sites near us. It has a great sense of place.
We walked around, to the brick building near the house that housed the kitchen. WE went to one of the still standing, brick slave quarters. There were 139 slaves at Brattonsville.
We went through the plantation house, where many scenes from “The Patriot” were filmed. Nine children were raised in the house. The owner of the plantation was a wealthy doctor.
Beneath a tree lay oodles of black walnuts, which were gathered and used to dye the wool from the sheep fleece, which is sheared and spun into yarn and woven into clothes that the interpreters wear.
We walked to the fenced field where the male sheep was locked in there with five female sheep. yep, I think Study was his name.
Hearing a rooster crow, we walked past the hen house and to another pen where two lovely pigs chowed down on okra. They noses twinned up and down, and made me laugh.
We walked through the house and looked through the wavy single paned glad that reflected the sunlight in waves. I chose the room with the most windows for the room I would sit and write in, if I lived there.
We sat on the porch of the plantation house and listened to the beautiful quiet, until a Liquor-Cycle, without a muffler, drove by. I wanted to throw black walnuts at him and make him fall off. Why is it that some people feel as if they have the right to be so loud and obnoxious?
Nick and I both noted what a wonderful day we were having. It had been unplanned, figured out by the seat of our pants, and serendipity.
Sitting on that porch, I yearned to live in the country, in the quiet, where thoughts reign, work seems more earnest and you can keep yourself to yourself.
Then, we finally did drive home.
There was more unplanned joy in yesterday, than I have had in a while. In a world that reverberates in the cacophony of nonsense, rhetoric and people that try your patience, what a treat it was to leave all of that behind, and for a few hours, enjoy each other’s company and the quiet of the country.