We went to the Highland Games in London, Ontario this weekend, and coming home my husband and I took our time, meandering in a leisurely and aimless fashion down through Port Stanley, Port Rowan, Port Bruce, Port Burwell, and then up to Tillsonburg and then home. I am not familiar with that area at all, so it was all new and delightful to me.
Newly-sprouting fields in vibrant green that felt like velvet rubbing on my eyeballs. Beautiful homes and farms with black bird-netting set up over the strawberry fields like canopies---I half expected a block party. Lots of tall, gorgeous churches (three with beaming wedding parties posing for photos on the front steps). Trotting yearlings and goats climbing on children's toys and people walking with beautiful golden retrievers. Winding rivers and barren docks thrust out into gray water. Older couples walking on the beaches hand in hand. Muscular-looking tug boats that scoff at the sleek but wimpy pleasure craft. Two teenage boys misjudging the amount of water trapped in the earth at the lake shore and getting stuck in chocolate-coloured mud.
As we rounded a corner coming out of Port Burwell, we saw a cute little white house and red barn for sale, overlooking Lake Erie, and stopped to write down the agent's name and number. I looked it up when we got home. Forty acres with paddocks and chicken coop running right down to a sandy bluff, with five acres of hardwood. The house itself needs some work and it probably cost a little more than it was worth. And it was too far out to be able to commute to my current job. But quiet and serene, with water, fuel source, and farmland all together. Raise organic eggs? Hydroponic tomatoes in the barn? Zen retreat with the hay mow converted to guest rooms? The mind zips around with ideas.
Home again to my pretty home with its nice yard...and its neighbours. And traffic sounds. It's convenient to have Tim Horton's and a WalMart within walking distance. But you trade off for that convenience, and I'm more and more reluctant to make that trade.
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