My true love and I went to the doctor and the grocery store. On the way between those spots, I took a few pictures.
There are places nearby which are beautiful and where I’ve been trying to take a few nice pictures for years. I usually can’t. There is no place to park.
It isn’t the city. We don’t suffer from having too many cars. No parking meters. Just a narrow winding road with many swampy sections. Pulling off to the side of the road can prove perilous. It is a kind of quick mud, but it’s not going to swallow the car. Not exactly. It will suck the car (and me) into the muck and make quite a mess. It can appear normal, but you step on what looks like grass and find yourself in black mud to your knees. Stinky black mud. Yuck.
So we made a deal, Garry and I, that he would look for anyplace he could pull off the road — safely — and I’d leap out (well, not exactly leap, but move quickly) and take some pictures. Then jump back in the car.
One of the places is the Forge House. Built in 1788 as a cobbler’s shop, it later was turned into a forge house where people with metal to be melted could come.
We got to the corner and Garry pulled into the base of someone’s driveway. I clambered out and went to take some pictures. While I was shooting, half a dozen cars wouldn’t drive through my piece of road. I was taking pictures. They didn’t want to ruin my shots. I had no idea what was going on because, like most photographers, I was paying no attention to anything but the pictures. I looked up and everyone waved to me and drove on.
I shouted thank you and they waved back.
That’s why we live here. Not in the city. Out here, people are nice. No special reason, but because they are like that. Isn’t that lovely? With all the awful stuff going on … something charming happens.