We pulled in to the shady drive— fields and hills opening out beyond. Amber mares, and chestnut. Faun and dappled.
"They say he's like a steed, Mommy!" my Littlest said, pointing to a midnight black horse in the distance. "That a knight in shining armor should ride him. They say we should see him run. He goes so fast."
My girls wanted me to come here, had been here just yesterday with others. And I see why. I am only just taking it in and already I want to come back again.
We park and walk to the stuga ("That's what they call it in Swedish... not a cottage, Mommy!"). The stuga— let me get that right— is shaded by an old apple tree. Wooden benches and tables are crowded with potted herbs for sale— parsley, sage, rosemary (I don't see thyme). There is an heirloom variety of strawberry ("Sparkle," says Linsay the proprietor) and heirloom tomatoes. The farm has been in this family for 103 years. There is Linsay's house and grandmother's. There is a brother.
Linsay has been up since 4 a.m. picking kale, strawberries, lettuces, and putting out glass cups with minted, lemon ice water. The mint clings to the side of the glass pitcher. I want a glass of this green.
This space is only open two days a week, for four hours. "I worked 70 hours a week last year and didn't make a profit," says Linsay. I'm doing it different this year. I want it to be about the experience."
There is water boiling on the stove up at her house and she needs to shut it off, but she's hesitant to leave us. Finally, her friend goes off to save the kettle from sure demise.
Beyond the apple tree are the gardens. At the fringe is a teapot tree. It is a huge, weathered branch that Linsay rescued from the saw after a storm. She dug a hole, placed the branch upside down and hung it with kettles— ultramarine blue, yellow, red, white. Maybe these are the ones that didn't make it on her stove.
I do not want to leave. The horses, the water glasses, Sparkle strawberries and Sweetie tomatoes. I do not want to leave this day, this hour, and the way that Linsay rescues things.
On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.
If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)
This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...