The drive up is one of my favorites, I often imagine taking up illegal residence in one of the shacks along the way, but it is the stay that makes the drive worth it. She jokes to me that in the summer I should come to live here, because she wishes to acquire an artist in residence. I am not less than half actually interested, I dream of bringing my laptop and writing a novel, or a memoir, of painting watercolor paintings, trudging up the long hill to the barn with my easel and canvas tucked under with my acrylic paints in hand.
She talks of early morning paddles and wanting more culture (pronounced cull tcha). We visit with an old friend we haven’t seen in 18 years, and the friend says both that of all the people who would seek her out to friend her on Facebook, we were two that she said Oh YES! to. And she also says she is not at all surprised that after all these years we are still friends, she calls us both mellow and so put together, we both laugh. Maybe not so much. But I feel butterflies in my stomach, because she is a person I love, and her husband and her children too. Very much. I bring fabric for her son to make a zombie, and her daughter to make an owl, the son goes skiing, but the daughter who at the age of 8 is already learned to sew quite well, sits with me while we research other stuffed owls and we sit at the high table in her dining room and sew the face and wings.