Today is the day we are going to try and come face to face with Myles. At least now we know the lighthouse looking structure is in Duxbury. Michael turns his nose up at my offer to have Google Maps take us there in the most expedient manner, and instead uses his own sense of direction.
Today’s forecast is less than idyllic. Plans are for breakfast or lunch at a farm to table restaurant in Plymouth...
The land we see is being farmed, producing real crops that are harvested and eaten. Sheep that are really shorn, wood that is really sawed, blacksmiths making tools that are really used. This is a history about a way of life. Ordinary people. Not one historical figure in the lot.
Sitting here, we happily listen to the kind of music we hear in the Texas Hill Country. I guess C&W is universal, even in New England, especially at a Pig Roast at centuries old Rye Tavern.
We are given a hint on what is to come, instructions on where to place our napkins—ladies in their laps, gents over their left shoulder—how to eat (with our fingers, maybe a spoon if it is soupy) and learn a tiny bit about the food we will consume.
So, with a brand-new computer stowed in the trunk of the car, and a McDonald’s cheeseburger in our hands, we head for the beach. The waves in the bay are almost 6 feet high, and are projected to be more than 20 feet off shore. The rain spits and spatters. The wind howls.
While Michael chats with the park ranger at the information desk, in yet another National Park Visitor Center, on yet...
We were told by the park ranger at the visitor center we could spend all day here. We have mere hours before it closes. Apparently, a leisurely morning can at times be problematic.
Opened in 1824, from the exterior Pilgrim Hall looks important. Stalwart. Stoic. The same attributes as the individuals whose story lies within, must have possessed. Walking through the doors of our nation’s oldest continuously operating public museum, we pay the entrance fee…
Lisa gives us a tour on the way to her restaurant of choice for the day. Better than any tour guide she fills us with trivia and interesting tales as we make the short trip toward Cape Cod Bay. “This is the only house that was ever deemed haunted in a court of law,” she tells us, and then goes on to tell the whole story.
Simply put, I love Texas. I have lived almost my entire life in this state. Born and raised in San Antonio, I spent the majority of my adult life in Fort Worth, in addition to ten years—on and off—sailing in and around the Gulf Coast on our 40’ Endeavor, Island Rose. For the past ten years, my husband and I have called Wimberley home—and if I love Texas—I adore the Texas Hill Country.
We have traveled extensively in this state--from deep East to far West, from North to South--and have probably been on more back roads and in more towns than anyone I have encountered. I AM a Texan—through and through!
I’m a foodie. I love to cook. I am a good judge of what is excellent, what is not. We will drive two-and-a-half hours for Saturday lunch; for the journey and the destination. I love picnics and trying out local wineries. Food and wine pairings draw me like a magnet. And music—all kinds. Concerts are on the menu at our house every year, be they concerts in a house, in a park, in a barn, in an auditorium or at a winery--we're there.
I paint. I cook. I entertain. I love back country roads and small towns—we own two convertibles so I can be sure that nothing bars the experience of just being there.
I finally decided it was time to share my love of this state and these hills with anyone who will listen or read, letting them in on on the famous, the infamous and the not so famous places that dot the countryside and cities. I'll share stories, experiences, and recipes.
Hopefully, you will come along for the ride, blaze your own trails and let me know if you are having fun. If you step out your door and take a chance, I know that you will!
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