Sunday, March 25, 2012

March is good for something

I think of March and October as two of the most critical months of the year.  Everything changes during these months--major shifts occur.  October can be hard for fleeting moments. All of the pools are closed and jeans feel really, really weird after five months of bare legs. It's possible to spend September in denial (ie, "Summer's not over! What are you talking about?  Sure, it's still warm enough to wear shorts!  Look at me! My legs are totally exposed and I'm not cold at all!! NOT AT ALL!!! ... can I borrow your scarf? They really need to turn off the AC in here."). But, October will snap you right out of it.

I love October.  That being said, March is the only reason why winter has never given me a nervous breakdown.  Just when I think my skin, eyes, and hair cannot get ANY drier, all of a sudden March appears and I'm saved.  I spend some time in October missing summer and sort of cringing at the thought of winter, but in March I do not lament the change of seasons at all.

Earlier today, I sifted through my photo archives looking for the "Unionville pictures." I had trouble finding them because I kept searching through the 2010 archives having no idea that the single day I had in mind actually took place in 2009.  Yet another moment of, "What? The day I'm thinking of was THREE years ago?  Not two?  No, that's not right ... omg, every photo is stamped with '2009.'"  Seriously, I feel like I took these two weeks ago.

Anyway, I remember this particular day as one of those transition days.  After the first of two (nobody knew it was the first of two) impossible winters with feet and feet and feet of snow, roads that could not seem to completely thaw, endless shivering, and shriveled up purple fingers and toes (is it just me?), it became magically warm enough that one could leave the house with NO COAT--just a sweater!--without tangoing with hypothermia.

I felt kinda bored that particular day, but there was nowhere I really wanted or needed to go. I just wanted to get out of the house for an hour.  It was around 4pm on a Sunday, and I don't think daylight savings time had kicked in yet ... I believe that took place in April in 2009?  Anyway, the sun was sinking toward the horizon, the stores were closing, and I wanted out.  I asked Ron if he felt like driving around aimlessly for an hour (please note: gas didn't cost 20-gajillion dollars per gallon way back then) just to see everything coming into bloom. He shrugged and was like, "Yeah, ok."

We headed out and turned west.

Every time I think to myself, "One day I'm gonna pack my bags, get on a plane to California, and not come back," I usually conclude with, "Only a dumb ass would leave Chester County and not come back."

The trees just grow right on through. 

I'm pretty sure something like this is a common site between New England and--I don't know--DC suburbs?  There are so many forgotten places like this around here. I always wonder how or why they've come to be deserted. Sometimes, it's easy to tell that there had been a fire and the leftover structure unofficially condemned.  But other times, it's not so obvious and something about it always strikes me as a shame.

Honestly, what part of the house would hold on to more stories than the fireplace?

We stopped to admire a family's horses on a huge estate sitting on a narrow road.

This guy came right up to us.

"Can you see how pretty I am?"

"Take one of my good side. You can't deny it, Lady: I'm gorgeous."
I won't lie: I really, really would love to have a gorgeous estate on a narrow road with pretty chestnut horses right out my kitchen window.

Finally, before we lost all the light that was left, we found this place by mistake. I still haven't been back here, but it's always crossing my mind.  (More info here.)

Maybe I'll go find it this week ... the last week of March that we have for another year!  It didn't bother me when February blew right by, but it bothers me that March flew even faster in just one breath.

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