Happy children run
There is this beautiful colonial Inn that resides in my head. It has been there for several years, ever since I finally had to accept the fact that a REAL inn was no longer a possibility for me. This Inn has been my escape hatch when I can't fall asleep, or when there is something gnawing at me that threatens to penetrate my defenses. Sometimes I escape to the Inn just because, and often those are the most prolific visits. It's funny, I just realized that I never named it; I always think of it as The-Inn-In-My-Head.
This Inn is on the coast of Maine, nearer Canada than NH. It sits high on a cliff, set back aways so that the lawn is a long swath of green. Attached to the cliff is a set of steps that reach the tiny beach below. There are 100 acres on this property, and it is backed by state forest through which there is a network of cross-country ski trails. DB and I have cut a couple trails that intersect those in the state forest.
This is a working farm, providing all the food for the Inn. There are fields of hay and field corn for the livestock, and oats and rye for our kitchen. And there is a humungous garden. On the property are several outbuildings. One of these is a beautifully restored old barn in which we have built a 50-seat theater. Another building houses the quilting shop, which sells other exotic fabrics besides cottons for quilts.
And there are three A-frames that are each ample enough to house a large family, with a small holiday kitchen. The larger structure is a modern ranch house for the farm manager and his family. Of course, there are several smaller buildings that shelter the livestock: Jersey cows, hereford steers, pigs, lambs, and (sorry, Lyra) a chicken coop.
As you can see, this Inn has been occupying my head for many years. I have had plenty of time to experiment with crops, build magnificent kitchens, have interesting staff (one of my favorites was the culinary arts intern who spent a semester cooking with us...oh, and there was the kid from reform school who was given a chance to work off his dastardly car-stealing deeds by working with our Farm Manager, and stayed to become the foreman), and of course, many wonderful guests.
Well! My Inn has had an invasion of sorts. I confessed to Sandy's notify list that this Inn existed, and an amazing group of people moved in overnight! I was telling DB about this on our way to dinner tonight (we were celebrating my signing up for Social Security!), and he said, "Well, they won't stay long when you tell them what the rates are." (My practical DB)
Sandy will be putting all the characters in some kind of an order. I can't wait to see that. In the meantime, somehow I have to reconcile my colonial Inn with the ghost-inhabited gothic Victorian that my odd assortment of guests think they are visiting. Hmmm! And one of the guests is sure she is living in the 1920's! Maybe this is a case of former life experiences. Or someone in the Inn is having a very vivid dream. Or for some strange reason I have been mistaken all these years and my Inn really IS a gothic Victorian in the 1920's!
I used to have terrible nightmares. I may have written about them before. And then I learned to tell myself in the middle of the nightmare that I was just dreaming and wake up. I rarely have nightmares any more. It's very funny to have my daydreaming begin to belong to many people. Fascinating, really. I imagine this is how a real writer feels as the characters take over.
So, hail to you, guests-in-my-head, or guests-in-my-computer. I shall enjoy this new twist to my continuing story. Love you all!
7:03 PM
undulate across the hill,
cresting 'neath the firs.
down the gold-spattered hill,
through dandy little lions.
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