There didn’t seem to be much of a gap between summer and winter. The warm summer heat seemed to linger throughout most of fall. And then, duty called and I had to make an abrupt trip up to Minnesota.
This was the first time I had been on a plane since we began our nomadic life. Up until this point, any family or other obligations that popped up were seamlessly woven into the fabric of our journeys. We drove anywhere and everywhere. We would be with one family for Thanksgiving and another for Christmas. Any time with friends and relatives was an excuse to celebrate. But now I needed to get to Minnesota on the brink of winter and the idea of multiple days traveling north in our DIY truck bed camper was not in the cards. So, I went to the airport.
As an unrepentant eaves dropper, I had forgotten what a delight it is to sit at the gate and listen to other people’s conversations. Anyone who cares about privacy already forfeited that at TSA. It’s been a while since I have people-watched back at Bethesda Fountain in Central park. This scratched a fierce itch.
Another one of my fascinations is urban legends. As with the Benham School House Inn, the lodge I stayed at was “haunted.” Unlike Benham School, though, the ghost hunters who have equipped themselves with everything from Ouija boards to (I kid you not) radios cannot find any consistency in the ghosts that inhabit this retired home and place of vice. Spiritually inclined visitors have communed with characters from ladies of the night to prematurely deceased ghosts of children. Either this is the most paranormally crowded establishment, or someone is spinning yarns.
With the snow falling outside, I’d actually appreciate some more literal yarn, in the form of a scarf. The pond outside has frozen over and my recently purchased insulated boots are being put to good use. All the same, this will, hopefully, be my only flirtation with snow for the season. We are headed south.