Gone

This was taken over the winter.

Once upon a time, in a field along Route 14 in Gloucester,

next to a silo bearing a sign advertising a pumpkin farm,

there lived a beautiful, stately tree.

Here's the silo.

Mathews residents traveling to Gloucester usually pass this tree and silo.

(Some Mathews residents make far more trips to and through Gloucester than they care to, for work or other necessities. Some days CBW feels she holds the world's record for number of trips to Gloucester in a single day. But this is not about that. It's about a stately tree in the middle of a field.)

Somehow the tree made the journey a little more tolerable. Like an old friend. Always there to greet you.

One day recently Chesapeake Bay Woman, returning home from an arduous day at work, glanced towards the silo and the tree as she normally does and was mortified to see the tree knocked over on its side.

No longer standing. No longer stately.

She screamed. Really.

She was very, very shocked and distraught.

Here's the tree lying on its side. There was a bulldozer nearby, so
I assume they intentionally knocked it over. But of course I don't know that for sure.

Soon afterwards, they chopped it up and hauled it away.

Just like that the tree was gone forever.

The field looks so empty there now. It's not the same.

In addition to this tree, another Chesapeake Bay Woman Favorite--the barn below on the right of Route 198 just beyond the Farm Bureau Insurance place at Soles/Dutton--was recently torn down.

This also pains me. Immensely.

Gone forever.

Click here for a previous post outlining my not so irrational fears about this beautiful structure.

The bizarre person with unusually strong emotional connections to trees and inanimate objects such as barns and old houses will simply say The End.

Nothing lasts forever. We shouldn't take anything for granted, not even trees or barns. The End.


p.s. The owner of Sandpiper Reef in Hallieford recently matted and framed some of my photos, one of which is of the barn above. Say hello (to her and the picture of the barn) the next time you're there for happy hour, dinner or live entertainment.

Barn

This barn, which sits in a field off Route 198 between Soles and Dutton, is one of my favorites.

Every so often I'll stop in to say hello.

I have an unnatural fear that one day it won't be here any more.

Which is silly, I suppose.

But it's true.

In the past (almost) four years that I've been doing this blog,

several structures I used to visit have disappeared.

They're like works of art to me, places I've studied 

and admired from afar for so long.

Thankfully, this one's still here.

For now.

In other news, last evening I talked to Gloria from Beachland,. We're making plans for a January get together, so I can hear more stories and take more pictures of her beautiful home.  I cannot wait, although that's so far off given everything I need to survive these next few weeks including the Waverly Lane Neighborhood Christmas Party, two more book signings, my mother's 70th birthday on Christmas Eve, Christmas, a train trip to New York City, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree. 

I'm looking forward to January. How about you?

A Tuesday Trio

The other day on the way home from Mobjack I got lost turned down a road I might have been on never once before in my life.

The sunlight was perfect, so I was stopping every few feet yards to take pictures. Thankfully, there's not a lot of human beings traffic down that way, so pulling over on the side of the road isn't such a big deal.

Here are three different shots of the same barn.

Which one do you prefer and why?

If you can't stand any of them have no preference or would just rather talk about something else, when was the last time you were inside a barn?

I like the first one because the telephone pole and the trumpet creepers provide a soft frame, and the main elements are in better proportion with one another. But I also like that picture of dogs sitting around playing poker, so pay no mind to me.

The last time I was in a barn was when I borrowed my parents' Cub Cadet, which they park in their barn. You have to dodge and deflect jug hornets to get in and out of there (all while trying to start the tractor), but if you're quick on your feet and used to dodging geese, for example, you have nothing to worry about except some residual psychological trauma and the occasional flashback.