Yes, yes, I know that Thanksgiving is a week past and that Christmas is in the air, out of the attic, up on the mantle, through the airwaves.
But I must have one tiny mull over a sweet, sweet Thanksgiving.
We were at my brothers . . . out of the town, up in the quasi-mountains, overlooking a town, in an artist's and nature-lover's paradise.
I am not an artist. I do love nature. My brother and his family are artists . . . creators . . . imaginers. Going to his house, experiencing nature, feeling the artsy vibe, getting out of the scramble of the city, feels like vacation . . . like soul rejuvenation.
They have little artsy stacks of beautiful stones stacked by the doorstep. And they fit.
And this birdhouse has probably been welcoming birds for 50 years.
We ate lovely, earthy foods out of heavy bowls and wooden serving pieces.
These homes, overlooking Hendersonville, NC were built in the 30's as summer homes . . .
. . . mountain homes, where you could go to escape the swelter of the city.
They are charming.
I seriously want one. My little escape. . . out of the town, up in the quasi-mountains, overlooking a town, in an artist's and nature-lover's paradise.
Thanksgiving dinner was yummy. Family felt warm and connected. I really enjoyed . . .
. . . our Thanksgiving in the mountains.