Last week I shared with you some pictures of our recent trip to Granville, Ohio. I mentioned that several themes seemed to dominate my pictures. One of those was barns and surrounding countryside. I have always loved barns of all shapes and sizes. I think they speak to me of a time in our history that is slowly fading away. A time when life was simpler and people depended on the land for survival. A time when young children knew that milk came from cows and not the grocery store.
To me a barn speaks of family, thankfulness, hard work, integrity, and perseverance. It speaks to the part of our soul that needs to slow down and focus on those things that really matter. There is nothing like a drive through beautiful countryside, dotted with barns, to help you gain perspective.
This is a short drive, but no less, soul filling. So, roll down your windows, settle into a slow drive, and be refreshed.
No barn, but a country road. This was taken through the windshield of the car, which explains the hues in the top of the picture due to the tint on the windshield. I thought it made for a beautiful picture. I didn’t think about how that would affect the picture, so it was a happy accident.This barn was near Dawes Arboretum.
Small patriotic barn near Granville. I think I may love the somewhat shabby, rusty barns the best, like the one on the left. I suspect they have good stories to tell from generation to generation.Barn on the corner where two roads met. We always try to take the one less traveled.
The next time you are out and about, take the time to find a barn or two. It might just restore your equilibrium. At least for a few moments. We all need space to breathe.
In my last post I mentioned that we had been on a trip to Granville, Ohio. Years ago when my husband was taking some college classes we had a music studio in an old Victorian farmhouse in Lancaster, Ohio. We took over the studio from a teacher who was moving to California and were fortunate to be able to rent the same house he had lived in and taught from. The house is no longer standing, which makes me sad. On our trip, we drove through Lancaster and took a picture of the spot where the house used to sit. It was raining while I was taking them, which was somehow appropriate. It was as if heaven was crying with me over the loss of a house. Am I the only one who is sentimental over old houses? I just think it is wrong to tear them down if at all possible to keep them.
These trees were in the back of the house – we are parked, looking towards the back of the “house”These pictures are looking at the front of the “house”
Granville, is situated about an hour Northeast of Lancaster. One Sunday afternoon, when we lived in Lancaster, we set off on an adventure to Granville. We found it to be a charming picturesque little town, much like a New England town, full of older homes beautifully restored and well maintained. We were hard pressed to find any part of town that looked dumpy.
Beautiful older home in Granville. If you look closely, you can see a robin on the corner of the porch roof.
You could smell the history, a little bit of preppy and money in the air. We instinctively knew that it simultaneously was, and was not, our kind of town. The was, captured my heart and made me want to move immediately. The was not, of course, would mainly be the money part as in we didn’t have much back then, and still don’t. We knew if we ever had the chance we wanted to go back for a longer visit.
This summer we felt the need to have a few days hiatus away from all that was familiar, but we wanted it to be no more than 2-4 hours away and it had to be a quiet non-touristy place where there were shops if we wanted and other things to do such as gardens or museums. And of course, lots of homes to drive by and some beautiful countryside nearby. It also needed to have a charming place to stay that was not too pricey.
I remembered Granville and how I had always been fascinated by the town, so we decided that it met all our requirements and booked a room for three nights at the Buxton Inn, which comes complete with a few resident ghosts, including a ghost cat, named Major Buxton. Or, so the story goes. Thus began our quiet adventure. You can google ghosts of Buxton Inn, if you are interested in that sort of thing.
We arrived in Granville on a quiet Sunday evening, checked into the Inn, unpacked and proceeded to find sustenance. We drove around town to see what was available and finally settled on Brews Cafe. It was a quiet family type of evening and we both had fish and chips. We went back to our room, The Rose Room, and settled in early for the evening. I did not see any ghosts.
The Buxton is a charming Bed and Breakfast type of Inn. I would describe it as slightly dated with a shabby air, but very clean and lots of character. The staff were wonderful and the host was quite the charming older gentlemen. He and his wife acquired the Inn in the seventies and over the years have added other houses on the block to their little compound. I think they have a total of 5-7 houses, surrounding a garden courtyard that is full of lights in the evening. We were in one of the annex buildings, Founders Hall. Rumor has it that the entire complex is for sale to the right buyer. If only.
We really enjoyed our stay at the Buxton and would go again. The following pictures are of the Buxton grounds and houses.
Founders Hall. Our room was upstairs, on the back right corner, with a nice porch off the back, overlooking the courtyard.
The Warner House, part of the Buxton compound, was next door to our house. We could look out our window and see the side porches of this house.
One of the many fountains on the property, next door to yet another of the houses in the compound. Another fountain and the gazebo below.
Statues in the courtyard garden.I loved this little garden shed. I wanted to peek inside, but the door (other side) was locked.
Night ShotsResident cat, real, not the ghost cat. I’m pretty sure.
Traveling in Grace,
Teresa
I took lots of pictures on this trip and a few themes stood out: Houses, Churches, Barns, Cemeteries and lots of pictures at Dawes Arboretum (met our gardens requirement) and the Avery Downer House (met the museum requirement). I also took a few pictures on the Denison campus and of some of the places we ate, including the greenhouse room at the Buxton. I could bore you to tears with too many pictures. However, if you are interested, over the next few posts, I will organize the pictures into categories and share some of them with you. We also made another little day trip last week with my parents that I will tell you about soon.
The house is quiet this afternoon. After a few days away, it is nice to come home to the quiet of my own home. Getting away for a few days was a necessary reset, but being back and settling into the everyday rhythm is good too.
I’m choosing a slow settle into familiar routines. The whites are washing in the laundry, reminding me that home is a good, safe place to be. The unpacking was done earlier as I got my morning started. I think for today the unpacking and washing of whites is enough.
I’ll just linger a little longer in the getting away from it all mode and enjoy a rare afternoon of quiet solitude to unwind the treasures of being in another place and time.
Then, quietly, I’ll inhabit my sense of place.
(all images property of Stoneleaf & Co. taken by T.L.Hardymon. Please do not use without permission.)
You may have noticed my absence the past six weeks or so. I meant to tell you ahead of time that I was taking a break for a while. I just wasn’t quite able to put into words all the reasons why I needed time away and then one day led to another and I’d been away long enough that I figured you had figured out that I was on break. I guess I just needed a respite from anything that wasn’t totally necessary for survival. At the end of the day what we actually need for living is a very small requirement.
I’m not really sure that my impromptu hiatus is over, but since I was away for a few days and took lots of pictures, I thought over the next few days or weeks, I might want to unfold the story of my journey and see what tales come forth.
Teresa L Hardymon 