©Ginnie Siena Bivona
All Rights Reserved
My friend Earlene called, out of the blue, this past Tuesday morning.
”Why don’t you come on down for a few days?” she asked.
“Oh, I can’t” I replied, “got way too much to do…”
“Well, think about it,” she said. And I did. For about two seconds, maybe not quite that long.
“OK. I’ve thought about it and I’ll leave on Thursday morning.”
Jim and Earlene live in a wonderful house tucked away so deep in the East Texas woods that without one of Jim’s engineer style maps you’d never ever find it.
They are fascinating friends, with a work history that goes way back to the earliest years of the computer industry. I love to hear their stories. And we have a mutual passion for books and writing, so there’s always more than enough topics of conversation.
But to tell the truth, if they were the dullest people on the planet I think I’d still accept an invitation just so I could have another chance to sleep in “my bedroom” at the far end of the house and have breakfast on the deck that stretches all across the back. The view is a movie set of trees all around and off through the trees you can see a small pond glittering in the sunlight.
Inside, the house is long and cool and elegant. Everywhere you look there’s another marvelous piece of art and shelves of books ceiling high in the study. The view out each window is the same and so different. It’s trees, trees and towering trees. Each window frames a new lush green portrait of the forest they live in.
Even in the midst of the blistering July-in-Texas heat, after dark and early morning, sitting outside pleasant breezes fan across my face and arms. In the late afternoon silence I can almost feel the stress sliding off my body and onto the deck floor. The city sounds we strain unknowingly to tune out are utterly gone.
Don’t mistake me though, it’s not quiet. And that’s why I come to visit any time I’m asked. At bedtime, alone in my room, windows wide open, door shut against any stray beam of house light, I lay on cool sheets and listen to the concert. Outside the trees are black against the night sky. Here and there a star twinkles among the leaves. Must be a zillion crickets, frogs, and God only knows what other night creatures are tuning up out there, chirruping, cheeping, cricking and cracking at full blast. I love it. I lay there, me and the night critters at one, reveling in the night. I fall asleep much too soon, waking only to make the required old lady trip or two to the bathroom, then flop back on the bed listening intently, but before I know it, morning is shining through the lofty trees and the concert has been over for hours.
My hosts are considerate, letting me sleep until I want to get up, which is pleasantly different than my usual I need to get up work is waiting start to the day.
Breakfast is on the deck, surrounded on all sides by the woods and if we’re lucky we’ll see a deer. Even so, deer or not, Jim will provide a memorable experience with his home-made-while-you-watch waffles. Bowls of fresh Texas peaches, picked only the day before, strawberries and sliced bananas grace the glass top table.
The waffles come off the waffle maker and onto my plate. Thin and delectably crisp, topped with melted butter and hot sweet syrup and a heap of the fruits…I ask you…is that not a breakfast to drive for? So what if it’s almost 200 miles, at that moment it’s worth every inch of the road.
I’m a city girl, no question about it. I love my little city house and my citified life. But perhaps that is precisely why, when I’m driving down the long green tunnel of trees on the winding dirt road to Earlene and Jim’s I feel so happy. This is beautiful. This is perfect. This is home too.
