Westmoreland Road - Private Dining

This is where I eat dinner almost every night. It's bucolic, pastoral qualities give me great pleasure. It's a living painting which changes with the seasons. I first ran into this road while taking a short cut several months ago, trying to skirt a minor traffic tie-up on my way home. I have gone there every day since, usually at about 5 PM to eat my fried chicken. There is a place nearby that sells fresh, fried chicken, as well as beautiful salads. My favorite is their blueberry vinaigrette, with cranberries, walnuts, mushrooms and a whole bunch of other stuff, tossed with fresh, hot, fried chicken.

The Watson's live on the corner, and at first I think they were a bit annoyed at the sight of my old 1996 Mitsubishi sitting along the side of their field each evening. But the unknown is always just that, unknown, until you get to know it. The elder Mr. Watson and I have now become acquainted, and he comes out to chat on ocassion while I eat. The field on the immediate right was graded for drainage, but there will be no crop there this year, due to some health problems that have prevented the owner from planting it. I'll miss that, a farm field is like a calendar, you can tell how early, or late, it is in the season by following the progress of the crops. From the moment they emerge as sprouts, until the moment they are ripe and ready for harvesting, the clock ticks, unheard by the human ear. But time, as it passes, cannot hide from our view, and shortly the young crops will grow mature, and then, lest they are harvested, they wither and die.

To a city born kid like myself, this is as rural as one can imagine. I can see no housing developments, though my own home sits in one only 4 miles away. There are no plans to develop any of this land. It's a page taken right from the past, here in the present, where I can sit and listen. Except for the approach and passing of the ocassional car, I hear only the sounds of nature; insects, birds, and the rustling of the trees in a light wind are the only sounds to interupt my reverie.