On our morning walk Travvy and I came to the end of Pine Hill. Across Old County, in the little parking area for the big meadow, was a burgundy sedan. Cars are not exactly rare in this little parking area, but they aren’t usual either and most of the ones I see are repeaters. This one was new.

Travvy and I crossed the road. The driver, a pleasant woman probably about my age, asked if I knew S.C. I thought and said, “I don’t think so.” The woman said she was supposed to be meeting S.C. at Nat’s Farm.

Aha. Everything fell into place. I think of this meadow as “the field at Misty Meadows,” but the conservation group that owns it calls it “Nat’s Farm.” Earlier this year a sign appeared at the entrance saying exactly that.

“Nat’s Farm” is also the name of a subdivision a little ways up the road. (Yes, there is a reason they have the same name. No, it’s not all that interesting.) I was 99% sure this was where the nice lady was supposed to meet her friend. She was visibly relieved when I explained, and gave her directions to the Nat’s Farm subdivision: “Turn right, go up the road a bit, and your next right is Nat’s Farm. If you get to the school — which is on the left — you’ve gone too far.”

The lady drove off. Travvy and I continued on our way. I resisted the temptation to continue up the road to make sure that the planned rendezvous had taken place.

Travvy is looking surly because he sees no good reason to pose for a photo beside a stupid sign that we pass every day, especially when it’s starting to rain and it’s way past suppertime.