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.
I look surly under those circumstances too.
Come on, Travvy! she said. I said, We are almost home! I am hungry! It is late! I went and sat by the sign. I did not smile. I did not look cute. I just looked.