The reality of any place, is what its people remember of it. Charles Kuralt
Three years ago, we bought a little cottage on a sleepy creek in a very big woods. At the time, we knew little of the area, only what we remembered of it as visitors, years before. Our memories were good ones, and the cottage seemed sound.
We couldn't have known then, that we'd love the big woods, as much as we do, or that once gone, we'd long for the sound of the rush of the water as it tumbles and spills through the rugged little creek bed.
With a heavy heart, we turned the key in the lock of the cottage door at the end of each fall, and counted the days 'til the spring thaw, when we'd unlock it again. We began to think that perhaps we belonged in the big woods, on the banks of Mill Creek, in a real house, along side the cottage.
This autumn, when the leaves have all fallen, and the little cottage is covered with frost, we won't fret having to leave the peace and gentle quiet of the big woods.
We'll lie in bed each night, contentedly listening to the rush of the water over the rocks, as it makes its way down the creek bed past the cottage, and our new house.
All photos taken by Mrs. Green Jeans, 2011