"What are you doing tomorrow?" our son Greg asked on Friday, to which Howard replied, "Well, we'd like to go to the Herb Festival, but I would have to be pushed in my wheelchair." Greg immediately offered to push him!
Wow! That would be covering a lot of ground, I thought. The Herb Festival, famous here and drawing participants from all over the state and then some, is the premier attraction for our town. It is held in picturesque Cann Gardens with its winding brick walkways and backdrop of beautiful flowers and foliage. We hadn't gone in a few years, usually having been on trips to see our kids, or the festival was rained out.
But this year the weather was perfect. We ambled along through the steady stream of people, all smiling and having a good time stopping to inspect wares offered for sale or lined at the refreshment booths and food trucks. Immediately on entering, we met good friends who left their picnic table and came to greet us. People were glad to see Howard out and about, if only in his wheelchair. I saw one craft item, a metal sculpture wall décor that I liked. I would walk around and get it on the way back, so as not to have to carry it.
Howard was keeping an eye out for bargains in plants to put in a space in our backyard. Although it is called the Herb Festival, it seems herbs are in the minority in a plethora of hanging baskets, ferns, and all sorts of potted plants. We gathered several, including Butterfly Weed, a huge sunflower-type plant, Impatiens and something with white blooms called Angel Wings. In retrospect, I realize I should have gotten a gorgeous fern I admired, especially when I saw the prices of smaller ones in town yesterday!
We heard music coming from somewhere, and followed it to the large patio of the historic house on the grounds. Chairs had been set up for various presentations to be enjoyed, and we lingered to hear arrestingly beautiful singing from a girl of about 12 who held the microphone. The lovely notes of All Through the Night, floated through the air as we paused to listen to the sweet lullaby.
"I love your hair!" came a voice from behind me, and I turned to see a friendly lady who said, "I'm thinking of having mine cut like that!" I thanked her and asked if I knew her from church, but she said no. Just a casual comment that brightened my day a little more! (She didn't know I had been bemoaning my hair that morning!)
Sharing a picnic table with two delicate and charming octogenarian ladies, we chatted and listened to their stories while we had a bite of lunch. Obviously widows, they regaled us with their histories and interests. "I write," one said, "I have a huge box of my writings that my daughter says she is going to put into a book when I'm gone!" Greg drew them out in easy conversation and they loved every minute of it.
Children were in abundance at the festival, too, and I especially enjoyed seeing their beautiful faces, eyes wide with wonder as they carried butterfly wands or sported face-paintings from a special activity area for kids. I wished my grands who are coming to visit soon had been with me!
Retracing our steps as the day wore on, I stopped at the craft area where I had seen the art piece. I couldn't see it, and walked around the tree where it had been displayed. There was another one like it, only in a different color. I liked the first one, but not this one, I realized in a pang of disappointment. That's what I get for not taking it earlier, I remonstrated. Oh well, it was still a nice day. The guys felt bad for me and even stopped at an estate sale for me on the way home. Nothing there caught my eye, so I went home empty handed, but full of memories and pleasantly tired, thankful for the day God had given us!
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