What is it about blue-painted wooden wreaths
and welcome signs with lace-trimmed hearts
to hang on doors
miniature bird carvings, period hutches and bric-a-bric
lace curtains, lavender sachets
century-old grey stone houses
and stepping out onto the small town
streets from the past?

Winding stairways into shoppes in daylight
where antique colonial lamps
glowed in last night’s windows
habitual visits to savour the spices and fudge
of every type at Mrs. McGarrigle’s kitchen haven
where international cooking classes are held

or checking out the decor and furniture boutiques
the renowned train store that draws hobbyists from
across the world for its array of H.O scale items
and accessories, plus a mammoth train track
with a Chattanooga chugging past while you browse?

What is it about poking one’s nose into
the little town bakery down the lane
ready-scented to tempt, warm with variety
or the town library, a Georgian-style house
with gingerbread trim

what is it about
glancing up and down vacant Main Street at
seven in the morning, after the snowstorm the night before
and absorbing the view of the vacant sidewalk
alongside storefronts
with “Beware of Falling Ice and Snow” signs

detecting despite the Christmas picturesqueness
an underlying sense of tumbleweed and frontier
gunslingers about to appear, competing to be first
at the draw, from one end of the
street to the opposite

and the locks and Rideau River at rest
by the snow-covered parks
where in summer people picnic and parade
the chip wagon layered in weather
its “closed”sign keeping on ice
its picnic table a white-caked memory

What is about Highway 2 and the misty drive
into the past? Homestead log cabins
(some fixer-uppers) and vast farmhouses
in red or grey brick, or rustic century stone
with balconies and widows walks
summer kitchens and outbuildings
Bed & Breakfasts tucked in neverywhere
homes of colonels and merchants
including upper-state American settlers
who crossed the border
in the previous century?

The first sighting of the train tracks
that means we’re almost there
makes me a child, in a wide-eyed search
for the familiar signs and landmarks
of Merrickville

over-spending to stay one night
in the old 1800's Inn
but not in room 305, where unaccountable footsteps
are often reported
and on every floor, cold spots and mysterious activity

next trip I may try the neighbouring Baldachin Inn
at one time the record largest department store
between Montreal and Chicago

What is it about of all this
that does my heart such good?

02/24/2004