in which I go on an adventure. . .

After cleaning yesterday, I felt as if I had earned some time outside in the fresh air and sunshine.  So I borrowed a friend’s pink townie bike and was ready for an adventure.  As soon as I was riding, I knew where I wanted to explore.  Just a minute or so from campus, there has been this tree-covered gravel alleyway that has always enticed me.  I’ve walked by it a number of times and figured that it was a picturesque little alleyway connecting to another section of the subdivision. 

Enjoying the freedom and breeze, I turned down the pathway.  And as soon as my eyes adapted to the dappled sunlight which filtered through the trees I saw the house.

Have you ever happened upon a house, and instantly you know that regardless of who is occupying it, that house is yours?  It has happened to me once off in Scotland, and once again yesterday.  Tucked away, surrounded by trees, complete with gables and the type of house that simply full of character and personality.  I had no clue that this house even exsisted and I was captivated.

All of the sudden, something else registered in my mind.  Off to the side of the house was a man on a lawnmower, furious pointing behind me.   Within a second, I realized that this was not an alleyway, this was a driveway.  And the owner did not look too happy.  He turned off the lawnmower and hopped off.  I was already turning around the bike when he asked if I needed something.

 “Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t realize this was a driveway.” 

“Didn’t you see the no trespassing sign on the fence?” he asks

Remember that scene in Anne of Green Gables when she is caught climbing over the fence?  Well, I wasn’t grabbed by the scruff of my neck, but I was completely expecting to be walked back to campus and set before the principle.  After a couple more questions (to which my only response was “I’m sorry”) I finally managed to escape.

I stopped at the road and looked at the cute white picket fence that I had always admired (and thought belonged to the other house) and sure enough, there was the sign. 

Who even looks for no-tresspassing signs on white picket fences?

I ask you. 

(what with this story and that one. . .I'm hoping that the trend of slightly embarrassing stories ends soon.  I'm glad that I learned to laugh at myself when I was sixteen or so!)