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Health & Fitness

Mildred Cooper and a Road Trip

High Meadows Farm is the centerpiece to a collection of heartwarming stories that take place in this small New England town where good manners and treasured friendships never go out of style.

 

While folks are preparing for yet another snow storm, I’ve decided to ignore it. I’ve recently read an article by a top scientist who is researching the electrical charges we omit when we focus on a subject. He says that his experiments reveal a correlation between the energy we omit when we imagine a certain outcome and manifesting that outcome.  For instance, people who believe they are lucky are more inclined to experience lucky events.

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          Christians, of course, have known the power of belief for millenniums.  The Lord said that when we pray, we should act as though what we have prayed for had ‘already’ happened.  Seems that Jesus already knew that our thoughts, or a held belief, focused solely on the desired outcome, possessed a physical power to bring it to pass.      

          So, I decided to think only warm and springtime thoughts in hopes of giving spring a little nudge.  I turn up the thermostat, change into a pair of shorts and a short-sleeve blouse, and spray hyacinth perfume (a gift from one of my granddaughter Emily) in every room of the house,. 

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          Not everyone, however, is on board with my experiment. The dogs are stretched out on the kitchen’s linoleum floor and panting so loud it sounds like a steam locomotive working its way up a mountain pass. And Andrus thinks I’ve gone ‘camp queer’.

          “Heard about folks going a bit looney when winter hangs on too long,” he says, wiping the sweat off his face.  “Just don’t walk in front of any windows with that getup. I wouldn’t want neighbors driving down the road to think that my wife has dropped her basket.”

          My experiment abruptly ends with a call from my friend, Mildred Cooper.

          “I have an extra ticket to a Kitchen Tour,” she says and explains that it’s being sponsored by the Winterbrook Women’s Club a few towns over. “I thought I should check it out. Want to come?”

          Mildred is the President of our Women’s Club here in Remembrance and is determined that when it comes time to pass the torch she will be remembered as having set the mark so high that few successors will be able to match it.

          Mildred is very competitive that way. When she was a Girl Scout Leader, every girl in her troop was terrified to hand in an order form without at least having sold 50 boxes of Girl Scout cookies, including her own daughter, Charlotte. But to her credit, Troop Leaders are still trying to break her sales record of having sold the most cookies in the state. 

          To her credit, since her election as Remembrance Women’s Club President, Mildred has raised more money for scholarship funds than any of her predecessors.  But to be fair, her husband is on the Zoning Board which is why, I suspect, that every event that she sponsors is a sellout.  Folks never know when they might need to get a variance to build or remodel a home or a business, so keeping on the good side of one of the Zoning Board member’s is a wise investment.

          Currently, our club’s main fundraising event is the Christmas House Tour which we have successfully conducted for over 32 years. Our town was formed in 1697 and boasts a downtown district filled with beautifully maintained historic homes, so naturally it’s a hit every year. But, I concur with Mildred who believes that we shouldn’t become complacent. It’s always good to be open to new ideas and ways of running events.

          I tell her to give me 20 minutes to change. Since Mildred is fastidious about her Cadillac Deville and our driveway is thick with mud, I tell her that I will meet her down by our mailbox.

          We exchange news during the 30 minute ride up into the hill country under a cerulean blue, cloudless sky. We may live in a small town, but there’s nothing small about the gossip it can generate. Why one day’s worth is enough to keep tongues wagging for weeks, ours included.

          Because of the higher elevation, Winterbrook is still covered in several feet of snow. I hadn’t thought to wear boots, so I hope that my serviceable brown loafers will do. I did, however, bring along a pair of slippers for when we tour the kitchens. Standard operating procedures for any house tour, including ours.

          Tickets are being sold in the Historical Museum. We park in one of the slots along Main Street which I note are quickly filling up. The tour doesn’t begin for another 30 minutes, yet the line outside the building is growing. Although Mildred and I are strictly here on a fact seeking mission, I imagine the stylishly dressed women that line the sidewalk have come looking for ideas or a glimpse inside the town’s more fashionable homes, many of which are owned by folks who make more in a week than most folks make in a lifetime.

          Mildred recognizes the president of a Women’s Club from a town north of ours and heads over which means that she’s not the only club member who is checking out the competition. While they exchange pleasantries, I study the outside of the museum and inwardly recite its history.

          Constructed in 1901 to house both the town library and Historical Society, it was first known as the Branson Memorial Building. It was built by John A. Branson in memory of his grandmother, Julia Whitermore Branson, a local resident and amateur historian. Mrs. Branson was one of those farsighted people whom providence occasionally provides to help steer us in the right direction. In this case, it was to share the importance of preserving the past for future generations. Through her leadership, Winterbrook’s Historical Society was formed and which Mrs. Branson guided as president for many, many years. 

          I’ve visited the building many times and with each visit I find myself entranced as I walk through the set of 8 feet mahogany doors.  The entrance opens onto a grand marble foyer surrounded in rich, paneling the color of aged wine. But the visual that sets my heart drumming is the sweep of the grand staircase that rises as though on wings towards an open gallery above. Inside that gallery rests a treasure-trove of historical artifacts that I never tire of viewing, including two of the most exquisite portraits. One painted by John Trumbull and the other by John Singleton Copley.

          While the library dominates the downstairs of the building, including a very fine rare book section, the upstairs houses the museum’s permanent collection which provides an excellent overview of the evolution of a small, New England town, from simple farm implements, homespun dresses and kitchen utensils to ornate silver tea services, Hepplewhite chairs and fancy ball gowns with waists no larger than 17 inches round. Imagine!

 

          Exhibits change several times a year and lectures abound from local and noted historians. I would love to see what is new on display but dare not doddle. Mildred has come with a purpose and trying to deter her would be like trying to steer a plow horse deeper into the fields when the dinner bell sounds.

          As we approach the table where we will have our tickets stamped and be given a map of the homes, I can’t help wishing that I could climb onto a time machine and travel back for a visit with Mrs. Branson. What an extraordinary women she must have been to have created this wondrous collection, and influenced a grandson so deeply, that he would build a lasting memorial to her memory that would house all that she had found dear.

          Finally, we reach the head of the line. Within seconds, we have our maps.

          “Let’s get cracking,” Mildred says, stuffing the paperwork it into her mammoth black leather bag and heading out the front door at full speed.

          I rush to keep after her. I know from experience that to entreat her to slow down will do me no good.  I quicken my pace.

          “We might as well take in the 1st house listed,” Mildred calls back over her shoulder. “It’s just up the street.”

          I sidestep a mound of snow while trying to take in the streetscape. Even the barren winter landscape cannot diminish the beauty of this street lined with arching maple trees whose leafless branches reach out like giant spindly fingers to intertwine that soon will be ornamented with lush emerald green leaves.

(The Kitchen Tour continues next week, so be sure to check your e-mail box on Tuesday, April .)

           

 

Copyright©2014 Katherine Valentine

          Katherine Valentine is an Award Winning Author whose novels center on the charm of small town living. To learn more about Katherine and to be placed on her mailing list, visit: www.katherinevalentine.com. And check out High Meadows  on Facebook.  Do you know anyone in need of a cozy read? Then please share this charming, feel-good new series with others.

 

 

 





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