Girls’ Getaway to 1811 Sunflower Farm Cottage in Rutledge, Georgia

We get away a few times a year to

read,

write,

talk,

s

sleep,

eat,

think,

work crossword puzzles,

adventure,

travel,

lounge,

sip wine, and

laugh late into the night.

This time, my sister-in-law and I rented an old farmhouse from 1811 in Rutledge, Georgia for two nights. I’m sharing the photos below. If you ever need a place near the University of Georgia but on the backside of nowhere, check out the 1811 Sunflower Farmhouse on Airbnb. We entertained the ghosts and wondered what their lives were like with 12 children living in the upstairs loft like Laura and Mary of Little House on the Prairie days.

From the time we saw the daffodils greeting us at the front stoop, we knew we’d found a friendly place to spend a couple of nights. The front porch confirmed it, with its lazy rocking chairs and climbing vine with a bird nest hidden in the foliage, looking a little bit like a Goldilocks house without the bears.

We opened the rustic door to the welcoming charm of the antiquated farmhouse and were swept back to 1811, imagining the satisfaction of the new homeowners of a bygone era, who have long since departed this life. The second set of owners had 12 children sleeping in the loft upstairs.

There were no building codes in 1811, and I understood at once after climbing and descending these steps why they threw all the youngsters up there. I went up long enough to get pictures and admire the ceilings and antiques up there, but after my fall on the steps at work a few years ago when I broke my ankle, I held on extra tight. 1811 held elements of danger everywhere. I could not stop thinking about fire and falls, and those were just the two obvious threats.

This is the bed where my sister in law slept, figuring that she was less likely to bang her head on the ceiling if she had to get up in the middle of the night and make her way down to the bathroom on the first floor.

This is the bed where I slept (I’m older than she is, weigh more than she does, and those steps were too steep for me – so I took her up on the offer to sleep downstairs). It was cozy and warm thanks to the electric heater (a look-alike fireplace) tucked into the fireplace at the foot of the bed. The farmhouse does have central heating, but the lack of insulation made the heaters extra-appreciated with the ever-present chill in the air! I’d predicted that with an old house like this, I would need my heated throw, and it sure came in handy!

The front and back doors had different latches to hold them shut at the top and the bottom, but we still had to use the stuffed pillow at the foot to keep the drafts out. Thank goodness for a sister in law who can figure out the tricky latches of yesteryear.

The nostalgia is real, and the tub is beautiful, but let me be clear and completely transparent: this tub ain’t for old people with hips and knees on the verge of collapse. I got to the point where I had to rinse off, but I showered quickly and exited this beauty of a tub. A long soak with salts and bubbles was out of the question. I would not want to climb in and out of an old tub often.

On the description, we noted the farmhouse had a kitchenette, but we were disappointed when we arrived that it was not to be found. Not until one of us went to the bathroom, only to discover that the kitchenette is tucked away – a tiny space all its own behind the water closet (you can see the edge of the toilet in the lower left of the photo). We were glad we finally found it, since we’d stopped to get groceries (yogurt, milk, cheese) so we wouldn’t have to leave if we didn’t want to go anywhere.

I worked a crossword together with my oldest daughter, who lives in Las Vegas. I’d send photos and she’d send answers, and I’d update what I had added. It’s nice having the time to enjoy the unexpected small surprise moments that you can capture on a getaway when you finally have a little time for enjoyment on your hands.

And we all need more of that!


Messages in the Sound Machine – Slice of Life Challenge Day 23, The Stafford Challenge Day 67

Special Thanks to Two Writing Teachers for inspiring writers, especially sleepless ones.

#messages in the madness

The melatonin was working fine, just fine, I thought, but I figured either we had a rogue sound machine with broken buttons or that one of the machines was possessed. I kept hearing things, but my husband didn’t. Just like when the car starts making a sound, only not a car but a tiny little white noise machine.

So finally, finally – – he in his melatoninlessness began hearing mysterious sounds, too. I didn’t know whether to cry, be scared, or celebrate.

If your children tell you they hear funny voices at night, believe them and check the sound machine. They’re in there.

Photo by Mariana Montrazi on Pexels.com
our old fan broke
but our new fan was too quiet


(they don't make 'em like they used to)

so
we bought a second
sound machine
the kind for babies
with the white noise

so we can both sleep
if one of us is traveling

but now I’m hearing
what he
can’t make out
in all the white noise

in this Sound Spa machine

we both hear
all the usual things: rain, thunder, waves
crashing, crickets chirping, owls hooting

but I roll over half asleep
and I hear
these:

computer printer printing
washing machine

pulsing monitor

injured animal

Moaning Myrtle
steel drums

robot sirens

Amazon notifications

vintage typewriter return dings

disco beats

messages in the machine

heard by one unpillowed ear

I'm afraid next I'll hear a murder
or a confession

or a ghost of a soldier who stood where I now sleep

looking for his lost buttons
and his lost love



no sleeping here

Labor Day Morning 2023

7:15 a.m. – I was sitting in my camp chair at Hamburg State Park in Mitchell, Georgia wrapped in a white fleece blanket, drinking black coffee from my favorite oversized Snoopy Halloween mug. 64 degrees of hot flash heaven! The smoke from the neighbor’s fire last night was still rising in spiral-y wisps from the pit, scenting the air of burnt wood. My clothes didn’t match today, and I didn’t care – floral shirts and a tie dye t-shirt. I had a bad hair day, too, and that was fine with me. And no makeup to top it all off.

8:00 a.m. – Across the lake, I spied a lone angler in a jon boat, fishing the uninhabited wilderness island shoreline in his sun hat. Hamburg State Park is said to be the most remote of all Georgia State Parks, and forgetting the WiFi hotspot was at first disappointing, but then it wasn’t. My husband had found himself a Harlan Coben book in the Little Free Library, and I’d done some reading and writing, too. But at that moment, he was still snug in the camper, wedged in like tire chocks by 3 snoozing Schnoodles who like to be cozy in the covers.

8:30 a.m. – In the far distance, I heard the boom of gunfire and my heart wept for the doves losing lives and mates. Dove hunting season just opened in Georgia. Don’t even get me started.

9:15 a.m. – A middle-aged woman wearing a mid-calf navy skirt, a gray sweatshirt, and a pair of laceless Keds that reminded me of my grandmother’s Grasshoppers walked a slow-moving Border Collie mix along the camp drive, neither in a hurry to be anywhere. A bald man on a white e-Bike sped past, then a man on a regular bike, turquoise with a basket, eased by and tossed a morning greeting hand in the air, smiling big like the fresh air exhilarated him from the inside out. I smiled and waved back.

9:30 a.m. – We had one of those neighbors this time – you know, the kind with the voice that carries all through the campground, informing everyone across all 30 campsites of her daughter’s Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, the current plight of her own insurance woes, and a cousin’s wedding episodes of family members who didn’t get along ruining the day. It takes a good bit to really get on my nerves, but I came very close to standing up and shouting FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS PEACEFUL, WILL YOU P L E A S E STOP TALKING???? Her husband kept taking the dog for a walk – a little dachshund puppy in a red sweater – telling it, “Heel, Heel.” And I didn’t blame him one bit.

A leaf twirls groundward from a water oak

9:45 a.m. – An occasional leaf turned loose from a branch and twirled to the ground from the water oaks lining the lake, and every now and then a fish broke the surface, ploonking back into the water as its silvery scales flashed a watery hello. The Blue Jays were the other loudmouths on this campground, and yet I understand their marked presence – and purpose – there with all those oaks and acorns now that I’ve read Slow Birding by Joan Strassman.

9: 50 a.m. – My husband emerged from the camper and had finished reading his book. He was ready for his typical breakfast of graham crackers and plain Chobani Greek yogurt, with coffee. I fixed my yogurt with fresh diced peaches, and we talked about the (probably) 5,000 pictures of the sunset I took (quietly) from the campsite over the weekend.

10:00 – Neither one of us wanted to leave. We were just ready to see the noisy neighbors pull out. He asked, “Is it just me, or did this trip seem a lot more relaxing than any camping trip we’ve ever taken?” I assured him it wasn’t just him – that we really did relax deeply, and that tomorrow we’d be back at work – – but that for today, we were savoring this Labor Day as we celebrate of all the workers who make our country an amazing place to live.

We raised our mugs to working hard so that we can play hard, too.

Great Egret perched on a post in the lake