We continued on and headed down the hill, homes to our left and cows peppering the lush green hillside on the right. The view opened up as we wound around to West Shore Road, the banks there more sparsely treed than the opposite side of the lake, which provided a nearly uninterrupted view as we cruised along at water level. My mind reeled toward crisp days, cool breezes, and the contrast of the warm hues of autumn foliage against the deep blue sky of dry air. I can’t wait to take a bike ride in October.
As we rolled back into town, thick puffs of storm grey clouds lagged slowly behind, but if fables are our guide, the tortoise will always beat the hare. We popped into The Owl and grabbed a table on the porch, the view overlooking the village the epitome of small-town charm. The strum of a live guitar hummed in our ears and further relaxed our voices. A modest menu of appetizers packed a punch and proved again that local flavor reigns overall. The skies opened up and we ran inside to the cozy interior, where cool grey walls reminiscent of the clouds outside were warmed by sheepskin, a stone hearth, and a welcoming vibe. We clinked our glasses to a day well spent and listened to the pitter-patter of rain on the tiled floor outside.
When will we be back? I asked myself longingly. It’s only a matter of time…
I replied casually, without any hint of admission that I’d just been caught with an empty answer.
“Nowhere in particular,” I said.
One of the many beauties of Washington is that we don’t always need to have a destination, a plan. Certainly, its recreation, shops, restaurants, galleries, and events are magnetic, but as goes the old adage many times adapted from Emerson: it’s the journey, not the destination. Luckily for us, sometimes a journey lies within a destination.