Spring has sprung in the south. I can’t believe the array of colours and varieties of plant life. Retirement affords the luxury of time to stop and smell the flowers. Which we did today.
As you know, we play pickle ball (aka gherkin Ballen… thanks, Teen) two days a week. Today was pickle ball day. And since Rudy had a post match appointment, Bails and I decided to check out a few places we’ve been eying.
One such landmark was The Barn. This is a low key building that does, in fact, look like a barn. It’s in the country en route to pickle ball and the parking lot is always packed. Curiosity has been a strong lure. Today was the day. We parked in the full lot and entered the closest door.
Behold an antique market that was beautifully staged and smelled accordingly (channel an old attic) but we were the only two in the place. Except for the lonely clerk who we asked. She laughingly tells us it’s lunch time. Oh. Okay. We don’t get the gist.
So we enjoy the antiques and stained glass and meander through the displays which are lovely and historical and (in some cases) creepy. The aisle takes us through another area which is a pseudo gift shop (there’s no arrows like at IKEA, but the path is obvious even though it’s like we are in the run on sentence of buildings). We eventually get the gist of the clerks comment.
There’s a tea room-esq resto that’s packed. It’s in a part of the barn that has an outdoor covered porch. Overlooking the pond/river. Covered in vines. And smelling divine!
On the other side of the cafe is the actual gift shop and gardens. A smorgasbord of kitsch for the home and garden. All nestled amid the colours and textures of spring in bloom. In February. I’m blown away.