Have you ever driven out in the country on a just-right Sunday – all for the love of a picnic?
Oh - the joy of the trip to the perfect spot! The notion of finding a place that will make for a wonderful lazy afternoon. The expectation of finding the place that will linger as a sweet memory, useful for a dreary day.
Driving down a dirt road and absorbing everything - the smell of the dust that billows behind the car, the sight of dogwood and red-bud blooms and just-born leaves. The feel of the Spring breeze as you rest your arm on the let-down car window. The sound of water rushing over stones, as you slow to pass over a bridge. The creek beckons you to stop and wade. Your toes wiggle. Could you? Should you? No - the call of the picnic urges you to move along. The crunch of car tires on the rocks in the dirt road is sweet!
There is no need for the radio. The crisp of Spring sings as you ride. You turn your head this way and that...searching...waiting for just the right picnic patch to speak to you.
The little gnawing in your stomach grows as the smells come creeping from the basket on the back seat - fried chicken, potato salad, chocolate cake….And just as you slow the car and reach back to have "just one piece"...you see it. The most excellent spot. The right place. You can stop now. You can gather your food and skip merrily to the perfect plot of grass that has been reserved for your blanket, your basket, and you.
Ahhh - the anticipation of the picnic!
