Today is the feast day of Santiago, Saint James the Major, one of the twelve apostles and the patron saint of Spain and Portugal. We celebrated with a Spanish Rioja and muddled lime on ice. The two pilgrimages we did in Spain and the one we canceled when Covid hit all finished in the Galician city named after Santiago.
We picnicked with good friends in Sodus at the old lighthouse yesterday and it was idyllic. I guess I wasn’t sure if that was still possible. We picked up food at El Rincon and took the back roads to the lake, by Christian Holler and along Mud Lane. God’s country.
We looked for a rest stop on our way home. We were traveling along the lake on the Seaway Trail and we found a spot next to a historical marker for a house that was once owned by an abolitionist. It was thought to be a stop on the Underground Railroad.
We parked next to two cars in what looked like a small parking lot. Every fence pole surrounding the lot had an American flag on it. After reading the historical marker we ducked down the road next door, one that led to a State fishing sight, and we found a place to go to the bathroom. When we got back to the car we found a couple in the lot yelling at us, “Is that your car?” I thought it had acted up or something. “This is private property. This is private property. This is private property,” the woman kept screaming. OK,” I said. “We surrender.” and I put my hands in the air. She yells, “Didn’t you see the signs?” I said, “We saw the American flags but we didn’t see the signs.” “They’re right here.” And she ran over to point them out out to us.
The couple was selling their house and the lakefront property. There was a Sotheby’s sign out front. Everything was in order but they had a design problem. Those damn flags took up all the visual space.
Back in town we went down to the pool with a beer. Someone was yelling on the other side of the fence. And then it sounded like a woman in pain. Was she crying? I got up on the fence to see what was going on. I heard Marsha, our neighbor with the big dog named Topher, yelling, “Larry. Get it out of his mouth.” I couldn’t see what it was but I’m guessing it was some sort of animal.