Today, my family and I ventured across town to a recreated 1855 village.
This mini-town was complete with one-room schoolhouse, bearded blacksmith, and quite possibly the most beautiful (and only) elk I’ve ever seen.
We meandered across frozen ground, sipping cider and taking in sights of a time truly forgotten.
As we entered the town’s church, I was greeted by a burly, rosy minister, who had invited us in for a seat. Struggling to stay cozy and comfortable in the heater-less venue, I savored the sounds of a quartet, strumming classic bluegrass. A group of young Amish women sat in front of me, ankles exposed beneath their floor-length skirts. The minister stood next to me, leaning against the wall, tapping his foot to the beat, flashing me a friendly smile. For the briefest of moments I was back in 1855, with the remaining embers burning wafting through the chilly air, surrounded by others humming the familiar tunes, shoulders slowly easing down in comfort.
And then my cell phone buzzed, jerking me back to reality.
I wonder how different a fashion blog in 1855 would have been? Methinks these fashions would not have been accepted:
Tuesday: Switch up, change up
Thursday: Giving and Receiving
Friday: My first love