Large clapboard house with gingerbread trim, viewed diagonally across board sidewalk and fences (decorative and utilitarian). Three boys lean on board fence. Leafless trees by sidewalk, more houses beyond. Handwritten on photograph front, under boys: “George Root, Wm. Clark, Frank Clark.” Typed on label on photograph back: “This house was erected about 1857 or 1858, for Dr. Augur Clark. The three boys in the foreground are William and Frank Clark, and George Root. The two Clark boys are the sons of the doctor. Mr. James F. Joy lived in the house at one time, and James Joy was born there. It was torn down many years ago, and a row of brick buildings erected in its place. The picture was given me by Mr. William A. Butler Jr. The house is on the north side of Fort Street between Cass and First Streets.” Handwritten on photograph back: “D/Sts_Fort, between Cass & First. C.M.B. (?) Dec. 5, 1908.”
Courtesy of the Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library
… the house behind the tree by Frances Via Flickr: …. if only I could have picked up the tree and temporarily moved it. I was too lazy to clone it out in Photoshop. Love the trim and the shutters on this house. One other time when I visited this town, there was a mini-cooper parked in front. Made me love the scene even more. One of these days, a mini will be sitting in my driveway. Someone who lives nearby owns one and has a front tag that says “Wee”.
Via Flickr: “In about 1880, Benjamin Franklin Camp built this home for his bride, Annie Britt. They lived here for about 20 years, and then moved to High Springs to find more timber for their sawmill. The house was sold to B.F.’s nephew, J.A. Maultsby, who lived here until 1926.
It was then sold to Cockwood Flowers, who then sold it to Oscar and Aris Tillman in 1938. They hired a carpenter who worked for two years installing plumbing, electricity and a new roof, and the Tillmans moved in during 1940.
The house has two-story verandas on the front and back, and a bay window on the north side. This house was occupied by Mrs. Tillman until her death in 1983.
The three Camp brothers founded the town along the Peninsular Railroad in 1881. They sold subdivided town lots with deed restrictions which prohibited the sale of liquor. The Camps ran a saw and planing mill, general merchandise store, cotton gin, grist mill, orange groves and a thriving nursery. By the mid-1880s, Campville grew to a population of 250.”
Ladies and gentlemen, please collect your belongings,
watch your head and step, and take small children by the hand. We hope you
enjoy your day at the Magic Kingdom.
At the sound of the electronic chime, the monorail
doors slid open, and Lucas and Riley exited onto the concrete platform of the
open air station outside the park’s gates. They were already a few minutes late
for the 3:00 o’clock meeting time with the rest of their group, and they still
had to make it all the way to the castle, which was where they’d agreed to
The front entrance of the park wasn’t far from the monorail
station, and they made their way through it with a swipe of their wristbands.
On the other side of the turnstile, a wide sloping
bank lay sprawled at the base of a second-story railroad platform. Its beautifully
landscaped lawn surrounded a conformation of hedges and flower beds that had
been laid out to form a large medallion with the famous mouse ears at its
center. At the top of the bank sat a Victorian style train station,
adorned with gables and a high clock tower, and it was the first thing guests
were presented with when they walked through the gate.
A train whistle sounded as they headed towards
the short tunnel that passed under the tracks and into the park,
Lucas forcing a slight speed to their steps by his grip on Riley’s hand.
“We shouldn’t have stayed for the Bug
movie,” he fretted, as they hurriedly crossed the cobblestoned courtyard
to the underpass.
“Lucas, would you relax? I told you it’s fine.
They’re probably just waiting for us on a bench somewhere. It’s not like
they’ll mind the extra rest time. Well, the kids might,” she amended.
“But knowing my dad, he’ll probably just turn it into a lesson on patience
or something.” Her tone was half-humorous when she said it, but the
likelihood that it was true was actually pretty good.
“I know, I just don’t like to be late,”
he continued to fuss. “Especially when it involves your dad.”
Riley looked at him in affectionate understanding.
“It’ll be okay, I promise,” she soothed.
So, captainoftherollyjoger wanted a Captain Swan fic that featured a Newfoundland puppy in the snow, and clockadile agreed and I said I’d write the thing, so here is the thing (and sorry it took me so long!). Oh, and this is what the puppy looks like, it’s a Landseer Newfie
“This is payback.”
She stomped her feet and blew on her hands, red and chapped from the wind. She would have sworn that her gloves had been in the pockets of her coat, but when they reached the park and she went to pull them on, all she found was a few wadded up tissues and a Chapstick without the cap.
“Hmm?” Killian turned and looked back at her, “Payback for what, Swan?”
Emma yanked her hat a little further down on her ears and glared, “Everything.”
At the foot of the hill Henry was running through the snow, arms outstretched and laughing. He fell to his back and a ball of black and white fur jumped on his chest and started licking all over his face.
Five days ago she had finally moved into her own place, a two bedroom cottage with wide pine floors and gingerbread trim on the eaves, with a fine view of the harbour through the master bedroom window. Two days after that, Regina had shown up with what she claimed was a housewarming present, but Emma knew was one thing and one thing only.
I love New Orleans. It’s not perfect (see: summer), but of all the places I’ve ever traveled, it’s definitely my favorite. It’s like there’s something just in the air, and breathing it makes me feel good.
The fact that it’s in the 70s and I’m wearing shorts and t-shirts even though it’s practically November.
The sweet smell of flowers when I’m walking down the streets.
The Victorian houses, big and small, with their gingerbread trim and gaslamp porch lights.
The fact that people smile at you as you pass them on the sidewalk.
The music, the food, the constant celebrations, the embrace of what makes their city unique and special.
It feels promising. Whenever I visit, I step out the door and build fantasies of what my life could be like living down here, because somehow this city feels rife with possibilities for me, like there are fun experiences just waiting to be had. I don’t get that sense everywhere I go.
I know it wouldn’t be perfect, but I think it’s worth chasing! As soon as I get a living situation worked out (subletting, house-sitting or whatever works), I’ll be moving down here for the winter and spring.