Day Trip

I was driving home Friday night on a low tank of gas in an electrical storm the size of freaking Montana on the flat plain between Rochester and La Crosse, where I was pretty sure I was going to be struck by lightning or maybe just run down by a tornado, or run out of gas and then be struck by lightning or run down by a tornado, when I realized that this was all worth the loveliness that was a day trip in which I met Christie in Cannon Falls.

Cannon Falls is pretty close to the middle of the trip from my house in La Crosse to Christie’s house in St. Michael, so given that we both had absolutely nothing to do last Friday, we decided to meet up there and spend the day together.

Our day was spent being tourists around the small downtown area. From a wine tasting in a winery run by a man named Vincent from France…

…to an antique shop that used to be a bank, housing more useless and musty doodads (5 points!) than I've seen in a while...I mean things like empty instrument cases and things I thought were Morse Code devices, but who knows what they really were…

…to an ancient pink building that turned out to be someone’s house. (Whoops.)

…to SWANS AND BABY SWANS!! …

…to Cannon Valley Trail, an old train route which my grandfather (not the one that smells like the man from the garden center; the other one) founded, complete with an abandoned train depot and raspberry bushes along the first .5 out of 20 miles which we walked…

…to a lovely dinner in a deli with checkerboard floors and a lovely fountain-clad outdoor dining area. 

Here's the deal: put an historic city in front of me with old buildings and small diners and, I dunno, hanging baskets, and I WILL EAT THAT SH** UP. Throw Christie in there, and I'm giddy with that strange emotion that I feel when I lay in my hammock or smell the herbs I've planted or have a dream about a town covered with popcorn.  What is that called again? 

Oh yes: happiness.