The Rhode Island Red House

Christie, Brian, his Mother, and I all feasted on the rustic meal of meat and potatoes that Brian had just cooked over the fire. He proudly exclaimed how he had made the BBQ pit that day from bricks he had found around the yard.  While we ate Brian told us stories of his exploits fishing and kayaking around Maine, building various things with friends, camping and survival trips, and other tales that extolled the self-reliance of the average Mainer. After dinner we settled into some beautiful tunes. I've always played with Brian and Christie in a pub setting, but this was something completely different. We our instruments conversed with a subtle beauty, and our melodic poetry lasted well into the night.

As it turned out Brian was going a little stir crazy, and Christie and I had just the solution. Before we had left Rustic Roots, friends from the camp conspired to meet at a little house in Lincoln Park, so the next day the three of us headed out for Rhode Island.

Lincoln Park is big, so after a couple of loops around the park, we stopped and asked a ranger for directions. After bumbling through an awkward description of where we were trying to go, the ranger said, "Oh, you mean Winnie's house."  We went down another series of winding roads, praying that this latest set of instructions would lead us to our destination.  After passing by what seemed like our fifth duck pond, we arrived at a big red house. We stopped and poked our heads out and heard music coming from the back yard.

In the middle of the lawn an older man in a utili-kilt stood over the beginnings of an epic camp fire surrounded by a dozen varied lawn chairs occupied by a few playing musicians, a few more chatting.  A short, lithe, lady with long, grey streaked hair and a French accent greeted us warmly.  Christie pronounced her irresistibly huggable and embraced her.

The front  section of the house, with a greenhouse
attached to the middle section of the house

Our huggable host Winnie gave us a little tour of the property. The house started out as a small cottage with a barn in the back where livestock was kept. At some point the barn was converted to another small house. Sometime later someone had the bright idea that one big house was better than two little houses, and a maze of connecting architecture was haphazardly built between the two units. This had the effect of every room being on a slightly different level, and there being two-foot-tall flights of stairs between the many cute little rooms all over the house.

Many Rustic Rootians were there, and we played music late into the night. The next day I decided to go to Boston with Andy Reiner, and left Christie and Brian to head back to Maine.