My first year in Georgia I noticed interesting habits about the folks living a stone’s throw from my new house. In late spring, they brought out queer duds: long skirts, overcoats, hats with feathers, and swords. My neighbor explained it was time for the Renaissance Festival. Ah, I said. From my back porch, I listened to strange sounds echo from their basement all summer long.
That fall I watched amazed, as week by week a life-sized ship grew up in the driveway next door. Attached to the house, it had a long deck with masts, and yes, sails. A few peeks through the trees, and I realized the ship was filled with skeletons and treasure chests. Good Lord, I thought. They might be pirates…
As October blew in so did a cemetery, not to mention, a pumpkin patch and a mausoleum. The pirate ship shined nightly with a soft yellow glow--just enough to see the cannons. I often wondered what kind of neighborhood I had moved into.
|Playing the pirate "lady"|
Today, it's been two years since I mysteriously discovered the perfect home to settle down in. Now I find myself wondering if the house did not choose me; or at least perhaps my neighbors (in some mystical voodoo way). They are enthusiastic and supportive of my piratical interests, and I am in awe of their swashbuckling lifestyle.
|The head pirate wench welcomes visitors.|
Who needs a fence to look over? A pirate ship works just fine for me.
Happy Halloween Holidays!
Visit the pirate haunt at www.swansbroughmanor.com!