T feels as though Summer began just yesterday, and that we were only just shaking off the last of Winter, instead of embracing the beginnings of Autumn. I confess I am not prepared to accept Winter once again so soon, but it is to come as it always does, and will go away again, as it always does. It has, of course, signaled the concern for Mr. Hegwood's previous health issues, and if our Winter is not much more vicious than the Autumn has shown so far, I think we may be fortunate indeed that we shall have him at least one more year.
I sincerely wish that there was something more exciting and new to fill my pages with than construction on this or construction on that, or changes here and there, but sadly that is all that is filling my life in these drear weeks. I have been so spoilt by the constant touring of the near states that this sedentary life I have found myself thrown back into sits very poorly with my active mind. There can only be so many turns taken about the torn up space behind the house where there will be a garden one day, or perusing the little bit of wilderness close by on the west lawn, using the term wilderness as lightly as possible, for the smattering of trees left standing qualifies more as a small copse, than any sort of wilderness I am accustomed to. Until I am able to have my hands on a horse again, I fear I shall be dreadfully bored, for I can only walk so far. Mr. Hegwood is supposing the stables to be completed within a fortnight, and the pastures fenced completely within a month. After that, Jack can be brought down from Albany, and my amusements extended.
Rumor has circulated from town about the potential of the fifteen acres adjoining our property to be purchased by a well-to-do Virginian family, but we have seen not a soul upon the road past our property, and have heard not a name. Abigail, Mrs. Hegwood and myself have lost hope that there is anything to this rumor, but enjoy speculating over supper and cards nonetheless.
Written by E. Waterman