A quaint little brown house has been calling my name. Quaint, as in run-down, holes in the ceiling and the exterior taken over by climbing vegetation. When my husband said he would go with us, I was thrilled. We drove and drove without finding a place. Then we suddenly found ourselves passing the little brown house. Feeling extra courageous because we were all together, we stopped.
We ventured around the lot and discovered an open door. I suggested Steve have the joy of being the very first to explore the inside (no hidden motives for that, no sir). He did a quick scout while I hung with the kids so they wouldn’t run into the cornfield, then we swapped.
I have to say, like anything, it bodes well to trust your gut. I feel like the more we adventure, the more I get a good or bad feeling of a place. Steve asked what intrigues me about adventuring? I’ve been thinking about that question ever since. I like thinking about why these places have been forgotten. Thinking about what they were like in their glory days. I like seeing nature reclaim her own. To be deeply honest, I like confronting fear in a controlled way. I like that the kids will have something different to experience. I like to explore. To investigate.