On a fine June day, the artist in me full of hope, my eyes full of wonder, I settled down in the shade of a large tree with my easel, watercolors, camp stool, container of water, paintbrush in hand, watercolor paper mounted and ready to begin a painting that I hoped would hold some of the purity of the day. Having considered each of the houses facing the lake, I chose this one, being attracted to the simple curves above the windows and entrance, and the fairly direct design of the architecture...nothing too ornate or pretentious, even though it is a "grand house". As I sketched, a number of people stopped to see how the work was coming, and also to have conversation, each encounter a pleassant one. All of this contributed to the quality of the day and my experience there. Several visitors to this scenic lake spot parked behind my car at the curb, blocking my view of the lower part of the premises the house stands on. Only one elderly couple, he with a cane, she, the designated driver, barely able to propel her body forward as she walked beside him, stopped to ask if they were blocking my view (which they weren't). They were interested in what I was doing and encouraging in their remarks, before they moved off to see the lake from a better vantage point. I felt as if I'd had a "visitation " from my parents, now both deceased. It was just how they would have approached someone they saw painting outdoors, lovers of the arts that they were. I cherished the moments with them, and I felt the pain of their efforts in trying to get around under their own steam, needing to take in a glance of all that lay before them at this oasis of beauty. I promised myself that next time I painted there, I would face the lake itself, incorporating in my painting the old trees that have stood guard vigilantly for so many years, feeling the passage of time, yet staunch in their determination to stay longer.