there are two williamsburgs’ in my life; brooklyn and virginia. williamsburg brooklyn was the first one- i would go to shows out in williamsburg while in college and eat at kellog's diner right outside the lorimer stop off the L train on the way home. until i graduated from college, i had never been to williamsburg, brooklyn during daylight hours, believe it or not. now, i go to williamsburg for brunch occasionally, and sometimes still see shows or eat pierogies there. i don't go that often though, because it is a little intense for me and there are not enough trees.
while williamsburg, brooklyn is fine, it is williamsburg, virginia that really stole my heart. having never been as a middle school student, my first trip was as an adult, which afforded me a totally different perspective. i can see how as a child it would seem a little boring- all this history surreptitiously wrapped up in funny clothes, clomping horses, and lots and lots of dusty streets. however, as an adult (especially one from one of the newer states, california) i am fascinated by its quaint charm and the way that you can truly imagine how it must have felt like to be around at the birth of our country. grace laughs at my misplaced nostalgia, but since she grew up here she is allowed to take it for granted.
one of the best things in williamsburg, virginia, and the real clincher in my book, is something i also would have loved as a child: real barnyard sheep. they roam around in little enclosed pastures on the back streets and if you're walking around during dusk when there aren't many people around, the light will be just right for imagining all sorts of things.
while in williamsburg over christmas, grace and i took one of these walks and ending up spending quite a bit of time with the sheep. we found out they love magnolia leaves and we probably did some damage to the nearby tree attempting to strip it of leaves for them. they obviously didn't NEED more food, but it was adorable to watch them munching and besides, that was the only time they were distracted enough to allow us to lean over the fence and bury our hands in the soft, white, wool.
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