The Hazards of Hoops
Spring has arrived in our little corner of the Commonwealth with all the Sturm und Drang of a Wagnerian opera, to quote my neighbor Herr Friedrich. Presently, the river has become a sea of whitecaps again as the wind whistles down the bank and sets my candle flame to dancing. It's a bit disconcerting, I can tell you. But not as disconcerting as what occurred recently.
The other afternoon, my lovely rivertown hosted a veritable gaggle of medical men who came from the Big City to be wined and dined by Mr. Bates, proprietor of the Beehive Augusta Tavern. Mr. Bates kindly inquired if I would be so kind to escort his guests for a short stroll around town before supper and share a tale or two about our fine town.Being the unofficial town historian, naturally, I most cordially agreed.
The weather had been particularly fine that day. However, if there is one thing you can count on during a fine Spring day in Augusta, you can count on it changing. Often within minutes! Sure enough, some clouds began gathering in the West and the wind starting blowing down our nine miles of unobstructed view of the river valley. And when it blows, I mean, it blows! I had taken some precautions by pinning my overskirt to my petticoat but I could feel the wind swirling about my ankles. I tried to wrest control of my Southern sphere from Mother Nature but my hands were full of fan and reticule and parasol and...well, you know how this story ends.
Those medical men spent the rest of the evening commending Mr. Bates for entertaining them so splendidly with dinner AND a "show."
