Second in the series of four generations. I like to think that my 4X Great Grandfather was a dandy of a romantic when he had to be. Though no indication from the family record. Supposedly, he was thrown into a Portuguese prison with 120 other privateers caught swindling on foreign shores, and was one of only twenty survivors. Might have made him think twice about taking the noisy path.
The “intellectual season” came after the hog slaughter and candle-making. No more “work” as they knew work in 1808. Chores of November morning then would collapse a modern man’s lungs and spirit. Ah, but the slow afternoons! The walks on Cole Hill. The planning. The dreaming. A local worldly poetry unimaginable today. Except by daft painters sniffing the cold Canada air.
Van Morrison composes like Dan dreamed when he was amorous on a perfect day.