It was just last week, when I stepped through the doorway out of the blinding sunlight into the dimly lit hallway of the Half Way House, that it all came rushing back to me. The last time I visited Black Creek Pioneer Village I was much younger – younger than my smallest son is now. I, an only child, went with my parents and some friends who were visiting from England. It was the only time we went anywhere – when someone was visiting.
Back then, unlike now, there was a bar inside the Half Way House where adults only could sit and have a pint of beer or a refreshing glass of alcoholic cider. Outside in the hallway with its flowery wallpaper there is still the bench. I must have spent a good while there, on my own. Forty years later, give or take a couple, I remember it well.