Here is another picture I took when visiting the sites I used in THE RIDDLE OF PENNCROFT FARM a couple of years after it was published. The little girl in the picture is my daughter, who is now 35, has four sons, and a PhD. How tempus fugit!
Here's what I wrote:
* * *
I gave a tentative kick to a good-size stone on the shoulder of the road. It skittered nicely across the blacktop, so I kicked it down the narrow, winding road. I was so intent on what I was
doing that I didn’t pay attention to anything else. I suppose that’s why, when I came to the old covered bridge, I didn’t notice anybody standing inside, until my rock disappeared under the
roof of the bridge, and I looked up. Someone about my age or a little older stood facing the other direction. Even in the shadows, I could tell it was a girl—the ponytail and puffy sleeves
made that obvious.
I was determined not to get off on the wrong foot with this girl. “Hi,” I said shyly. “I didn’t see you there. Hope I didn’t hit you with my rock.”
She turned around. There was nothing female about the face that grinned at me, or the gruff
voice. “Nay, you missed me by a furlong.”
I was astonished. This was a boy all right, but he was wearing the weirdest clothes I’d ever
seen. Besides the white shirt with billowy sleeves, he had on pants that ended at his knees,
long white socks, and black shoes with big buckles. In his hand was a hat—a three-cornered
Boy, Pennsylvania kids really go all out for Halloween, I thought. And do they talk funny.
“Furlong?” I echoed, wondering if it meant far or long or whatever.
- The Riddle of Penncroft Farm © 1989 by Dorothea Jensen