...weeding out the flower beds...sweeping up the porch.
It is that time each spring when the cottage screen doors at Whiteley Creek Homestead Bed and Breakfast are open to the warming air again. Hens are pecking spring green shoots coming up from the inn's grounds. Logs are lit in the grand stone fireplace porch-side each evening. And, aprons are fluttering in the breeze. Photo, above, taken by Adrienne, the inn's gentle keeper.
Oh, yes. I suppose I do have a special longing for this place half way across the country. It is my childhood home. And, anyone would add that the inn's hostess is full of charm and warmth (she is also my mother), and the host has a twinkle in his eye and a chuckle waiting to share with you (he is also my father). Whitely Creek is just one of those places—
—One of those places where guests come back year after year.
One of those places where you will find made-from-scratch breakfasts my mother and father serve in an old railroad train car. My mother grinds flour. And, she tends vegetables in her garden surrounded by rustic fences my father raised around the growing greens and blossoms. They gather eggs from their gentle hens living in a rustic coop—A hen house weathering the years since I was a young child.
One of those places you will find my father's inventive handiwork, beginning when you are greeted by a charming wood and tin man, above.
One of those places full of quiet solitude, wildflowers, and pine trees.
One of those places where you will marvel at imaginative repurposing the inventive innkeepers have handily constructed their homestead from.
A quiet place to sit on the wide, rustic back porch for a game of checkers and the roasting of s'mores. Oh, and many of those pretty vintage aprons blowing in the breeze.
One of those places you may want to visit. Whiteley Creek Homestead Bed and Breakfast. ©heather cahoon • wordplayhouse®
Want to visit more Whitely Creek Homestead charm? See our visit in photos here.
If you have been inspired by what we share, please share us with those you love.
