Such a waste of precious time, to write in a book of my own, dull life! How should I even begin? It is not as if this were one of my imagined stories, so I cannot even make a decent sounding beginning! Perhaps I could start with "My dear Journal", but everyone does that and it is not as though I were friends with my journal. I will settle for no beginning, for the time being.
Father said I needed to act more like a young woman ought, instead of running off on "meaningless ventures" and frolicking about with friends. Perhaps sometimes, strangers as well. But I enjoy it and I am quite careful of how "frolicky" I get. (Yes, I DO know that is not a word.) Anyway, Father gave me this freshly-bound book and "requested" that I use it for a a journal, rather than a "whimsical romance story". He said it is unseemly for a young woman such as I to be dwelling on such things. How am I to help it if that is all my mind makes up? They are not ONLY romances, anyhow. They do have adventure, sorrow, thrills and many other themes that would make them unfit to simply be called a "romance". He also requested I focus more on "womanly" tasks...as if I can't cook or sew. I am not sure how, but he must have found the previous "journal" he gave me. Now that, that book was CERTAINLY a romance. Perhaps that is what he spoke of. I do not believe so, however, as it is still safely hidden in my trove of written stories. But, I love Father enough to attempt to do as he asks. As such, I will write in this journal. I will only write of things worth writing about. Not simple, mundane and dull memories.
Which brings me to a recent recalling of a wonderful memory! I somewhat recently went to visit Owena's bakery, as I'd heard she'd come back from her small journey, and I met her two traveling companions. (Whose names I cannot recall at this time.) I believe them to be brothers, but my memory may serve me wrong. Owena introduced us and told them of our lifelong friendship. They were kind, yet fun and amusing men, and one asked for stories of Owena's and my friendship. I looked at her with inquiry clear in my eyes and I grinned lightly. I asked Owena if I might tell them of the time we were lost in the Chetwood until well past the time we should have been out. She, of course, said yes. So I told them, as I will now tell...this book. This is odd. I almost said "you" to a book.
The story is as follows:
Owena and I had noticed, when delivering some baked goods, that during the heat of Summer, the farmers often work with their shirts aside. I do not rightly recall who it was, but I believe it was I, who convinced the other that we ought to sneak about the chosen farmlands, hide ourselves and watch the younger farmers work. We both agreed that this was such a wonderful idea and we decided to do it the very next. So, after we made a couple quick deliveries for Owena's mother, we snuck around the farmlands and watched the young farmers. (My, how their muscles did look, bulging and glistening with sweat!) Some of them were quite handsome, even with shirts, then some had homely faces but very handsome torsos and arms, as I recall. (Ah, Owena and I were but a couple of energetic and mischievous lasses, but it is such a fond memory!) We watched them for the better part of the day, before one of them spotted us. He shouted something and many of the surrounding farmers looked about until they saw us. They began to walk toward us slowly at first, then a handful of them began to jog over, shouting various things. The one who spotted us was quite barely older and very quick on his feet. He nearly caught up with us, shouting at us that we oughtn't be watching them work in such a way on the privacy of their own land. I had seen him before, and seen the way he had looked at Owena, so it was no surprise that he was blushing. (His face was also red from running and yelling, but I could tell the difference.) Owena and I were frightened, however, and ran as quickly as we might. We kept running and went deep into the Chetwood. We sat and rested a while, talking, laughing and sharing the meal we had brought along for our little scouting expedition. It was not long before the sun set and evening came. The woods became thick with frightening noises and the air chilled, urging us to head on home. We searched for the way we had come, but we had forgotten and were quite lost. It was frightening in an exciting and fun sort of way. Being lost in the woods with your best friend can be quite an adventure if you have the correct outlook. It was past midnight when, finally, Owena's beau found us in the woods. Her family had noticed her absence and sent him to search for us, as they searched the town. He led us back easily, the two of us grinning secretly at each other. When we came to Owena's house and spoke to her mother, we had already decided Owena would do the talking. She told her mother we had been picking berries and gotten lost. I had almost groaned at that, but her mother believed it! We did feel terrible for the lie, of course. But it is such an amusing story now, that we cannot help but laugh when we tell it. I am laughing now as I write it, in fact. But, I am afraid this entry must come to a close. I am surprised how much I did enjoy writing a true story, however. Perhaps Father was not so wrong. ~Lissi
