This weekend, J and I decided we needed to take advantage of the lovely fall weather with a Saturday excursion. And so, we loaded up my two youngest siblings and went driving. About 30 minutes from my parent’s house is one of the many entrances to the Natchez Trace – 444 miles of southern scenery. A few years ago, J and I drove the length of the Trace from Natchez, MS to Nashville, TN and, since then, we’ve taken every opportunity to meander down it once again.
On Saturday, we drove north to the quaint little town of French Camp. French Camp is a tiny little town, notable mostly for its historical village and its academy. Stopping off, you have the Council House Cafe, a little sandwich shop with one of the most minimal menus I’ve seen and some of the best honey mustard. There’s a gift shop, a boutique, and a thrift store, all hanging out within about a block of one another. Then, taking a bit of a stroll, you can walk through the historical village. This cluster of buildings leads you through Mississippi’s history, as you experience a carriage house, family home, pottery studio, blacksmith’s shop, and farm. There are mini horses to pet and museums to wander. On a pretty day, the grass and gravel paths and mature trees make for a delightful walk and the grounds are perfect for a picnic or tossing a frisbee.
As we drove back home, all a bit sleepy, but content, I thought about how often J and I are striving to “get somewhere.” Whether it’s the PNW, back to NYC, finally to the Mediterranean, or to Britain once again, we almost idolize elsewhere. On Saturdays like this, however, I’m reminded that adventures can be had at home, if only we’re open to looking for them, and that the best adventures are the ones with my people, no matter where we are.