A First

Crandall Field. Oil on stretched canvas, 12x12

For years now, I've been coming home with paintings, holding them up and asking Peter, "Do you know where this is?"

For years, I've been crushed when he didn't recognize the spots.

How can you not recognize the road you drive on every single day, coming back to our house? How can you not recognize the place in the river where you've fished for most of your adult life? How can you not recognize that field where we stopped to let Gus pee 15 years ago?

Well, no, you're right, the road isn't actually purple on that stretch. And, OK, no, that place in the river does have trees along the far bank; they were in the way, and I just didn't paint them in. And yes, I know, that field where we let Gus out doesn't really have orange and blue flowers in it, but wouldn't it be great if it did?

So when I came home from a day of painting on Saturday and asked my poor, beleaguered husband if he recognized the scene in this painting, I was thrilled nearly beyond words when he said, "Sure. It's Crandall Field."

Yippee!