I might be projecting here, but I think the house is happy folks have visited during October.
Maybe the cheerful weather has something to do with it—that warm, glowy sunshine bouncing around the conservatory having been tinted amber from the leaves outside. Or those same leaves poetically floating to the ground around me as I walk from the car to the front porch. Or the front porch simply existing as a giant statement of romance by itself—I mean, I dare you to sit there for more than three minutes and NOT take a heavy inhale … then exhale at least a quarter of your cares.
And THAT is why I think the house is happy. Not for the quantity of people visiting (though that helps ACHS pay the mortgage) but the fact they feel the energy shift of the property. I watch people LOOK at the house and grounds in a way most don’t have time for or take time for in their “normal” lives. Because for guests, Ticknor Time isn’t real life.
The whole point of a visit for many is a suspension of reality and predictability.
So what…to be a house who can remember people returning from the Civil War a fractured version of themselves, to watch them heal, for the cycle to continue again and again. All the construction, the inventions, the next best things, the promises, each era with its shiny new hopes and gadgets. And where do people go? What do they do when it comes down to it?
They gather on the deck and the porch. In the waning sunlight, with the falling leaves. To plan a meal, share a joke. To make the most of their share of Ticknor Time.
That HAS to make a house happy.