The Story Begins... The Long Forgotten Folk of Nonesuch Creek!

Not far from Woodstown Whimsies… lies a place called Nonesuch Creek.  Our story begins there on a damp, drear morning in late, late April… the 30th to be exact!  The wind was driving the rain like a puppet-master; the emerging spring leaves were dancing without restraint, stately trillium bowed their crimson and white heads while the barely-visible fiddlehead fronds of the bracken fern quaked at the clap of thunder.  

Mud underfoot as she trudged alone in the shadows of the swamp maples, one of the Stanton sisters emerged.  Etta stood shivering in the rain (soaked like a wet muskrat) along the banks of the now overflowing creek.

The youngest Stanton sibling, Woodruff… waited patiently for his sister to get into his little red boat.  The murky waters continued to rise; Woodruff remained steadfast. He had been gathering acorns; leftovers found underneath the decaying leaves of the Great Oak (few would have even ventured there).

Young Woodruff delighted in his boat-load of treasures! The rain persisted as they pushed off from the shoreline, unsure as to where the current might take them.