We arrived before the visitor’s center opened, and got tickets – 8:45 for Mum, 9:25 for Pops, since that was the time it would take to go through. We decided that Trixie should probably not go into the house given its age and importance. We made it to the center of the park, where Lincoln’s home – a modest but impressive brown house sat unremarkably on one corner, and a group of faux cameras on the other, since that was the favorite – and best – vantage point to view the house across the intersection.
We walked a little up one of the streets – in Lincoln’s time, wood sidewalks and curbing were used, and here they were used again, as silvery grey planks that caused Trixie’s carriage to rattle along. We inspected a couple houses, and a wagon-float with that iconic log cabin atop it before retuning to the benches to await Mum’s tour.
She ascended the granite stairs, and vanished inside – and Trixie was upset, so Pops let her out for a time to do her business out front, and then explored the environs of the shady neighborhood to the east and north, before returning to the western corner of the square by way of a model vegetable garden behind the visitor’s center on the west edge of the historic park. At that hour, all was quiet – too quiet. Indeed, the center of Springfield may have pretentions of being a great city, a capitol of a major state, but the streets are strangely vacant and lightly traveled by east coast standards.
Mum left Lincoln’s home, delighted by the sights, and then it was Pops turn to enter the hallowed home. He would tell Trixie all about it later.