My history is certainly a lot shorter than that of the Tavern’s. 

Born and raised in Oklahoma, I envisioned far away  New England as another world – the one where all of American History seemed to happen.  Our houses were made of brick, not wood, the earth was red and the sky was big.   Snow happened once or twice a winter and everyone had cellars to escape the tornadoes, not woodsheds and mud rooms. 

Trekking out to Stanford University for college and then  many subsequent years of living in San Francisco, I learned about the Painted Ladies and secretly wished for a chance to refurbish a Victorian for myself.   But it was not to be and the time came to move East and restore a colonial tavern instead.  

It’s no surprise that I found my first few winters in New England to be long and cold, but oh when spring came!  Each type of flower seemed to have its own designated week to bloom, resulting in a leisurely unfolding of spring.   While summers can be hit or miss, the fall in New England still takes my breath away.  And all that boring American history that happened somewhere else when I was growing up has finally come alive. 

I still actively manage my financial planning business, shuttle my three kids to practices and playdates, and try to improve my tennis game every chance I get.  But there is no better place to start a mid-life writing career – a three hundred year old house, full of nooks and crannies, and a friendly ghost or two.  As the current owner of the real Fitch Tavern, I continue to discover new things about this great old house and look forward to writing many more Fitch Tavern Tales. 

Rumor has it the tavern was a stop on the Underground Railroad…hmmm….