I returned to "Hotel Baudy's" tonight, early evening, and sat in the fading sun and drank a glass of wine while I watched the people and petted the owner's dog, who was at my feet. I had been here years ago.
When I got off the train from Paris the line was too long for Monet's garden and I had no idea where I was so I walked down the road and an old, stylish man had beckoned me into what looked like a tavern. He told me to go see the garden through the back door.
Baudy's is no longer a hotel, but has the memories of one. It was the residence that the American artists claimed when they came into town. The Baudy's provided a place with room and board, garden and studio; a place so welcoming that they never wanted to leave. So they stayed and did their work and Giverny became an artist colony.
Little Dog, Cafe, Ivy Hickam, ballpoint
I said goodbye to the little dog and walked down the street. Watching the light fade on the buildings, I too never wanted to leave.
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