Old Rittenhouse Inn, Bayfield, Wisconsin

Room at the Inn

On a late December honeymoon,

driving wispy snow northward all afternoon,

snow-covered tree vistas on our winter lark.

we arrived at Bayfield just about dark,

Below the town Lake Superior loomed,

like the northern forests along the way,

the town was deep in new white snow.

Our need for shelter came into play.

We hadn't made plans to stay the night,

any old motel would've been all right.

But ahead appeared a wonderful sight,

all lit up with Christmas trimmings, bright.

It was the Old Rittenhouse Inn,

with its sidewalks shoveled clean.

I asked her, "Do you think we could stay there?"

She said, "I don't know, it's been my dream."

"It's worth a try, let's go and see,"

I told her, hoping for it to be.

We climbed the stairs to the porch,

and knocked on the door.

When the host came to the door,

I asked, "Do you have a room at the Inn?"

She answered, "Why yes, we do.

A suite if you like, please come on in."

We entered a world of Victorian charm.

All decorated for the holiday season.

Our upstairs suite had wine on the wall.

Toasted our good fortune with good reason.

Dinner was served in the dining room,

I ordered Lake Superior lake trout,

something that was always in season.

Dinner was sumptuous beyond a doubt.

Our room was cold with big bay windows,

so we had to snuggle under the covers.

We rose to bright sunlight with delight,

to the smell of the buffet breakfast, just right.

Looking out over the lake,

as we left town that day,

with its deep sky-blue waters,

Apostle  Islands mushrooms of white.

I will always remember,

what serendipity brought,

a gracious room for a night,-

that we wouldn't have thought.

Copyright 2022 © Ronald W. Hull

12/21/22

You can read and print this poem here at my website.