The Creamery

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The Creamery

This is a great story, or at least I think it’s a great story probably because I’m the one who experienced it. I seem to go back to this story quite often, just as I did the other night. In doing so, I find that reminiscing can take you right into that energy, the same one that was present at the creamery.

On the northern California coast there was a building, an old creamery, and honestly it had been used for many different things such as metal forging to make horse shoes and other metal things, and even as a storage place. At the time I was there it was being used for woodworking. Our friend had his shop there and he was a custom cabinet maker.  

That’s how I ended up stopping by with my husband one day to visit our friend on the way home from the post office. The town of Manchester is very small, typical coastal town and we lived a few miles up in Irish Beach.  

Ron heard a vehicle pull up and slid the door open. With a big smile, he invited us in. We hadn’t seen his new place since he’d moved out of his garage, and with all the people talking about his beautiful handmade work, he was getting busy. I sat down in a chair by the old wood stove, as it was winter and it was wet and cold. The coast was always cold; totally different in climate from Southern California. Up there in the north it was wet, cold, and the wind blew most of the time. 

As I sat there and Ron showed my husband around the shop, I began to feel my senses piqued. My senses were all very alert and I thought to myself, What the heck is going on here? 

I took a deep breath and sat back away from the stove when in my ear I clearly heard a whisper that said, “Why are you here?”  

I sprang up, and knocked over the chair I was sitting in. Ron and Fred came running back in.  

What’s wrong?!” they asked. 

“GHOST!” was all I could get out of my mouth. 

Suddenly a beautiful woman with long blonde hair, dressed in a 1700s white dress with a high collar was standing there with her head tilted to one side, looking at me like, ”What’s wrong?” I’d scared her, and the men too.  

Ron said, “I KNEW, I KNEW IT!”   

I looked at him and hissed, “Shhhh!” with one finger against my pursed lips. I said leave, “Leave now.”  

Ron started to ask why and looked back and forth from me to Fred, searching for an answer. Fred just took his arm and left.  

 

That place was so full of one very active spirit, and many other residual energies. When they left, it was kind of dark, but there were hanging light bulbs here and there that helped illuminate the area. I saw a man come out from the back room with his leather apron and tools to forge steel. He had dark hair that was cut short and parted on the side, and a dark mustache. I approached him but he did not acknowledge me; ah residual energy loop. There also were children playing and singing that would come and go. 

Then there was the lady with the long blond hair, who sat right next to me in the other metal chair. I started to speak to her, and just as I was going to ask her what her name was, another lady came out of the wall with a package in her arms and plodded across the building, going right through the opposite wall. I kept hearing, “Pay your bill.” This was a circus!

The ghost next to me could not understand why I was there. She kept saying, “You don’t belong here.”  

I thought, What?! Why don’t I belong but Ron does?  

And then she answered me. As I write this now I start to laugh, as I was very inexperienced at this. She said she knew Ron, and that she liked to watch him work. I thought again, Well, what about his wife? She answered, “No, I like it when he is here.”  

You have got to be kidding me; this woman … this spirit, this beautiful spectre … had a crush on Ron. Just about that time the door slid open and Ron and Fred came walking in with hot chocolate, both smiling.  

“Everything okay?” he asked.  

I said, “I don’t know, but you and I need to talk. What the heck is going on here, Ron?”  

Ron started to tell me the story of how there was a woman in the 1700s who ran the creamery, and how she ran it herself. She was the first woman around those parts that had ever done anything like that. The descendants to this lady still owned the land and the house in the back. 

I described to him what she looked like, and he said, “Yes, I have a picture of her.”  

I was flabbergasted! “What? How?” I asked. 

He said, “The family. They all knew she was here, so I asked them about her. I’ll get the picture.”  

Fred and I just looked at each other. It was almost like Ron was transfixed with her. He practically came running back in, exclaiming, “That’s her, right?” 

I just stared at the picture. My mouth dropped and I finally gasped, “Yes.”

She was beautiful. And there was something about her; she was sweet and kind, gentle, but yet strong and proud. This was her creamery. I asked about the iron works, and yes, it had at one time been used by two or three men who did forge work there. He had also heard the children. At one time during a flood in the ‘40s it was used as a school. I kept coming back to her, Rebecca, though. I told Ron that she liked him, but not his wife.  

“I kinda figured that out, because when Laura was here to help or bring lunch, she always felt weird and didn’t like it. One time she tripped and fell to the ground, and then she just stopped coming down here,” he said.

 Rebecca did not need to cross over; she was crossed. She was beautiful and full of light, she just enjoyed coming to visit her beloved creamery, and I guess Ron. Probably also had a connection to the family who still lived there through generations. He proceeded to tell us that he had feelings about this and felt like it was home, and familiar. I asked him if he felt scared since most people are scared. He said, “No, its very peaceful, inviting. I love working here, but Laura doesn’t like it.”  

I would say that he stayed there probably a year or so, and then found something else closer to the house. I wondered about the new people renting the creamery and if they’d experienced anything, or if the men experienced anything. Maybe Rebecca was in love with Ron, maybe he reminded her of a long lost love. I’ve always wondered. 

When I think back to that experience, I can see her. Instantly I’m back standing in the middle of the wooden floors with naked light bulbs lighting the sparse space and Rebecca flowing all around in her lace, high-collar blouse and long skirt, her long hair down and glowing so beautifully.

 

Edited by

Jody Freeman

off the shelf publishing : https://offtheshelfediting.com

Thank you for reading

with love Renee





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One Reply to “The Creamery”

  1. Goose bumps all over me Renee with reading this beautiful story which highlights again that ceasing to breath on earth does not ever mean life is over and done with ! Thank you for sharing this love

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