When you drive west on Old Sudbury Road toward Wayland, Mass., you turn a corner and suddenly the landscape opens up: cows lazily munch on grasses, sheep and llamas hang out under trees, organic vegetables grow in long rows in the distance. And in a wedge of overgrown field by a fence, the rocking horses gather.
The first one appeared sometime in 2010 or 2011, a few years after we moved to Lincoln. It did not seem to be the forgotten remnant of a yard sale — its placement was deliberate, and picturesque. For a while this single rocking horse sat in the field alone. But then one day there were two, then four, and then ten. This past year, their numbers burgeoned and the group now includes a number of smaller toy horses in addition to antique rockers.
Who left the first rocking horse in this field? Who has brought the others? I’m sure I could find out, but I don’t really want to know. The mystery and the spontaneity of this gathering is the source of its charm.