I stayed put. It was one of those lazy weekends, when the thought of getting in the car to drive someplace less desirable than my own backyard was not appealing. I often feel that way. Where would anyone who lives in Jamestown want to or need to go? Especially on a beautiful fall weekend? When we ventured out, we didn’t go too far.

On Saturday, my husband and I volunteered at the windmill. It was our first time, so we did not know what to expect. There were not too many visitors that day. But with each group, we got to witness the transforming experience people go through when they are allowed to step back in time, even just for a few minutes.

I unlocked the doors, hooked them back and got out the broom. I swept the worn wood floors and chased the mouse droppings and other odd bits out the door and across the stone step. The wind blew the bits back in and I realized I was committing a futile act.

Even before folks walk through the same door the miller used in 1787, they marvel at the surrounding space – open, breezy, with a view that stretches many miles to the east. When you stand outside the mill and try to have a conversation, the breeze seems to steal your voice away. But that’s okay, because it’s the silence and the power of the wind that makes the place.

The cameras come out. The windmill is so photogenic. People seem to look calmer and happier in photos when they are standing next to her imposing form.

One guy, by himself, felt he had to whisper in the presence of the venerable gal. Others ran their hands over the ancient beams. They tip-toed up the stairs, helping to make them even smoother and more time-worn than they had been the moment before.

Everyone wants to know how it works, but being a novice docent, I couldn’t offer any detailed technical information. So we all read the pamphlet together, along with the signs on the walls, and we learned how wind transforms corn into meal. It was much like how the presence of the windmill buffs off the hard edges of people and transforms them into more serene versions of their former selves. Amazingly this only takes a few minutes.

We spent three hours there. For long stretches, we were alone. We brought a picnic lunch and set up chairs outside facing the bridge and the world beyond, delighted that we had chosen to spend our day in this tranquil place.

On Sunday, we took the dogs to the Conanicut Battery for a meandering stroll. I should say that my husband and I strolled while the dogs, especially the little one, ran gleefully in and out of the woods, rejoining us at many turns. Like the windmill, and also owned by the Jamestown Historical Society, the battery lands are hallowed ground. It’s a place where you notice every footfall that crushes a crumpled leaf. In a silent place, it’s the visitor that brings the sounds. We chose to spend the time listening to the crackles and crunches of the walk, the sound of the dogs rushing by. Squirrels scaling the trees were loud and drew all of our attention.

Fall is here and with it, we can see our breath mingle with the crisp air. When the dogs stop to pant, we watch their breath. They are chugging like little trains. Down the road, two young bucks are engaged in a tussle, probably over does.

When we leave the battery, we pass by the Beaverhead Farm, full of lumbering domestic animals. Cows chew their cud. Sheep huddle together facing the same direction. The clock is ticking on an oblivious pen full of white turkeys. Horses stare at us as we pass.

I think about how many humans there are who can spend an entire weekend, possibly an entire lifetime, without a moment of peace. Without feeling small in a field of long, green grass, or experiencing the possibility of hearing nothing but the wind. There a people who never see stars because the lights are too bright, or the sun because the smog is too thick. There are people for whom the word “peace” is a concept and not a reality.

Oh, so lucky us! Here, in Jamestown, we can find tranquility and beauty at nearly every turn. If anyone asks me what I did last weekend, I will tell them: I found peace, again.