A couple of weekends ago we went to visit some new friends in Plainfield, MA. If you’ve never been there (and I have to guess that certainly you haven’t), it’s the country, the real country, passing-cows-in-pastures country. By way of directions, our friends said, Take a left at the church. We’re down a ways, with a red picket fence.

They had the kind of home that you think of when you think country living. That is, if you’re me. On the outside, within that red picket fence, were riotous flower gardens, meandering rocky ledges, and an enormous gated vegetable garden, some of the spoils of which we took home to eat. But then, on the inside of this 1700s-era house, were wide rustic floorboards, bright painted walls, and beautiful framed screenprints — lots of Shepard Fairey — I loved the contrast between this bold, urban art and the super-rustic environment.

I wanted to take pictures, but I thought perhaps I’d save that for the second visit. One step at a time, Frances.

After a delicious lunch of grilled vegetable sandwiches with goat cheese, and a fantastic sweet potato salad, we sat on Adirondack chairs, under a little shade tree in the backyard with huge mugs of specially-brewed coffee and watched our dogs romp through our friends’ enormous backyard. In the distance, a gray mist rose up off the green hills. Country living!

Then, within a few moments, I felt a little bit of tingling behind my eyes. I took a deep breath, and ignored it, and eventually we said goodbye and headed out to Northampton, a cute little town in central MA, to browse the little New Englandy shops and, for me, get some rain boots for the interminably drizzly weather.

By the time we got to Northampton, I was wild-eyed and sweaty. A full-on caffeine high. My teeth clattered and my skin itched. What was in that coffee? Our friend had said it was his special blend. Suddenly this seemed ominous.

I went into a shop and stood dumbfounded for at least forty-five minutes in front of the rain boots, their colors and patterns assaulting my senses. I wondered if I had accidentally consumed some LSD.

The feeling lasted throughout the day and into the evening. Sleep was an impossibility.

I drink coffee nearly every day, usually a freshly-ground French press. I’d never experienced anything like this. What had I drunk? This wasn’t coffee, it was rocket fuel.

We felt better the next day, and even better when our friends mentioned that they, too, had been — to put it mildly — totally wired. But I’m scared to go back. Not to their house — I’d just about move in there, if they asked — but to coffee.