what do you get when you guzzle down sweets?

Well, if you couldn't figure it out--I was an Oompa Loompa from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

(one from the old and ONLY movie, as far as I am concerned!)
B1 was Willy Wonka and Yannick the German was Violet Beauregard. So fun.

Clue #3

Clue #3:
I work (along with others like me) for a famous candy maker.

anticipation on a snowy day

Pic here

We are under a snow advisory tonight, expecting 6-12 inches! Gah! Looks like I will be waking up to a white Christmas...errr...white birthday, which I guess is kinda cool--the only other snowy birthday I remember was when I turned 13 years old, so it's been a while. 

Working at the library, leaving in 45 minutes, just hoping the roads are ok since it's been snowing hard for the past 2 hours;  just want to get home and ready for the Farm's Halloween celebration. Actually I don't really care much about what's happening at the Farm, I am just really excited to have a party at B1 & B2's house! My little cabin is too small to host a party, so I was tickled pink when B1 offered up their house for my birthday/costume party. Looking forward to seeing the costumes which people come up with; anticipating chatting and watching the snow through B1 & B2's big window; almost tasting the surprise punch with Jay and RugbyGirl cooked up for the occasion! 

I just love parties!

clue #2

Yesterday I gave the following clue for my Halloween costume:

Clue #1: My costume is a character from a children's book (and now movies)

Clue #2:

My namesake likes to sing lyrical songs.

Guesses?

library stuff #594

Some interesting library related articles:

Occupy Boston Tent Libraries

Philip Pullman on closing libraries

Detroit Library closures

Brighton District (Michigan) library wildlife habitat
This is not far from where I grew up! YAY!

mimicking winter

"The Snow Storm"

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed

Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate,
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
We received our first snowfall of the season yesterday. It was predicted, but I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe that the scurrying chipmunk, stuffing his cheeks with helicopter seeds meant anything more than that he was late for an appointment; didn't want to believe that the brigade of cows, lined up awaiting the afternoon milking, not needing to be called in from the fields meant anything more than that they were early for once; didn't want to believe that the rains would turn into snow, even as it happened before my eyes. And then the snow fell down and down and down, and stuck, and this morning I awoke to a wonderland of ice-bowed trees covered in dustings of white; awoke to slippery tread and a reminder about the salt/sand mix to be sprinkled on paths. 

"I've seen early snow likes this before, it DOES NOT mean we are going to have a bad winter," said the Farm's weatherman, and I want to believe him; want to believe that we will awake one January morning with just as much astonishment, we will look out our windows and see a sunny 70 degree day...But until that (as if that could) happens, I am looking forward to this weekend; Halloween is my favorite holiday, and this weekend also marks my birthday, so we are having a costume/bday party at B1 & B2's house on Saturday. All the Farm staff and volunteers have been invited, provisions have been bought, costume is together. Can you guess who I am going to be?

Clue #1: I am a character from a famous Children's story (which is also a movie)
Any Guesses?

Also, wanted to welcome new follower, Natassia; it is always nice to get new readers--please ENJOY!

cool library jobs

Saw this posting on my alumni listserv, thought this job sounded cool, worth sharing:


Barron Hilton Archivist for Flight and Space Exploration 
(Assistant or Associate Professor)

Purdue University Libraries seeks an energetic and user-centered professional archivist to manage and develop the Barron Hilton Flight and Space Exploration Archives of the Karnes Archives and Special Collections Research Center into an internationally renowned resource documenting and preserving the history of flight and space exploration.

Barron Hilton Archivist for Flight and Space Exploration
(Assistant or Associate Professor)

Purdue University Libraries seeks an energetic and user-centered professional archivist to manage and develop the Barron Hilton Flight and Space Exploration Archives of the Karnes Archives and Special Collections Research Center into an internationally renowned resource documenting and preserving the history of flight and space exploration.
The Hilton Archivist is responsible for collection development and programming relating to flight and space exploration in the Research Center, including processing, arrangement, and description, as well as preservation and promotion of collections. The position is a full-time, permanently endowed position made possible with funding from the Conrad N. Hilton Foundation and Barron Hilton.

In collaboration with the Head of the Archives and Special Collections division, the Hilton Archivist will create a vision, mission, and collecting policy for the Flight and Space Exploration Archives. The Hilton Archivist will work with the Head of the Archives and Special Collections division to identify donors and acquire additional collections relating to the subject area to grow this major collecting initiative.

Working with the Digital Archivist, the Hilton Archivist will create a presence for the Flight and Space Exploration Archives online, including special web pages and online exhibits, to highlight the initiatives, collections, and activities of the Archives.  The Hilton Archivist will promote use of the Flight and Space Exploration Archives through creation of online finding aids, exhibits, lectures, presentations, and other activities. The position will assign basic processing and minor preventive preservation duties to student workers as appropriate.

The Hilton Archivist will collaborate with other faculty and professionals in the division in providing information literacy instruction to classes.  As part of the Archives and Special Collections reference team, the Hilton Archivist will provide reference services to users both in person and virtually.

As a member of the Purdue Libraries faculty the Hilton Archivist must establish a research agenda that results in scholarship that has a tangible impact on the appropriate field.  

Requirements: Master’s degree in Archival Studies, or Master’s degree in Library/Information Science (ALA accredited or equivalent) that includes graduate course work in archival theory and practice. Experience acquiring, processing, and preserving archival materials. Knowledge of archival standards and best practices for archival arrangement and description. Experience creating finding aids according to the DACS standard. Experience creating MARC records for archival materials and encoding finding aids using EAD. Experience selecting and applying controlled vocabularies and name authorities to archival descriptive records. Experience providing reference services in an archives setting. Ability to work independently and as a team member in a dynamic environment and on a variety of simultaneous projects. Excellent interpersonal, oral and written communication skills. Ability to achieve promotion and tenure.

Desired: Certified by the Academy of Certified Archivists. Knowledge of the history of aeronautics and astronautics. Experience using Archon or Archivists’ Toolkit. Experience designing web pages and creating online exhibits. Experience promoting archives and special collections through presentations. Experience working with donors of rare or archival materials. Experience acquiring archival or rare book materials from dealers. Minimum of two years archival experience, preferably in an academic setting. Familiarity with copyright law and its implications in digitizing collections. Familiarity with issues relating to managing and preserving digital collections.  

Appointment:  Depending upon qualifications, appointment will be at the assistant or associate professor rank.

Salary and benefits: Salary commensurate with experience in the context of Purdue University’s salary structure. Purdue provides a generous fringe benefit package that includes contribution to retirement, health, disability, and life insurance, 22 annual vacation days, and tuition support for employee, children, and spouse/same sex domestic partner.

Application process: To apply, please send a resume, cover letter, and the names and contact information of at least three references via email to Julie Musick Hillgrove, Libraries Human Resources Administrator at libhr@purdue.edu .  Please place “Flight Archivist” in the subject line of all emails.  Nominations for the position will be accepted and should be sent to the same email address. Review of applications will begin on December 1, 2011 and will continue until the position is filled. Preference will be given to applications received by December 1, 2011. Questions may be directed to Julie Musick Hillgrove at 765-494-2903 or the above email address. A background check will be required for this position.
The full announcement can be viewed at http://www.lib.purdue.edu/admin/hr/career_opportunities/Fight_Archivist.pdf

Purdue University is an equal opportunity/equal access/affirmative action employer fully committed to achieving a diverse workforce.

a transitional season

Today when I walked home I was confronted by the sight of the little slice of woods near my house mauled; I knew that the Farm was to do some work with the septic system--putting some new piping in down our road--but still felt really surprised to see to see the bushes torn up and piled. It felt funny to mourn for this little slice of nature for a moment, but I did; I guess I was really just mourning the fall, and the quickening pace of the oncoming sleepy season. I wanted to sit on the ground and grab fistfuls of dirt and dead leaves, somehow cling to the earth and will it to stay this way for just a little longer; will the fluffy-tailed, apple carrying squirrels to play in the sun and not fear the steady cooling; will these last few cold and beautiful pink October mornings into staying forever.

Stumbled upon this poem, which just felt right.

"Outskirts" 

Men in overalls the same color as earth rise from a ditch.
It's a transitional place, in stalemate, neither country nor city.
Construction cranes on the horizon want to take the big leap,

but the clocks are against it.
Concrete piping scattered around laps at the light with cold tongues.
Auto-body shops occupy old barns.
Stones throw shadows as sharp as objects on the moon surface.
And these sites keep on getting bigger

like the land bought with Judas' silver: "a potter's field for 
burying strangers."

--Tomas Tranströmer, translated by Robert Bly

last chance!

Just recieved an email from my alma mater's library listserv; if you feel like used-book-sale'ing-it tomorrow, check this out:

The Friends of the Detroit Public Library Fall used book and media sale will be at the main library (5201 Woodward) 10a.m.-5p.m. Saturday, October 22.  Lots of books, plus CDs, DVDs, and audio books.

in the country they call life

Today for many reasons I have Rilke on the brain. Just had to share this gem! Also, wanted to wish TSO a Happy 30th Birthday! I am so glad we met and so glad we're still friends!

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of you longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke    

polar bears apply within

See these gorgeous, harmless looking waterfalls? Yes, they are gorgeous and they are generally harmless in the SUMMER, when a dip in these is refreshing, but in October?! Wow. I took Yannick the German and Ginger (two of the Farm's volunteers) to these waterfalls a few weeks back. It was a cold afternoon, and by the time we dared each other enough to get in and actually did it it began to rain. It was cold, but invigorating. We didn't stay in long, but we did it.

For some reason, doing this again, two weeks later seemed like a good idea, and a way to introduce (initiate?) a couple more of the volunteers, so this time Yannick the German and I took Magdalena and Rachel with us. It was cold a few weeks ago, so you can imagine what it was like the second time around! Even colder! But we did it, everyone forced themselves back against the pounding waterfall; climbed down big rocks and across rough pebbles to submerge in the wading pool at the bottom of the falls. I have dubbed this brave group of adventurers the Farm Polar Bear Club. 

Now if I can just talk them into doing this in January...

pictures of fall

Some of the fall foliage.

One of my favorite trees during the fall (at the Farm).

These pictures were taken just over a week ago and already the horizon boasts a more muted palette. The more vivid colors of fall have shed themselves and each days finds a view that is more muted,  subdued grays and browns replacing the fire of falls' brightest blaze. The tree pictured above is already nearly bald, leaves underneath curling, arthritic fingers who've now longer a purpose.

I won't lie. I still love the fall, even after the finest and brightest colors have been spent. I love the brilliant and cold sunsets; love the deep dark, almost purple nights; love the smell of wood stoves warming houses, piles of leaves in yards cleared away by rakes and maintained fires; love the jeans and sweater weather.

wonder(ful)

“Our response to the world is essentially one of wonder, of confronting the mysterious with a sense, not of being small, or insignificant, but of being part of a rich and complex narrative.”
- John Burnside

Spencer apples...I think

Rows of Heaven!

Drooling like Homer Simpson just thinking about these.

Can you guess where we went last week? 

 The Farm took a group of about 20 people to a local apple orchard where we then spent over an hour and a half gathering dropped apples, said apples are now being made into applesauce and apple cider with the Farm's own apple press. 

My boss Flava Flav let me go and I couldn't have been happier. The afternoon, one of those ridiculously bucolic New England ones with a  sky so baby blue, soft, downy clouds and a warm sun; air just hinting at cool, but comfortable enough to go sans sweaters; leaves vibrant with searingly vivid hues of orange, yellow and red EVERYWHERE; each New England curve in the road wrapped us around into another vista that was gorgeous. The newest German volunteer, Magdalena, and I kept exclaiming with joy at the wonder that was fall that day.

And then we arrived at the orchard which literally smelled of apples. I had smelled apples from the trees in my old yard, but that was generally because the ones underneath had fallen and split or lay rotting; that almost sickeningly sweet, past-date smell, but these trees smelled of fresh, ripe apples. Each inhalation was a drink of fresh cider! I don't think I'd be fibbing if I said that I spent my first 5 minutes in the orchard deep breathing--yoga schmoga more people should deep-apple-breath! And my God! The taste! There is nothing like a fresh apple, warm from the sun, washed by rains. I think I ate four or five. I ate until I felt full and content and happy. (I literally just sighed thinking about it.)

The time there was Heaven. If you've never gone to an orchard--do! I love fall so much, with its apple cider, applesauce, cider doughnuts, pumpkins and foliage. It's a beautiful life!

breaking hearts

Many adventures to share and some pictures too, but this will have to suffice...for now.

"Lead"
Here is a story
to break your heart.
Are you willing?
This winter
the loons came to our harbor
and died, one by one,
of nothing we could see.
A friend told me
of one on the shore
that lifted its head and opened
the elegant beak and cried out
in the long, sweet savoring of its life
which, if you have heard it,
you know is a sacred thing,
and for which, if you have not heard it,
you had better hurry to where
they still sing.
And, believe me, tell no one
just where that is.
The next morning
this loon, speckled
and iridescent and with a plan
to fly home
to some hidden lake,
was dead on the shore.
I tell you this
to break your heart,
by which I mean only
that it break open and never close again
to the rest of the world.

--Mary Oliver

P.S. Welcome new follower: Cam G! 

a shock that remains still

This poem felt appropriate today as we remember the death of my Dad, 4 years ago today. After a death we become silent somehow, shadowy, present but mute. I remember the first few days after my Dad died as a blur; the first few weeks as a haze; the first few months me as a mindless machine, sleepless, constantly working on papers--finishing grad school that semester was a blessing, so much to occupy my mind.

Though today I am no longer steeped in my grief, I find that loss is a cloak that is occasionally thrown over the shoulders, much to the surprise of the wearer. I still miss my Dad so much, so acutely some days that I feel sick to my stomach.

So, today I will listen for him: in my brothers' laugh, over a phone, hundreds of miles away; in the words of our song. I will see him in the fall leaves' brilliant colors and in the richness of the Farm at this time of year. I will think of him in the words my Auntie Louise sent to me after his death: "People say 'keep a stiff upper lip,' try talking like that! My greatest prayer and hope for all of you is that you will continue to live!  Live life to the fullest! You don't have to dig a hole and pull it in after you. Do something amazing for yourself, with your life and or with someone!"

So, Benny, wherever you are today, I'm thinking of you.

"After a Death"

Once there was a shock
that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.
It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.
It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.

One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun
through brush where a few leaves hang on.
They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories.
Names swallowed by the cold.

It is still beautiful to hear the heart beat
but often the shadow seems more real than the body.
The samurai looks insignificant
beside his armor of black dragon scales.

-- Tomas Tranströmer, Swedish poet, winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature 

on Columbus Day

occupying

With all that is happening in the Occupy Wallstreet campaign, I am loving the photos and postings that are floating around the internet. These are a few of my favorites worth sharing:

 

the beauties we become

Hydrangea, drying and changing to blush.

A little tomatillo, never quite developed, skeleton-ing itself.

The other day I walked to gather what was left of my tomatillos before the frost set in. Along the way I saw many reminders of the summer; flowers preserving themselves: hydrangea drying, transforming from a creamy white to a blush; leggier flowers dropping petals and leaving seed pods to hang precariously, a promise of later heirs. Then there were those too small to make it, shocked by the cold, caught in a gasp; plants like the tomatillos, those not picked in time now dry, skeletal reminders--a ribcage with a heart still remaining.

Looking at these things, I wondered at the beauty that is hidden in everything. What is special about us that we don't always notice?

boot scooting boogie

 I have a sneaking suspicion that winter is going to find us early this year--it has already been dipping into the 40s (Farenheit) at night in early October...never a good sign---but this year I am prepared. Last year I had a terrible time finding winter boots, so I gave up; it's kinda hard when you have boats like my feet: size 11 wide in women's. So, I'd been hunting on Zappos.com and was so glad to find Sorrel Snowlions for $100 (the kind I originally wanted cost over $300...we have to make concessions sometimes, no!?) I put my new boots on yesterday and cleaned my house. These boots are Heaven! 

Where's Icabod?

Maybe it's because it's getting colder out, people shuffle around at night, heads hang-dogged against the brisk October winds; maybe it's the sounds of leaves skittering across roads, the sounds of defrocked bushes shaking hollowly; maybe it's the shorter days making long nights and the deep dark of this time of year...Whatever it is, I have always (yes, even as an adult) found October to be the creepy month. I love October, love the spookiness I still feel, love the ever-emptying trees even more, love the deep crispness of the air and the smell of dried leaves and bonfires. And as a child I loved and was terrified by Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. So, wrap yourself in a blanket, sit back, put you feet up on your desk and listen to the whole tale here.



Joanna Barnum, Illustrator, http://www.joannabarnum.com/



Thanks Jenna at ColdAntlerFarm, hope you don't mind me borrowing your idea!

who gives a...?

Thank you Facebook, without you, how would I stumble upon funny things like this Oxford comma picture? Looking at that made me think of Vampire Weekend.

Vampire Weekend - Oxford Comma

love to autumn

Today was one of those ridiculously gorgeous fall days: blustery, wind sending leaves skittering across roads; a blue sky with wisps of cloud, a background to a warm sun; a just-cool-enough-for-sweaters-and jeans kind of day. And things are finally drying out after all the rain...and yet I found (and chose to walk) one of the soppiest cow paths through the woods, to my gardens. The path was glorious in its filthy, muckiness and solitary shade.

We seem to think of fall as the dying season, where things are packed up and put away, set aside to be rationed out in the winter; and yet today's walk was proof of all that is still thriving and present. While the gardens are sad shells of their former glory, I focused instead on the mossy hill, the scent of wild mountain thyme, crushed and almost palatable in the very aroma rising from under my feet. I snuffed at handfuls of it, interspersing the smell with deep draughts of the fresh farm fall air. I walked the hill--where months before blueberries swelled and ripened--to find fat, blushing raspberries at my disposal. I walked through the remnants of Farmer MacDonald's garden, searching for survivors, and was rewarded with nearly 20 of the most beautiful green and chocolate peppers. I searched amongst the felled giants that were once my tomatillo plants and found about 30 worth the taking and piled those too. Looking at my mounded bounty I had to smile remembering the squirrels I'd seen packing things away too.

Days like today with its thyme, its mucky path, its amazing sky, its birds fighting against the blustery breeze, its dancing leaves, its surprises amongst the dying vines--these are the days which I I lock away and hope to revisit throughout my life. These are the days when I feel such deep gratitude for the Farm and for my life here. And here is a poem that like Frost's "October," always comes to me at this time of year:


"To Autumn"

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
  Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
  With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 
  And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
  With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease,
    For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? 
  Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
  Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, 
  Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
    Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
  Steady thy laden head across a brook; 
  Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
    Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 
  Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 
  And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
  Among the river sallows, borne aloft
    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; 
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 
  Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
  The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, 
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

--John Keats

hushed October mornings

"October"

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

-- Robert Frost

Every October I think of Frost's "October;" I think of 11th grade English and my teacher, Mr. K.; a younger me memorizing this poem. I can see it so clearly; laying on my bed, "Mother Nature's Son," playing softly in the background, reading, rereading and rereading; imagining each line of the poem scrawled across the huge, blank chalkboard of my mind.

This morning as we sat for morning meeting--this is sometimes hard for me to do; getting up before sunrise and cooking gives me this rush of energy, and the last thing I want to do is sit down for a meeting!--as we listened to the lists of today's meetings and appointments and whatnots, the words crept into my head and rolled around. I thought of this poem.

The last of the tomatoes: unripened, green, picked to beat a frost which is to come later this week, were processed: the bigger tomatoes cut into fat slabs and fried; the smaller, seemingly less significant were roasted with spices: oregano, thyme, basil and olive oil; ground into submission in a blender to be turned into a salsa. It was in the whir of the blender that the words of the poem came again, a mantra. Frost understood the watching; last seasons' colors ground to a muted halt. I again thought of this poem.

So, this is my gift to you, may the lovlieness of October always make you think of this poem, or vice versus.

eaters of pie, Settlers of Catan

Last weekend I had dinner with B1 & B2 and Jay. I brought the dessert: homemade pumpkin pie. Mmm...right? Wrong. I was so dissapointed; not only was my "fast" crust terrible, but the pie itself was also flavorless. The three other diners were more than gracious.

For whatever reason (I think the excess of rain due to Irene and other coastal storms) has left the pumpkins less sweet this year than in years past--my pumpkin, my only one, rotted because of all of the rain! Anyway, I learned my lesson last weekend, so when I offered to bring dessert to a dinner at M & N's this week, I vowed the pies would turn out better. I again returned to Mark Bittman's How to cook everything--no longer blaming him for last weekend's failure--and decided to try doubling everything in the recipe. The recipe should be called, "How to double everything pumpkin pie," har har. Anyway, I literally doubled everything: the cream and the eggs, doing this made the pies even custard-ier (is that a word?); doubling the nutmeg, ground cloves, ginger and cinnamon which made the flavor really pop; doubling the sugar which made up for the less than sweet pumpkin flesh. The pies were so good! I was so pleased! (I must say that I cheated and bought ready made crust, since I ABSOLUTELY hate making pie crusts!)

So, moral of the story: if you're not fearful of salmonella, sample everything once it is mixed and ready to go into the crust and adjust the spices/sugar/cream to your taste.

Dinner that night was great, but more importantly we had gotten together to hang out with my bestie Mummy Dearest, Hubby (her husband) and their two kids Big Fish and Little Fish (who are here for the weekend from N.C.). I felt so happy just being with Mummy Dearest and Hubby and their clan, M & N and their clan and their parents (Hubby and M are sibs)--these people are my Farm family and have always been there for me and made me less homesick for my family.

Once we had eaten too much food and pie; all 5 kids were put to bed; beers were grabbed; and the five of us sat down so that Mummy, Hubby and I could learn how to play Settlers of Catan. I had fought learning for some weeks now, but now that I know how to play, I am hooked! Are there any other Settlers fans out there? Are you ruthless? I am super competitive, so would love to hear anyone elses' stories! Waiting waiting waiting to see when the next game will happen...

pipedreams

The Avett Brothers covering John Prine's "Spanish Pipedreams"