Restful Pursuits

This blog post is actually a prequel to campmeeting, since I didn't have any time to post about it before I left. But early in June, before I knew what a whirlwind the month would turn out to be, I had one very pleasant and restful Sabbath evening.

I need to memorialize it, because who knows how long it will be before I have another one?

Tiggy was visiting for the night, so after a judicious amount of begging from the "small" fry (both of whom tower over me, the fiends) I gave permission for a little fire in our fire pit.

This was actually the only real fire we've had since I made it last fall. The one in winter didn't count because we could hardly relax and enjoy it while freezing to death. But this fire was nice. Very nice.

I got out my guitar for the first time in years so we could do a little singing around the fire.

"Aunty, can you even PLAY the guitar????"

No, but I never let my lack of skill stop me from reaching my goals. I wanted to have guitar playing, and guitar playing I would have. Who says you have to play actual chords?

I'm an artist. Artists make their own rules. 

Once I led the way in random guitar strumming, everyone had to have a turn. We were all about equal in the musical talent department.

I can only imagine what our neighbors must have thought if they were so unlucky as to be outside during "song" service.

No evening around here could be complete without an assortment of animals thrown in. Katrina, my most recent cat rescue, came and checked out the proceedings. She joined the family in March after I  kidnapped her and had her fixed. She was supposed to return to the wild, but once her belly was shaved for surgery, she couldn't go back out in the cold. And as soon as she was in a warm place, she devoted her time to grooming herself, leaving great bald patches exposed as she worked out her giant hair mats. So she ended up staying with us.

Kind of predictable, really...

We laughed that night by the fire about how much she resembled a skunk, but the resemblance has recently gotten even more uncanny. Right before we left for Wisconsin (more on that later), I was assailed by an overwhelming chemical-smelling odor.

I quickly determined it was emanating from Katrina's general area and was alarmed to see she was frothing at the mouth. Oh, no. She must have gotten into some horrible farming chemical and was going to suffer a terrible and painful death.

Wait.

Was that skunk I smelled?

It was so strong, and my nose so overwhelmed that I couldn't tell. But my gallant mother stopped by and confirmed with her fresh, unsinged nostrils that yes, indeed, Katrina was skunky. She spent the rest of the day wandering from place to place, looking disgruntled when she found that everywhere in the world turned out to be stinky.

Finley had gotten sprayed a few days before, so evidently we have a cranky skunk living somewhere close to the house. My guess is in the barn, which kind of puts a damper on my plans to clean it out this summer.

Maybe the skunk will leave on it's own.

I draw the line at running a skunk rescue.