Hangin' Wid The Family

          One of the first things I noticed when Mike and I pulled up to the B&B was the tarp on the roof.

          Crossing the bridge, I see scaffolding set up with a wheelbarrow propped against it. I thought it might make a nice picture after it was too late for me to get it.

          As Patti was giving us a tour of the rooms she rented, I saw a sliding glass door off the common area of the third floor. Looking out I see a ladder and laughed a little. Unlocking the slider, I stepped out onto the deck, Patti and Mike followed.

          "Yeah, they're working on the roof," Patti said.

          "I bet it's a fire escape for the third floor," I told her.

          She looked things over and agreed.

           Sure beats jumping, I thought but never said. 

           Patti and Mike were knee-deep in a conversation and continued it as we stood on the deck, enjoying the warmth of the day.

          I took a picture of a couple of old sheds that sat on the back of the property. I'll have to take pictures of them, I thought. Of course, I meant from the ground but the opportunity never presented itself.

          "There's a Great Dane," Patti said pointing out this big guy.

          Then we notice a worker man and had a short conversation with him as we called down our remarks. "I see you brought the boss today!"

          Back on the ground, I wandered around as my little social butterfly kept up a steady stream of talk with the family.

          I got several nice pictures of the landscaping. 

           Then decided to go after the wheelbarrow shot. Don'cha know the worker guy and the Dane were out there, ruining my shot!

          I want to point out that B&B sits high on a bank and you can see the creek on the right side of my picture.

          We all piled into two cars and caravanned out to the alpaca farm.

          Phyllis is pretty in purple this morning.

          Patti led and Betsy, her GPS, took us up over the mountain on roads I've never been on before. You know what that means, don't you. Road pictures!

          Then we were there.

          Mixed in with the alpacas were three huge white dogs.

          "They don't want you to touch the animals until they get here," Rachel, Phyllis' daughter informed us. We were respectful and waited.

          Pretty soon Ray came down from the house carrying a cooler with carrot sticks.

          We peppered Ray with all kinds of questions!

          "What do they eat, besides carrots?" I asked.

          "They prefer to graze but I don't have enough land for that. So I get the best quality second-cut hay I can get and supplement with a sweet grain mixture. For treats, they like carrots, dandelions, apples, grapes, and melons."

          We weren't charged to visit the alpacas. I thought they might charge for the treats to feed the critters like some places do, only Ray didn't. He just gave them to us. "How do you support your farm?" I asked.

          "The farm store." He motioned toward the shed behind us.

          "They're pretty docile," Patti said. "Beasts of burden, right?"

          "No, llamas are used as pack animals. Alpacas are just used for their fiber."

          One sneezed on Patti and it got her to wondering, "Do they bleat, or make noises?"

          "Oh yeah, they're making noises now," Ray answered.

          Boy, was I surprised when he said that! I wasn't aware of them making any noise.  

          "They hum, they yell, they make different noises," he finished.

          I know people train dogs to bark on command. I wondered if alpacas were the same. "Can you make them do anything?" I asked.

          Quick-witted, Ray answered, "I can make 'em spit."

          We all laughed.

          "They have a high-pitched alarm call when they see something out of the ordinary — but it could just be a rabbit."

          "Can they be good watchdogs?" Patti asked.

          "Yeah, sorta, yeah. Usually, it's Salina the matriarch who sees something and gives the alarm call and if the dogs are napping they'll run out to take a look. All the other alpacas are like Hey! What's going on out there? And of course I come out on the porch and I'm like, Hey! What's going on out there?"

          Rachel got more carrots from the cooler and was determined to feed one specific alpaca. "Not you," she said pulling the carrot back and offering it to the other one again.

          "He'll always defer to the other one," Ray told her. "You can put a carrot in your mouth and they'll take it from you."

          Rachel wasn't having any of that. Patti surprised me a couple of times during her visit and when she stuck a carrot in her mouth and offered it to one of the alpacas was one of them.

          Alpaca lips quivered as Eva attempted to find the carrot stick.  

          She got a hold of the carrot and Patti let it go.

          Much to my delight, Patti did it a second time, this time scoring a kiss.

          "Valerie, don't start spitting!" Ray admonished sternly. To us, he said, "Valerie's the one who hasn't learned how to do her eye makeup yet. She thinks she's going out to the disco or something, I don't know."

          "Their fur is so soft," Patti said as she stroked one.

          "And it makes good socks!" I added.

          "Oh yeah. That's what I'm wearing," Ray said.

          I've seen stands at fairs set up with alpaca products. "Do you go to festivals and fairs?"

          "We do the lumberjack thing in Forksville in the fall and that's really about it. We don't take them anywhere in the summer because the heat's their enemy. I'd have to drag fans around with me to keep them cool."

          "How many times a year do you shear them?" Patti asked.

          "Every spring. Just once a year."

          "Do they hold still pretty good?" Patti wanted to know.

          "No! Our shearer comes down from New York and lays them down on a mat, secures their front and back legs with ropes, and stretches 'em out."

          "Do you process your own wool?" I asked.

          "We take the prime fiber, which is the saddle area, we have it tested for softness, and if it comes back soft enough we take it to an alpaca farm down in Hughesville and he makes our yarn for us from our alpaca fiber. And we send fiber to a co-op in Falls River, Massachusetts. They make socks, hats, and gloves and things like that they sell back to us at wholesale that we sell in the store. And we import some items from Peru. The little bit of money we make from the store pays for their hay and grain and whatever else we need."  

          "How many have you got here?" Patti wondered.

          "Twelve."

          "How expensive are they?"

          "You can get an alpaca anywhere from $50 to $50,000."

          "Is that right! It depends on the bloodline," Patti surmised.

          "Our first two alpacas cost us over $20,000 back in 2009. Now I'm selling boys for $600 just to move them, get them off the farm."

          "Do you eat alpaca meat?" I asked.

          "No. Some farms are selling it, I'm not."

          "I was just wondering if it's edible," I clarified.

          "Oh yeah. It absolutely is. Very lean."

          The line from the movie Fern Gully that my daughter Kat liked to quote popped into my head. I can still hear her say it, Delicious and nutritious. Tastes just like chicken, and giggle afterwards. So I had to ask, "Tastes like chicken?"

          Ray was not amused. "I've never tasted it."

          "It was just a joke," I told him. Heck, I don't want to eat alpaca or sheep or cow tongue or dog or horse... There are lots of things I don't even want to try!

          I was trying for a shot of one of the cute little faces and asked Ray to get a hold of her for me. "She doesn't like to be held but I'll try."

          "You're not doing your job!" I pretend scolded him.

          "I imagine it boils down to how much you handle them when they're first born," Patti guessed.

          "Some of them I handle immediately because I'm here when they're born. I pick 'em up, wipe 'em down, dry 'em off, dip the umbilical cord in iodine, and put 'em in a separate stall with their mom. I do all that. Some of 'em from birth don't mind being touched, others... like that little brown boy there left black and blue marks all over my legs when I tried to pick him up."

          "So handling them doesn't tame them down at all," Patti said.

          "It all depends on their personality," Ray said.

          "Who's their closest relative?" I wanted to know. "Deer?"

          "They're camelids."

          "That's why they spit, right!" I said.

          "What's up with that one? Does he have an underbite or what?"

          "That's Boomer. He does that sometimes."

          "I didn't know if he was doing it on purpose or if that's..."

          "Yeah, he's doing it on purpose. They ground his teeth a little during shearing because they were a little long."

          I know it seems like there's not anyone else there but Ray, Patti, and me, but the others were there too, petting and feeding the alpacas. Except Mike. His back was bothering him so he went to sit on the bench. I'm guessing between me and Patti we were doing a good job asking questions and the others listened.

          "How long do they live?"

          "16 to 22 years."

          "What's the gestation period for an alpaca?" Patti wanted to know.

          "Eleven and a half months."

          "Do they ever have twins?" I wanted to know.

          "No. You would hope not," Ray replied. "Normally if they have twins they both die."   

          "Are they a matriarchal breed then?" Patti asked.

          "Yeah. There's usually one that's in charge. And Salina isn't the oldest but she's decided she's in charge."

          Patti and I were out of questions and Rachel asked a question she'd been wanting to ask. "So what're the dogs names?"

          You can tell when someone's asked a question a lot of times and knows what question is coming next. "That's Rosie. She's a Great Pyrenees and she's seven years old. Rosie stinks. She got a possum that got in the enclosure a couple of weeks ago and she decided it needed it to be dead. So she killed it and then rolled all over it. And I love possums. They eat all the bugs..."

          "And mice!" I volunteered. It was something I hadn't known they eat so I never pass up a chance to tell others. Maybe they'll hate possums a little less.

          "But she figured anything that comes in here she gets."

          "Fair game," Patti says.

          "Rabbits, birds, possums, everything. That one's Bear. He's eight and he's an Italian Maremma Sheepdog."

          "Italian Maremma?" I repeated trying to stick the name fast in my head so I could look it up later.

          "I never heard of that breed," Patti said.

          "There's not a lot of his breed in this country."

          "What's this one?" I asked.

          "That's Rocky. He's a year old and he's half Anatolian Shepherd and half Great Pyrenees. He's already killed a coyote in Kansas before we got him."

          "And they all look the same!" To me, they looked the same. They were all big white fluffy dogs.

          "But their coats are all different," Ray told me. I hadn't pet any of them.

          Rachel fed the dogs some carrots. "He jumps up every time I have a carrot!"

          "If I bring Bear over he'll probably jump up and let you pet him," Ray said.

          "I'd love that!" Rachel had the biggest smile on her face.

          "Come on Bear. Give Bear hugs."

  

          The next thing I know Patti has wandered away and is sitting with Mike.

          Phyllis, Rachel, and Jim were talking about dogs with Ray and I kinda sorta lost interest. Sorry.

          "Do you mind if I walk around and take pictures?" I asked Ray.

          "No. Go right ahead."

          I'm not the only one that lost interest and wandered away either. The alpacas had too.

          I made a circuit of the yard.

          And joined the others as they were heading into the farm store.

          "I love the gargoyles," Phyllis told Ray.

          "Me too," he said. "I have one tattooed on my back."

          Phyllis' interest was piqued. "Really?!"

          "I don't normally do this, but..." Ray turned around and lifted his shirt showing a tat of a gargoyle that took up half his back.        

          "It's beautiful!" Phyllis remarked.

          "It's called The Keeper of Hopes and Dreams."

          We all crowded into the little store and came away with treasures and mementos of the day.

          "Peg! Tell us what you got!" I know you wanna know.

          I got a beautiful alpaca purse, inserts to keep Mike's feet warm in the winter, and an alpaca magnet.

          Later I decided to interview my family. "Rachel! What did you like best about the alpacas?"

          "I liked the dogs," she answers with no hesitation. "But I loved the alpacas. They were really sweet. You could pet them and they were really soft."

          "Did you learn anything?" I asked.

          "They're part of what family?" Jim, her dad prompted.

          "The camel family!"

          "Jim! What did you like best about the alpacas?"

          "The same thing. I loved the dogs. The dogs were my favorite. Bear was the best!"

          I Googled all three breeds of dogs for my letter blog. The Italian Maremma Sheepdog is a livestock guardian and related to the Great Pyrenees. The Great Pyrenees is naturally aggressive to predators yet can be trusted with the smallest, youngest, and most helpless critters of any kind. The Anatolian is also a protector of livestock and has great eyesight and hearing. 

          "Phyllis! What did you like best about the alpaca farm?"

          "The alpacas."

          "What did you like best about the alpacas?" I was digging for a deeper answer.

          "They're cute!" she answered simply.

          "Patti! What did you like best about the alpaca farm?"

          "It was just interesting being able to get that close to the animals and I liked that the man enjoyed talking to us and was willing to explain the facts about them. It was fun. You don't often get close to unusual animals like that."

          "We're kind of unusual here, aren't we?" someone from the peanut gallery chimed in and we laughed. My family is weird and wonderful and I love them all.

          For lunch, we drove out to Chris's BBQ. It's all outdoor seating and a unique place that Mike thought our family would enjoy.

          Phyllis took a picture first. I much prefer being on the other side of the camera but it's only fair I get my picture taken every once in a while, not that I would care if I ever had my picture taken. Did I say that right?

          Then Phyllis sat and I took a picture.

          "You can pick your friends..." Jim said.

          I don't know what started that conversation but I chimed in with the next line of the saying. "And you can pick your nose... Go ahead, Jim. Do it. I wanna see that."

          I didn't really expect him to. I've never known Jim to be anything but proper and polite. But SURPRISE! Guess who took me up on it. I know, right! I can't believe it either. Who knew that Patti had such a fun and goofy streak in her.

          My brother Rick and cousin Lorraine came in that afternoon and we all met at the Luby's mountain home. The front patio to be more precise.

          "I love it here," Patti told me. "It's inviting and homey."

         

          As we sat and visited, Mike's deer came walking up through the yard. Normally he feeds her on the patio but today he took a little corn down to the yard for her.

          "I've never seen a fawn with her," I commented.

          "But she has one," Rick said. "I can see her udder and teats."

          After she ate a little, she wandered over to the tall grass at the edge of the yard, lay down, chewed her cud, and watched us.

          The rest of my brothers came in just before we needed to leave for dinner reservations at the Wyalusing Hotel.

          All handsome men, aren't they!

          The waitress took our picture.

           The outside of the hotel, looking up.

           The date on the upper deck... patio... porch... 1894.

          Patti and Mike parked around back. The boys parked in front. I was dawdling, chatting with David and had to hurry to catch up with my ride.

          My sister ordered a to-go box and put all the leftovers in it. Then she gave them to me. Ol' Mr. Coon ate well that night.

          Speaking of that night...

          At bedtime, I read until 11:30 or so. My eyes felt like they were full of glass shards. I put my iPad down and rolled over. I couldn't go to sleep. After tossing and turning for an hour, I decided to get up and go pee. Did I have to pee? No! But I didn't know why I couldn't...

          Oh. Wait. Was it the coffee I had at 7 o'clock? I don't normally drink coffee that late. Was that why I couldn't sleep?          Maybe I was anxious about Momma's funeral the next day. Was it that? I don't know.

          I tossed and turned for another hour until Ginger got fed up with me. She asked to go out. I got up and let her out. Back in bed I tossed and turned some more. I felt like I couldn't get comfortable. 2 o'clock, 2:30 someone pukes. I was tempted to ignore it and take care of it in the morning. Mike might step in it, I thought. I'm not sleeping anyway! I tossed the covers aside, got up, and cleaned it up. Washed my hands. Back in bed, I tossed and turned some more. The last time I checked the clock, it was four. I may have dozed a little between my tossing and turning, I don't really know, but I know I wasn't resting very well!

         

          Mike and I arrived at the church plenty early on Saturday the 8th. It was Momma's birthday.

          I took a picture of the guys from Dean's Funeral Home. I only know Dean, second from the left, and Austin on the far right.

          The tapestry with my mother's picture on it blew me away. I know Momma would've loved it too. She loved that picture of herself. And the necklace she's wearing... Do you see it? It was in the stuff Patti brought for the family to sort through and I took that — and wore it to Momma's funeral.

          We had a Mass for Momma. Rusty McDonough, a long time family friend, did the first reading. My beautiful (and vertically challenged) sister Phyllis did the second.  

          Two of my brothers, Paul and John carried the candles while Aunt Marie's daughters Rosemary and Lorraine carried the gifts.

          At the end of the service Patti, the matriarch of my family read a passage from Momma's memoir. It was the final chapter of her book where she summed up her life and Patti couldn't have picked a more perfect passage to read. (I'll send you a copy if you ask.)

          I could see Momma, I could hear her. It was so beautiful and so touching that the tears streamed down my cheeks. I had a really hard time getting myself under control because guys, I am not a pretty crier!

          They put Momma (and Dad) in the hearse for the trip to the burial site.

          Mike helped carry them from the hearse to the platform they had all set up under a tent.

          Joe, Aunt Marie's son, my cousin, and brother to Rosemary and Lorraine spoke with Patti before Momma's Mass.

          "Every veteran was supposed to have a flag," he told her. "But for some reason, your dad didn't get one. I've ordered the medallion and I've got the flag. After the service, I'll have you put the flag at your father's grave since you're the oldest."

          Afterward, Lamar Kipp said to me, "Peg, you never told me that your brother was in Vietnam."

          "I didn't know that he was."

          "The medallion says he was."

          Later I asked Patti about it. "He wasn't in Vietnam. They put names on certain chunks of time, certain years, and Mike served during that time."

          Once we were finished at Momma's site, Patti and some of the others went to visit Aunt Marie, Momma's sister, and our cousins who are buried there.

          The reception was held at Moxie Community Church, the church I attend. I'd put a couple of hundred pictures on a thumb drive and Pastor Rick had them scrolling on a screen.

          "I've never seen that picture before," I heard more than once.

          Marybeth from Westside Deli in Dushore catered the event. We had food for 40 and I believe there were 23 in attendance — more or less.

          "What ya have and how was it?" you ask.

          We had brisket, chicken, and ribs. Several salads, potato, fruit, pasta, and a coleslaw. There was a variety of drinks. It was all good, except the beans. "I didn't care for them," a couple of people said.

          "I liked them," Miss Rosie said.

          They weren't what I'd call 'traditional' baked beans but I didn't see anything wrong with them either.

          The cake was made by Dushore Market and had gotten so many compliments. It was really good!

          All in all, I'd give the food a 9.9 out of 10 and there was plenty of food leftover. We carted it all back to the mill and everyone ate on it until they left to go home.

          Ginger! That little begger. Ginger didn't want anything to do with Patti despite Patti trying to make friends with her. Then, once she realized Patti had chicken she was her best bud!

          We made plans for the next day. "I want to tour the old school at St. Basil's," Patti said. "I was the last freshmen class they had."

          "Oh! Me too! I went to first grade there so I want to see it too!"

          "Dean said the school should be open so we'll go tomorrow. And we'll go see the house we lived in when Phyllis almost got ran over by the car. After that, maybe we'll go down to Sonestown and get some crab cakes. They have the best crab cakes there. It's one of the places that Mom always wanted me to take her."

          Patti picked me up the next morning. I didn't take a lot of road pictures but you know I like the cows.

          We went out to Colley first to see the house but everything's grown up so much that you can't see it. You can see a little more of the garage.   

 

          "How did your sister almost get run over?" you ask.

          I think, and correct me if I'm wrong, I think Phyllis was sleeping when we came home from church. Mom thought she'd be okay to sleep there for a while so we all got out. Phyllis woke up, thought the car was moving, and jammed the gearshift into park. Only it wasn't park, it was neutral. The car started rolling back the circular drive and she bailed. Her coat got caught and she got drug. Just in the nick of time, the car was stopped by something in the middle of the driveway circle and that saved her.

          "I think the car did actually roll up on me a little," Phyllis says. "Dad cut my dress off to make sure I was okay, then they wrapped me up in a blanket and Patti held me on the way to the doctor."

          "What did the doctor say?"

          "That I was absolutely fine and he thinks I was just scared."

          We headed back to Dushore. "I want to go up to Mom's grave before we tour the school," Patti said.

          Momma's grave is almost on the corner. When we got there, there was a young man parked close, in the shade, working on a wood piece off the back of his truck.

          Patti straightened the flowers and we stood there a moment, paying our respects.

          Then I turned back and started talking to the guy, curious what he was making.

  

           "What are you making?" I called as I approached.

          "I don't know. I'm thinking coat rack."

          There was an interesting piece of wood sticking up from a box just behind the cab. "What's that?" I asked.

          He pulled it out. "It's a stool I use when I'm trimming apple trees."

          "It's beautiful!" I told him. It was so full of character. "I love it!"

          "What's your name?" I eventually got around to asking.

          "Mitch. Mitch Pedro."

          "Hey! I know a Pedro. Tom."

          "That's my uncle!"

          "And Richard was married to my cousin Jessica."

          Patti had joined us by then. "He's a Pedro," I told her.

          One thing led to another and Mitch was telling us the names of his relatives. One of them was a Chrzanowski. I gasped, snapped my head around to see if Patti caught it. She did.

          "Do you know a Shirley Chrzanowski?"

          "That's my grandmother," Mitch said.

          "She and my mother were friends and she's my sister Diane's godmother. I've been calling her for two days and just get a busy signal."

          "Hmm," Mitch said. "I never try to call her when The Price is Right is on."

          "Well, I told her I'd come and get her if she needed a ride, but I never could get a hold of her."

          Mitch assured us he'd send someone to check on her.

          "I hope she's okay," Patti said.

          The conversation went on and Mitch mentioned he was helping put on a new roof at Cherry Mills Lodge.

          "You're the guy with the Great Dane!" I said.

          "Yep."

          "We're staying out there," Patti said.

          "Do you need a feather?" Mitch asked, dug around in the box behind his cab and pulled this out.        

          "It's beautiful," I said.

          "Not bad for just using a chainsaw." He grinned.

          "Sign it for us, would you?" Patti asked.

          Mitch came around to the passenger side of the truck where we were standing, opened the door and started digging around looking for a Sharpie.

          "I've got a pen," Patti volunteered.

          Mitch left the door open. You know there are certain things I'm drawn to, open doors and clutter is one of them — or is that two? I took a picture of his passenger seat. I guess he doesn't get passengers very often.

          We left the graveyard and met Jim and Rachel at the school. It was locked. We walked around and checked the other doors but they were all locked.

          "Dean said it would be open. They have Sunday School classes in here on Sunday," Patti said.

          I could hear the disappointment in her voice and I was definitely disappointed too! I'd been looking forward to the tour.

          "We can call Dean," I suggested.

          "I hate to bother him on a Sunday."

          I wouldn't let go of it. "He knew you wanted to see the school and you're leaving tomorrow." I called Dean. "We're here at the school and it's locked. My sister was really looking forward to seeing it again. Is there any way you can get us inside?" I asked.

          "I'll get Don up there. He's got keys for everything!"

          I took pictures as we waited.

          This is in the sidewalk.

          The date on the cornerstone.

          "I'm sure the school is much older than that," Patti said.

          Five minutes later Don showed up and let us in. "Don't worry about locking it when you leave," he told us, "I'll come back later and lock it up."

          Patti was aghast. She just couldn't believe we could call and someone would let us in just like that.

          "It's a small town," I told her.

          "Yeah. Well, in the city it never would'a happened."

          The bottom floor used to be the gym but now it's a reception hall.

          "I saw our cousin Gerald playing basketball here," Patti told us.

          "I'm guessing the chandeliers weren't here then," Jim said with a laugh.

          Patti laughed. "No."

          "There was a stage at one end."

           "A gymatorium," Jim said.

          Patti continued, "And a kitchen. We'd get hot lunches."

          The second and third floors were the classrooms. "There were two grades in every room," Patti told us. "Until you get to ninth grade. This was my ninth grade room and right next to it is the chemistry lab."

          Along the walls of the hallway were pictures of the graduating classes. "This one is 1901," Phyllis said.

          "See, I knew the school was older than 1925," Patti said.

          The graduating class of 1901 consisted of five girls and two guys.

          "Patricia Bowers!" Rachel exclaimed. She found Patti's freshmen school picture.

          "There's more than just my grade here because there were only ten to twelve kids in a grade." Patti read through the list of names searching for ones she knew. "I don't even remember sitting for this picture."

             
              I had Patti point herself out for us.

          We found pictures of three of Aunt Marie's sons too, Gerald, Joseph, and Steven. (Gerald is in this one.)

          We walked from room to room.

          Standing in one, Patti had just finished telling us a story when Phyllis laughs. "I love that," she says.   

          "What?" I asked and she read it to me.

          "Everything you do is based on the choices you make. It's not your parents, your past relationships, your school, your friends, an argument or your age that is to blame. You and only you are responsible for every decision and choice you make."

          Profound, don't you think?

          "This was Mother Superior's office," Patti told us.

          "And this is what I thought was always the scariest part was up here on the third floor," Patti said as we climbed the squeaky old steps.

           "It was up here that the sophomores, juniors, and seniors had their classrooms. And I only was ever up here once. I had to bring a message up to one of the nuns. So it was like quick scurry up and scurry down." The door at the top was locked so we couldn't go in. "It's like an attic. And of course, in the spring it would get hot cause heat rises and there was no air conditioning. They would open the windows but that was about it."

          We opened closet doors and peeked inside.

          The sun coming in the stained glass crosses of the exit doors.

          In a stairwell, I looked up...

          ...and down.

          "Was this the custodian's room?" I asked of a small room just on the other side of the stairs the brought us to the second floor.

          "No. That was the boy's bathroom," Patti said. The fixtures were all gone.

          We started back down when Jim called down to us. "I found an access to the third floor."

          Patti and I turned around and climbed back up the stairs. "I never knew about this staircase," she said. But how could she? It was in the back of what used to be the boy's bathroom.

          "That's kinda creepy," I said. But maybe it was only meant to be a second way to evacuate the third floor if they ever needed to.

          We climbed the steps and it was a mess up there. We didn't poke around because we didn't know how safe it was and it was dark so I didn't get any pictures.

          It was later than we planned when we finished our tour.

          "Let's go down to Forksville and have lunch," Patti suggested. "There's a covered bridge down there."

          "And you can drive across it," I pointed out. The one on the way to Sonestown, the one we would have stopped to see, is closed to traffic.

           Patti and I had Philly Cheesesteaks at the Forksville General Store. "A real Philly Cheesesteak is made with provolone cheese and marinara sauce," Patti tells me.

          It was the first time I ever had it that way and I really liked it.

          On the way home Patti took us past the site of the church we attended when we lived in the area. The church is gone and a stone monument stands on the site. Just as I raised my camera to get a picture a Robin lands on it. I love when stuff like that happens!

          We spent the rest of the day just chillaxin, eating leftovers, and sharing memories.

          I took Ginger to the pond. She found a low spot and got a little wetter than she normally gets.

          I found a beautiful Twelve-spotted Skimmer. He wasn't afraid of me and sat for me so long, I got up close.

            I took a few steps and got a nice side view.

          He flew away then came back and sat on the same twig, facing the other direction so I got this shot of him. And he is a male. Females don't have the white in between the black bands.

          This brings me up to only Monday. What do you think? An extra letter; forget about the week? You vote.

          Let's call this one done!