Forget Groundhogs

The humble groundhog gets nearly all the press when it comes to spring and predictions thereof.  We've learned around here, however, to trust the birds not the ground-dwelling furry mammals.  The geese and ducks have been returning in droves these last few weeks and to us, that is truly the onset of spring.  The equinox came and went unnoticed - what did not was the endless v's of chinstrap and Canada geese wheeling overhead, the lead bird in each case barking out the rhythm like a coach in the back of a rowing crew.

"Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!"

This year we have seen more mating pairs of geese return to the farm pond than ever before.  We've even spotted signs of Gus, our goose who thinks he's an alpaca.  The birds have arrived on the river near my day job in their usual predictable order - first coots, then geese, then cranes, then endless ranks of ducks.  However, there was a new sight this year in some of the bogs and wetlands that sit in the mountain valleys through which I drive each day.

Floating on the tranquil waters were several snow white bodies, serenely sleeping with their heads tucked under wings.  It wasn't until one lifted its head in idle curiosity that I realized these were swans!  I don't know how long these visitors will stick around, but for now they seem content to eat the water plants along the roadside and sleep quietly in the morning mists.  When they leave the valley will be a little sadder for their parting.

Alpenglow, Sort Of

Okay, so we don't have high enough peaks around us for true alpenglow, but I like to think we can get something similar.  Last night as I rode the bus home I was treated to a rare occurrence - the sun was down behind the trees to my right but the topmost faces of all the trees to my left were still shining in the sunlight.  Coupled with the low overcast layer it was truly beautiful to see those smiling faces under the dark grey sky.  I reveled in it all the way home.

It's a Process

There are times when I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  The farm we may someday still own.  The house we may still someday inhabit.  And then, there are days like today where the feelings of failure and dismay at the loss of our house and the ensuing difficulties with friends, creditors, and neighbors weighs heavily on our shoulders.

Like everything, losing one's home is a process.  Today, the process just happens to suck.

Silence is Golden

I was walking through the parking lot at my day job the other day when I noticed a repetitive shh-shh-shh noise over my head - like the sound of someone walking too briskly in corduroy pants.  I looked up to see that the sound was coming from a large crow heading for the trees across the street.

I love that I live and work where you can hear the sound of a bird's wings.

Making Babies

Okay, our menagerie does not include sheep, but you try to find an old timey graphic of a baby alpaca.

Seriously, though, Jen has been working hard during the breeding season this year.  Not only has she been trying her darnedest to get our small herd to grow, but she's been working near full-time at our friends' farm with their girls as well.  As of this telling a couple of ours are showing signs of buns in the oven and more than a few of our friends' are as well.

I don't know if it's the weather this year, or the especially heavy fly load, or even just the phase of the moon, but we seem to be having a difficult year for breeding.  Females that usually have no trouble settling down for a male are suddenly choosy and coy.  Males that have never failed us are disinterested or, in the case of one male, incapable of "proper entry procedures."

We also have a number of maiden girls this year, and at least one boy is trying this for the first time.  However, in a few years of doing this we've never had so many failures.  Alpacas have an 11 month gestation, which given the delay thus far in successful breeding means we'll be having babies a little later next year.  Oh well - it's an excuse for our daughter to get busy sewing new jackets for the babies.

All in all, though, life goes on and continues in its own tenuous pattern to grow on the farm.  We continue to get settled in our new place and our new lives.  It's getting easier, but winter is on the rise and I can't help feel a little unprepared for it.  Until then, there's lot to do and enjoy.

The Devil Inside Us

I'm taking a moment out from our regularly-scheduled farm news to talk about something I see every day and which has come to a head for a fellow blogger and homesteader.  Jenna Woginrich has been writing a blog at Cold Antler Farm for years, cataloging her life and exploration of homesteading - all the while sharing every aspect of her life without restraint.

Her blog is fun to read, often beautiful, and all-encompassing.  She writes both about her successes and her failures, most poignantly about those times when failure or misstep results in the loss of an animal under her care.

The bottom line is, it happens.  Even the most conscientious, most compassionate farmer will lose an animal now and then.  Individual life is tenuous - even more so when that life is mute and generally unable to express its pain or discomfort.  Sadly, the latest to depart Jenna's farm is her old cat, George.  George had a good long life, even before coming to Jenna.  She gave him a warm hearth, a soft bed, and many many birds to watch through the windows.  It was simply his time and all evidence is that he went peacefully.

Sadly, some of her readers have taken it upon themselves to "instruct" her in how she should have cared for George.  They have blamed her outright for his death and said some very awful things about her ability and desire to care for animals "properly."

I see it all the time - people making comments on the web that in person would be unthinkable.  Painful things said, awful names called, all in the name of internet freedom.  Why is it that so many think that words typed into a computer are not restricted by the tenets of good manners?  Why is it okay to destroy a person online when (I hope) most would never think of doing so to a person's face?

Now and then I despair for the human race.  Network news makes me feel that way.  Television commercials make me feel that way.  Dealing with my mortgage company makes me feel that way.  So do things like this.  Hate and ugliness are just so sad.  So very, very sad.

Moved But Not Settled

We are no longer in the City.

I can't begin to express how good that feels to write (or say).  We've pulled up stakes, packed our various and sundry belongings, and traded loud trucks and angry drivers for endless pine trees and deer in our yard.

To be fair, we moved a while ago.  We've been in our new place for a couple months now and after all this time it is just starting to feel like a reality.  I no longer fumble in the dark to find the door to the bathroom in the mornings, I no longer search for the latest random place where I left my keys.  I'm still kicking the dog-food container every time I go through the laundry room, but I'm kicking it more gently these days.

Aside from this, three months later and we're still not settled in.  We still have way too many boxes leaning together in huddled silence in our garage.  The shop is populated by little groups of my tools and garden stuff, waiting to be organized and given a home.

Honestly, the chaos of our new home has more to do with happenstance than general laziness (though I'm sure there is some of that - it's been a long summer).  We are as busy as always, working a day job for which I leave early and arrive home late, various little medical issues that seem to always crop up when we need to get things done, school and sports and cubscouts for the kids, one of the most difficult breeding seasons we've had yet on the farm (darn it, girls, get pregnant already!) - all conspiring to leave little time and less energy for the inevitably onerous job of unpacking and setting up shop and a home.

Winter is coming.  We will get it done.  We have to.

Spokane Fair 2012

We've just barely recovered from the excitement, the exhaustion, the enjoyment of the Spokane Interstate Fair (really just a County fair, but with a little more hyperbole).  We had a great time in the llama barn at the fair, next to our friend Ester and her huacaya alpacas.  Three days of craziness later we have several ribbons (two HUGE ones won by our kids for herdsmanship), three very tired alpacas, and four very exhausted humans.

The fair itself is rather huge, given that Spokane is the second largest city in Washington state.  We must have talked to a couple hundred people, most asking how our male, Romeo, can see through his dense bangs, and chatted with our fellow llama and alpaca farmers.  The barn hosts were awesome, working their rear ends off while also taking care of their adorable baby girl (who gave out smiles like they were going out of style).

After our second year at this I've learned that there are a few main types of folks at the farm.  There are the city-folk - who point at the alpacas and say things like "what a funny little llama" or "don't you have to trim his bangs?".  There are the greenie city-folk - the people who talk about urban beekeeping, goats milk soap, and organic veggies but whose fingernails are spotless and hands are uncalloused.  There are the country-folk - who can't for the life of them figure out why we would want to raise what look like long-necked sheep.   There are the self-righteous, telling us that keeping our animals in such small pens is cruel and that naming an animal with human names is insensitive to their culture (seriously, only one person said this to me but it was funny enough that I had to mention it).

For the most part, however, people were pleasant, curious, and engaging - asking all kinds of questions and generally having a good time.  We arrived on the day when schools took kids on field trips to the fair, and those were the best visits.  Indy, our first alpaca, love children and she reveled in the oohs and ahs and general expressions of "how cute!"  Her head is three sizes bigger now and it will be a while before we can convince her she is not the queen of the castle, but she appeared to have a good time so we're happy.

Thanks everyone who came out to see us.  We can't wait to be back next year - hopefully with more babies this time.

Remembering

I remember where I was.  Chances are if you're 20 or older you remember where you were.  I remember calling to my wife to get out of the shower and see what was on TV.  I remember the painfully blue sky behind those awful images of death and hate.

But I choose to look at life since then and I am amazed at the changes 11 years can make in a life.  11 years ago I was working in IT in a small computer lab and studying like mad to become an airline pilot.  I had my private pilot's license by that time and was working hard on a multi-engine rating. I had gardened once or twice but never to any scale or success.  I was a pilot.  I was all things gas and power and speed.

Now look at me.  I work in the public arena - something 11 years ago I swore I would never do.  I work with an Indian Tribe, striving to better their living conditions and their economic situation while simultaneously watching mine deteriorate and fade with the harsh reality of the new economy.

But that is not the most important change.  The last eleven years have made me a father of two amazing children that are so much smarter than myself.  I have raised my own chickens, not only once but twice.  I have eaten a fresh egg from my animals (many more than one, actually). I have eaten a meal almost entirely of my own making, from seed to full stomach.  I have raised alpacas and bred them and made more little babies to increase our herd.  I have survived unemployment only to find another position that, surprisingly, fulfills me almost as much as my farming does.

11 years ago we lived in a mildly backward town in the middle of nowhere Arizona.  We looked forward to an urban life, the food and the shops and the entertainment foremost in our minds.  Now, we have just moved from the city to the country - now caring for 10 acres and almost 100 alpacas (thought not all ours, I must say).  We don't look forward to restaurants and movies and shopping.  We look forward to the day when the land between our toes is our own and the animals in their pens are our own and the food in our kitchen is our own.

Eleven years does not seem like such a long time but the changes I have seen in that time amaze me.  I can't wait to see what the next eleven look like.

There Are Ghosts in the Valley

The past few days I have been unable to catch the bus into work.  This isn't the best, as it requires me to drive 40 minutes to the office and Angus does not get the best gas mileage.  He was purchased for his broad back and heavy muscles, not his appetite for gas.  The additional cost is tempered, however, by the fact that in my truck I can see the world around me better and I get to notice the little morning rituals of the Pend Oreille valley as I drive.

This morning I became aware that there are ghosts in the valley.  Not the coalesced personages of times gone by, not these.  I imagine these ghosts are the assembled spirits of all the varied and incessant life that pulses through the tussocks of rye grass and the tule reeds that rise out of the edges of the little moors  dotting the valley.  For every turkey I see crossing the road or every coyote who stares furtively out of the woods as I pass, there is a multitude of creatures and growing green life in the brush.  

As the sun rises and touches the waving pastures these ghosts rise up and twine through the reeds, leaving their misty trails in the hollows and meres.  Slowly the day warms around me as I drive and the mist of their communal presence rises up the valley into the trees above, eventually curling over the peaks to the east and west of the river before dissipating to await the next morning, the next sunrise over wet and bowing grass.

Simple mists they may be to you, but to my eyes they have a life of their own.  Each day, save for the hottest part of the summer, I watch them go through this cycle before the warming sun grows too much for them.  Each day they seem to wend their way in new paths, higher and higher.  They are as much a part of mornings in this river valley as the deer and the geese and the sleepy drivers making their way to work.

Alpacas In The Oven

Even as we wait eagerly for this year's clutch of baby alpacas (they're so darn cute, all legs and neck for the first week or so), we're working hard to make new babies for next year.  Our first purchased animal, Indy, is trying her darnedest to make a baby and Luna, our daughter's animal, is already showing signs of having a bun in the oven.  Come this time next year, and a whole lot of good fortune, our little herd of five will expand to seven.

Alpaca breeding is a bit of a hilarious thing in its own right.  Alpaca males make the most hilarious noises trying to get the ladies to lay down for them.  For the most part the girls roll their eyes at the boys' clumsy advances, but every once in a while something clicks and the girls give in.  We've been doing most of the breeding in a pen next to the young males' enclosure, hoping that by watching (and they certainly watch) we'll have fewer tentative males when it's their turn.  The whole process is a bit surreal, setting up liaisons between ungulates, but it's also exciting to think that in 11 months we'll have new babies to spoil rotten and the potential for some truly great animals like our little champion, Romeo.

Babies Babies and More Babies

It has been one crazy summer (evident by my total lack of posting for the last few months).  There's lots to share and more to discuss, but for now I have to belatedly announce the arrival of our newest baby and my son's very first alpaca, Dakota!  She was born July 12 at SuperSuris and she's already big enough to cause some serious trouble with the other alpacas.  She was running within an hour of being born and hasn't stopped yet.  See the video here.

Dakota is the result of the free breeding we got as part of the purchase of his mother, Luna, and her cria at the time, Amber.  There are more pictures of the little stinker on our facebook page, so check it out!

Since Dakota's arrival we have bred several of our animals, including Luna, her mom, and Indy, our first ever purchase.  We're hoping for a number of new girls next year, but we're happy either way.  The boy we had last year, Romeo, is turning into quite the champion, winning Reserve Champion in Tri-Cities earlier this year.  He's got a way to go before he can start breeding, but we already have a few people interested in him.

Oh my gosh, we may officially have a "herd" now.  :o)

Day 6 - Bringing It All Together

Allie Working Out the Last Songs

This is it.  The last full day at the Folk School.  My mounting sadness over the foreseeable end to my wonder week was well tempered by the anticipation of the final night's concert in front of the whole school.  Tonight we would perform two songs for everyone while they gathered to show off their own hard work.  Understandably, the final day was taken up mostly by repeated playing of our two main tunes and polishing up the little rough spots that remain.  At the same time I noticed we were speaking more of our real lives, discussing what we were going to do next and where we were all headed.  Some of us were headed home, some to continue on to other adventures, but all of us had clearly had a great time at the school and with David.

For my part I found myself nursing my growing blister (still can't believe I played enough to get one) and milking David for any last tidbits of information.  For his part he was free handed in giving out CDs with songs on them and the tabs to help us play them.  We closed out the day smelling the wonderful things the cooking class below us was preparing for the showcase.  I found myself gravitating again and again to the wonderful porch and the amazing view I would, in all likelihood, never see again.

A Blacksmith Hurrying to Finish On Time

And then it was time.  We hurried ourselves up to the main hall to prepare and sample the work of all the other classes.  The food was amazing (you can never trust the musicians around food and since it seems just about everyone at the school is some sort of musician, you can imagine how fast the food went).  The metal work was astonishing - every natural form you could think of all hammered out of metal.  The waterpaints were evocative and well representative of the growing spring outside.  The wood turnings were graceful, glowing gently in the overhead lights.  There was even more pottery and jewelry to gawk at, handmade papers and cards, and the most amazing shaker side tables - all miraculously finished in the wee hours of the morning.

Out By The Blacksmith Shop

And then it was time.  We arranged ourselves on the stage and played quickly through both Cripple Creek and Old Joe Clark.  Save for a bit of a tuning gaffe in the beginning, I think I acquitted myself well and we all received a hearty round of applause for our efforts.  Before I knew it, it was all over.  We had performed, everyone else had shown off their work, and we were all off for our last meal together as a group.  I knew from talking to other people that many of us wouldn't be sticking around for breakfast in the morning, so there were a lot of goodbyes and emails addresses exchanged.  People I had spent my whole week with began to drift away and we all began to close down and return to real life.  It was sad, but in a way still very satisfying.  The school will go on, the students will keep coming and going like the tides, but my time here was nearly done.  I hope to come back, but I can't imagine how.  For now, I am eternally grateful and so proud to be a part of such a select group of artists and tinkerers.

Finally Reconnected!!!

It took many phone calls, two shipping orders, a little swearing, a lot of grunting, but I finally have my computer back in working order - and best of all with 99% of my files still on it!  I would say 'let's hear it for Toshiba' but they botched the whole process so many times it's hard to be enthusiastic.  However, I am grateful to be back up and running and I hope to post the last day of my trip to the John C. Campbell Folk School shortly.  Thanks for your patience and hello again!

The Nightmare Continues

Nearly a month has passed and I still find myself without a computer and having to steal moments with borrowed computers to post.  I apologize wholeheartedly and hope to have this remedied soon - at which point I will resume regular posts.

In the mean time, get outside and enjoy the spring.  It's a startlingly good one here in the northwest and I hope you have similar where you are.

Folk School Day 5 - Fire and Song

Hill House

Thursday morning dawned early as always, without the fog we've had the last few days.  The rain overnight washed away the humidity and it was perfect outside.  I couldn't wait to sprawl out on the benches outside the studio and work through the new songs we were to learn.

Before that, however, we had Morning Song.  Thursday morning we got a bit of a treat.  Our teacher, David Brose, hosted Morning Song along with one of the students in our class, Allie.  Allie is a guitar player and singer for the Whipstitch Sallies, a bluegrass and mountain music group from Indianapolis - a startlingly good musician in her own right.  She and David sang a few songs and generally had a good time, as did those of us in the audience.  I have pics from the performance that I will put up here shortly once I can find them.

Raku Pottery Just as the
Kiln Is Opened

After breakfast everyone got down to the business of finishing up their various tasks and projects in time for the closing ceremonies the next day.  For our part we continued to work on our two songs for the performance, Old Joe Clark and Cripple Creek.  I swear that f-chord is getting closer to good on my part.

That evening we were treated to one of the more spectacular aspects of pottery - a Raku firing.  Raku pottery is a style of glazing wherein the glazed pot is heated to red hot before being placed in contact with organic matter (in this case, shredded newspaper).  The chemical interactions that go on, both due to the burning material and the control of air exposure, transform the simple glazing in a myriad of colors and materials - in some cases resulting in raw metals on the surface and sometimes causing the glaze to craze and crack into a jigsaw of shapes and angles.  It's all very beautiful and great fun to watch.

Finished Raku Pottery

After the Raku firing I waltzed over to the jewelry studio to see what they were up to.  The myriad of materials and treatments were dizzying but great to see.  They've been working with both molten metals in molds made of cuttlefish bones (leaving an interesting fingerprint-like texture on the molded metal) as well as beaten metals like copper beads and bracelets.  As with any class at the school, they were more than happy to show off their handiwork and to give demonstrations of certain techniques.

Every day here seems filled with both art and music. Even as I grow more and more tired from all the activity and the long days, I revel in the sounds and sights around me.  Everywhere one looks there is art and song and it excites me, making the gooseflesh rise up on my neck to think of it.  This is a special place and I feel more than fortunate to have been given the opportunity to experience this even once in my life.  I envy those people who profess to have been to the school dozens of time, but that does not dampen my enjoyment of the week one whit.  And to think, I have a whole day and a half ahead of me!

A Good Showing

Please excuse the slight pause in my reporting on my amazing trip to the John C. Campbell Folk School.  Sadly, my computer troubles continue and thus my photos of the event are locked securely within a failing and mistrustful hard drive.  In the mean time, we have exciting news to share.  Our white male suri alpaca, Sweet 16's Romeo, showed very well at the PNAA Alpaca Showcase in Pasco, WA last weekend.  Romeo was the darling of the white juvenile male category, winning both first in his class as well as Reserve Champion for white males.  We were so thrilled and excited, I can't wait to get photos up here (soon!  I swear, soon!).

No no no no no no

It happens to all of us and now it has happened to me.  Computer crash, hard disk failure, much pain and sobbing. I will start posting again soon, but for now I'm wallowing in the loss of a year's work.

Folk School Day 4 - Getting On With It

Sittin' Porch - Keith House

Another foggy morning to accompany another great breakfast.  Word has gotten out that I work for an Indian Tribe and I was invited to a table at breakfast to discuss it with several curious fellow students.  Subsequently I spent so much time chatting away that I barely got to eat!    What I did manage to stuff in between questions was great and more food was forthcoming during the day anyway.  The one thing you're not likely to do at the Folk School is starve.

We continued to work at our own paces throughout the day.  I was happy to see that I'm keeping up well.  It takes me a while to pick up a new song and make it sound right, but I'm not lost and I can typically muddle my way through anything David throws at us.

Something I have noticed here - something that truly stands out in my mind - is the trust given to the students.  Doors are generally unlocked, rooms are left open, and access is maintained - trusting that the students will behave honorably and respectfully.  And they do!  For example, the dining hall is scheduled - we all wait patiently for the big bell to be rung before filing in for meals.  However, the doors are left unlocked and access is free.  If you need to use the restroom before a meal, you don't have to leave the rush to get in after the bell - the door is open and you can slip in before the bell and then back out to the line to get in.

The Walkway to Keith House
 from the Studio

This may not seem like much to some of you, but to someone who grew up in an area where the customer is to be feared (for he/she may steal from you if you turn your back for a moment) this is a noteworthy difference.  I am certainly enjoying it and it makes the whole experience more of a joy.

In class we worked together as a group today - something I really enjoyed.  We played both Cripple Creek and Old Joe Clark as a group at a slow enough speed that the slowest of the group (namely me) could keep up.  Actually, Old Joe Clark is coming along nicely, save for that damn F chord.  I can almost play Cripple Creek at speed, which is remarkable given the fact that its the first song in which I have been able to get a passable drop thumb working.

This evening included a special personal event.  A gentleman from another class dropped by while it was only Allie and I practicing.  He had brought along his mandolin and he wanted to see if we wanted to play a few songs.  This was truly the first time I had ever jammed with anyone and while I couldn't play with all the songs he knew, there were a few we all knew together.  It was awesome.  We all hesitated and made mistakes but we all three enjoyed ourselves and the quiet applause of his wife was reward enough.  It wasn't until he left that I realized that I hadn't gotten his name.  Oh well.

Looking North from the Studio

After our little impromptu jam session I walked up to Keith House to see the Morris Dancers practice.  They are working towards a trip to England to compete there and it was fun to see a truly different type of dance played to renaissance style instruments and songs.  Upon my arrival I noticed that Herr Kelischek was playing the recorder in the band!  I tipped him a nod and enjoyed watching the old man truly enjoy the music and the dancing.  The dancers themselves were having a good time and it was fun to sit and watch them go through the motions.

After watching for a bit, it was off to bed for me.  Two more days of bliss and it's back to the great white north for me.

Folk School Day 3 - Music and Dancing

Waiting for the Breakfast Bell

Tuesday shined bright and hot, with a humidity that belied the thunderstorms to come that evening.  However, after a morning fog burned off the day itself was sparkling and blue - a perfect day for learning new songs on the music studio's wraparound porch.

Today we progressed from the two tunes we had already learned in G-major tuning to a fun little song in G-modal, or sawmill to the great unwashed.  While my thumb is beginning to behave properly, the f-chord in both tunings is giving me trouble.  As with any chord form, it will simply take time for my fingers to learn where to go without my having to think about it - a day I look forward to as there is a distinct f-chord in one of the songs we are to perform on Friday.

Kelischek Playing the
Bossanova Recorder

After class I joined a group touring the nearby shop of Michael Kelischek, a German immigrant who has more musical knowledge in his little pinky than I ever hope to attain in my whole life.  Herr Kelischek makes woodwind and string instruments in his home and shop only a mile or so from the school.  His shop is a wonder to see in itself, boasting hundreds of different instruments - all of which Herr Kelischek can play effortlessly.  He is a wonder to listen to and quite hilarious at times, especially when he plays the massive six-foot tall bass recorder he hides in one corner (shown here).  He has invented a new instrument to replace that one, with a sinuous channel inside which reduces the overall length of the instrument to a little more than 16 inches.  He had several novel instruments, including a three-hole recorder that could play all the notes of a traditional recorder but with only three finger holes, leaving his other hand free to beat the rhythm.  He also played for us his viola de gamba, an interesting cello-like instrument that is held by the knees and which has movable frets made of catgut.  The idea of movable frets was a novel one to me and the tinkerer in me envisioned a fretless banjo set up the same way - allowing for chromatic tuning like a mountain dulcimer.  We hated to leave and were so curious to learn more that some of us returned on another day just to hear him speak more about the instruments that he loves.

The Two Linked Cabins

After dinner I took some time to walk around the school, taking pictures of various buildings and studios.  Shown here are two cabins, joined by a common roof, which Olive Campbell had moved to the school shortly after its founding.  One still contains the furniture and sparse decorations of a turn-of-the-century cabin.  Sadly, maintenance of these cabins is costly and they are not open to the public.  It's my hope that someone will find a grant to bring them back to proper condition and maybe even hold a few classes within.  The rest of the campus is a wonder to see, especially if your chosen class is limited to one area such as ours was.  Had I not explored I would have missed much.  It's worth the time and the sweat to do so if ever you're there.

Circle Dancing

After another sumptuous dinner it was time for dancing.  Every Tuesday night at the Folk School they hold a directed dance event that is popular enough to attract some local folk as well as the students.  The night held time for many dances - square dances, contra dancing, even some line dances that trace their history back to Great Britain before the founding of the United States.  I had the pleasure to sit next to a couple originally from Wales at lunch and seeing that I was wearing my kilt that day, they told me it would be a true crime if I did not dance a little and send the kilt pleats swishing.  I grudgingly obliged and ended up having a great time of it - eliciting many curious stares from some of the local children.  I'm sure my wife will attest to the rarity of my dancing so it was a noteworthy event regardless.

After dancing I retired to my cell (in the charming monastic sense, not as in a penitentiary) and collapsed in exhaustion.  It wasn't hard to sleep after all the dancing, and the rumbling of thunderstorms lulled me even deeper down into dreams of dancing and drop-thumb.

"A great instrument does not sound great because of the wood, it is in spite of the wood."  - Herr Kelischek speaking as to why he makes most of his recorders of materials other than wood.