So I made the trekk to Baber's domain this weekend. I've only been once and had forgotten the drive. Windows down, Depeche Mode blaring in the cd player - All I eva wanted, all I eva needed is here, in myyy aaarrmmms - sorry, where was I? Oh yeah. 80 miles an hour on a smooth country road with nothing but rice fields and the occasional old, beautiful rustic home standing alone.
Sounds beautiful, right? That's because there's a little pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Screeech. Y'all. I so cannot take credit for that precious statement above. My guy actually told me that as I was talking to him on the way back home to my apartment.
J: You forgot your jeans babe.
Me: Which ones?
J: The blue ones.
J: With the tan belt?
Me: Oh okay. Well, just bring them back here with you next weekend? *pause* This is a pretty drive, but a long one. I just don't know how you do this every weekend.
J: I do it because of the little pot of gold at the end.
Cha-ching. Automatic deposit in J's love account.
Is this the right trail?
Babers and I went 4 wheeler riding at a nearby campground about an hour away. The map of the trail doesn't look threatening, but about an hour and a half of bouncing on trails plagued with huge tree roots (with no sports bra on people) and flicking spiders off of each other, we were beginning to think otherwise.
Everything looked the same. Didn't we just pass that spot? I kept thinking. A couple of riders stopped to say hello as J was peering at our map and asked if we were lost. We asked how far camp was: 11 miles?? J's office Christmas party was only two and a half hours away and things were not looking good. Even though we didn't voice it, I knew J was a little worried too. I wondered, if we ended up really getting lost, how long could we survive on a sandwich, 8 beers, two bottles of water and a Diet Dr Pepper? Really?
We eventually got out of there and made it to the party fashionably late. *whew*
Y'all. This dog stands face to face with J. Twice this weekend he bumped into me and caused me to stumble. His name? Bubba.
Welcome to Louisiana baby.
J's landlord owns a gizallion acres of land which he rents off to people. On a piece of this guy's land is a farm. Swear. This dude has pigs, sheep, goats, horses, cows, ducks, and a donkey. I shit you not. He actually owns a donkey. Quite charming creatures, actually. And now for a little photo essay of the farm:
This little piggy's name is Bacon. Really. (I apologize in advance for any vegetarian readers I may have. Its not my pig.)
This photo makes me smile every time I look at it.
Say hello to Jack the jacka-- you get the picture. He was actually really cute. Kind of like babies are when their heads are too big for their bodies. Ears too, in Jack's case.
One more to leave you with.
I'm sure I'll come back to post more about this weekend, it was too awesome for just one post. Boiled shrimp by the fire, clear starry nights in the double canvas chair with J, surrounded by Mini and the gang... what more can a southern girl ask for?
I mean, really?
P.S. - Look at the sweet tag Simply Curious made for me on my side bar. How can I possibly stay down when I've got lovelys like her to cheer me up? Thanks again SC! ((hugs))