Mosquito Ranch ...

I made (and timed and documented, to see if it qualified as a quick and easy recipe for Mona) hippie lasagna yesterday (see previous post) and generally dawdled about 'til it seemed like a reasonable time to head out to the Mosquito Ranch. Noone else was there yet, but I got to see Darwin (and his übermacho camo clamshell cast) before he left to go hang out with the guys (and escape the girl invasion). Chelsea, Bernie and I hung out in the sunshine, built a smoke (there were flames, too, but really, let's call a spade a spade) and shovelled water down the driveway.



Barbara, Annailese and Miles arrove shortly before Patty, Sarah, Ally and Raye did. There was a game of shovelball in the driveway ... involving one fully inflated soccer ball, one half-flat one, two shovels, puddles, snow lumps, Annailese, Bernie, and rules that only they knew.

After a flurry of snowpants, we went for a walk on the deer trails in the woods behind the house. We saw the rootball of a tipped-over tree, deer poop, moose poop, dog poop and likely coyote poop, all of which was thoroughly examined and remarked upon. The parts of the trails nearest the house are completely carpeted with deer poop. It's quite remarkable how even the coverage is. When we came out the other end of the trail, Chelsea took the road back to check on dinner and the rest of us took another trail back through the woods and all got wet and muddy to varying degrees. We played in the yard for a little while when we got back, then had a reverse flurry of snowpants and went in to get dry clothes on. The kids and Miles played restaurant downstairs and had a musical parade while the rest of us kitchened.

Dinner was baked salmon, brown rice, Patty's wonderful salad, and hippie lasagna ... at grown-up and kid tables (a first!). Afterwards, Chelsea and Miles' cousin arrived, there was another parade, cleaning, shreiking, running, yacking, wine and beer, playing with guinea pigs, stories, jammies, hugs, smooches, tuckings in in shifts, and more wine and beer and yacking. Folx drifted off to bed, one by one, and I came home.

T'was a good day.