Well, I’m sitting in the muggy Medford Greyhound Station next to a sweaty bearded man who keeps coughing on me, and all I can think about is how much I would give to be back in WWOOFer Hollow right now.
Locavore Farms is Paradise on a stick. Dipped in chocolate. With chopped peanuts on top. And some of Kaitlin’s orgasmically good cinnamon ice cream on the side. But all I have right now are the last of the Skittles that I bought with the very last dredges of my money. (Well, I have 3 cents left. Maybe I’ll ask the sweaty man if he wants a penny for his thoughts. Or maybe not.)
I promised Laurie I’d throw in some iambic pentameter, so here it is. They’ll rhyme too, just for fun:
Philip, your music was simply superb
You always make me laugh and go “kaplurb!”
Kaitlin, perfessional photographer,
Or, no, should I say photograWWOOFer?
Amazingly generous Amanda
Nothing rhymes with you except “a panda”
Laurie, oh Laurie, you are the best… est
Sharing your home and your food and your wine and your hammocks and your time and your cots and your sunscreen and your shirts and your computers and your movies and your proctologist gloves and your books and your knowledge.
I’m soosososososososososososo riDICulously glad I was able to come to Ft. Bidwell, meet so many awesome people, and get my first taste of “farm livin”. After 2 and a half weeks at Locavore Farms, I do believe my City Girl feet have been toughened up a bit. (Thanks for pointing that out to me, Gerry. I’ll keep working on it.)
I’m sending happy thoughts to the plantlets and the peeps!!!
Love you all,
Rose
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