When I drove out to my friends Sally and Cindy's house last weekend, I actually wasn't sure I was going to make it. They had warned me that it would be best to park at "The Shed" and walk in to the house, and then they'd called me again and said I should just park at "the bottom of the hill" and they'd come get me, since there had been some rain and the road was "a little rough." But I quickly realized I hadn't fully grasped the big picture. I arrived at "the bottom of the hill" and sat, car idling, gazing up at the long and winding mud ditch otherwise known
as Ridge Rd., where they live. I looked up and saw them waiting at the top of the hill, so I decided this wasn't the place they had said to stop, even though I was unsure of my Toyota Corolla's ability to brave the elements, no matter how good the front-wheel drive was. When I finally got to where they were parked, they said, "We didn't know [the neighbor] had fixed it!" Uh-huh -- fixed. Right. We then parked at The Shed and proceeded on the "short walk" -- a fifteen minute hike -- to their house. I briefly thought, maybe I
should've brought more gear.
It turned out to be a fabulously great time, though, and I was fascinated by their house -- which Sally designed and built from the ground up, with her actual hands. And I loved meeting their chickens and goats, particularly Gus, who was aptly described as a "lap goat."
The best part of the night, though, was the four straight hours Sally and I spent playing music -- she on guitar and me on drums -- with Cindy jamming away in the background. Adult play date!
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