We went on an impromptu picnic the other night. The best kind. I mean, the kind with planned-out menus and agendas and remembered blankets and bottle openers are nice, too, (oops), but there's something charming about a thrown-together one. Something charming in realizing, at 5 o'clock, that there is a cold bottle of Riesling in the fridge, and tupperwares full of potato salad, kale slaw, and zucchini fritters to accompany said Riesling. Also, it was farmer's market night in Morris as we passed through en route to the state park, where an immense chocolate peanut butter-filled cupcake was purchased, and shared. We ate dessert first, because, you know what they say about that.
We commandeered a lakeshore leanto for our fete.
It was nice to have an adventure. Weekends have been busy lately-- busy with weddings and deer-proofing and work and gigs-- and so often our evenings have boiled down to watching the chickens with a beer. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Also, very slow but dogged progress is being made on stripping the old peeling paint off our front porch, which is proving to be an incredibly slow and constant and neverending and --OH MY GOODNESS we are still going to be working on this when we're celebrating our 40th anniversary!-- job. So, it was good to take a break.
We're in for quite a string of thunderstorms this afternoon, some of which have the potential to be severe, looks like, so if you don't hear from me until Monday, assume all is well. The worst that could happen is hail on my ripening tomatoes. Really.