Much That Is Hidden

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Yes, the Hootenanny was a hoot indeed. But the sad fact is that we are getting older. The weekend’s host, however, was in fine form. He’s a 65-years-young hippie, co-inventor of modern climbing/safety rope, who wants nothing more than to have more hippies come share his couple hunnert acres with celebrations of music, dance, fire, rugby, basketweaving, varmint trapping, skinny dipping, golf-cart racing and sundry libations. I can’t say as I’ve met a more genuine soul, and there are many dozens if not hundreds more whom I’m sure agree.

I ended up sacking out before midnight, though the others in our party made good till 2 a.m. or later (read Beelers' version of events). My imbibement v. time alloted ratio was skewed. Add 40 years, dancing/shaking of lard, and a depressing drizzle (that thankfully didn't begin until after dark) and you may see the recipe for early retirement. So there you have it – I am of the age where pacing is paramount, even if the throwdownhoedown only comes a few times a year.

It looks like I’ll get lots of practice, though, what with about one ‘nanny a month scheduled till fall, not to mention the open invite to come camp on the farm anytime. Looking forward to the workout...