I’m home. Barely. Just long enough to wash away all the grime from last weekend’s adventures (no one got sick or injured and it didn’t rain, so it’s a win in my book…) and pack everything back up for the next jaunt tomorrow, assuming I manage to get the peaches canned before dawn (ours trees decided to ripen rather inconveniently this year).
We’re heading to Lassen National Park for a few nights. Other than a blurry childhood memory, I’ve never been.
I’m looking forward to some fresh adventures. If I catch Reed early enough in the morning when he’s still fresh, I might get lucky and get a “hike” in too! Three is that tricky age when they’re too heavy to carry and too young to do the distance on their own.
I see fishing in our future.
I lucked out last weekend. That is, I didn’t run out of yarn, and my needles didn’t break. There was no knitting tragedy. This leaves me incredibly paranoid for the future. Things can only go smoothly for so long.
Then you hit a bump.
Thus, I am all the more prepared. The simple stockinette socks are packed, and I am determined to finish them. There’s just 3/4 of a sock to go. (I am, however, driving, so there’s eight hours -round trip- of knitting time down the drain. But I’m trying to focus on the bright side.)
I also have two back-up projects packed. Just in case.