Gnome sweet home

I don't know how many of my readers follow my daughter's blog, but there's quite a story behind these gnomes.  When she and Kevin were trying to buy their house, Rachel remarked that the gnomes had to go... they give her the willys.  I don't understand it, but she's that way about clowns, too.  I guess she's been warped by too many scary movies.  She's taken quite a teasing from friends and family about this phobia, and I, to help her out, volunteered to take them to my cabin in the woods.

Saturday we learned a little more about these guys:  They are over thirty years old, and started out as the "seven dwarves"; some of you probably recognize them.  However, according to the lady from whom Rachel and Kevin bought the house, people kept taking them.  So she had the remaining five wired pretty tightly to her porch.  Yes, there were five, until about a week ago.  Somebody kidnapped one!  It's a shame, too, because he'd make a good guard for my outhouse at the cabin.

They're somewhat worse for the wear.  One almost fell apart when I moved it.  But I think they look very much at home in the woods.

I included some pictures of the inside of the cabin because some of you seemed to think it was getting too fancy back there.  As you can see, it's still very simple.  I only want a CD player there for rare occasions.  I won't have music playing much of the time, but I especially like listening to some Native American songs I've ripped from a folk CD here at the house.  I'm also thinking of taking my old cheap guitar back there and leaving it, in case I'm in the mood to strum along with a folk song. 

As for the books that stay there:  There's the one explaining the lifestyle of American Indians; a Bible; two hymnbooks, including one ancient one from my grandma's little church, years ago; a book that's a collection of American folk songs; a couple of books of poems; one of the "Foxfire Books"; and the volume I'm still trying to wade through about JKF, "An Unfinished Life".   In the picture of my foot, that feather on the wall is one I found near the cabin; some unwitting turkey left his calling card.