I ate supper here at the house, then mentioned the word "cabin" to Sadie. Like Mandy, Sadie loves to go back there. Do not mention "cabin" or "walk" to Sadie unless you want to see her go into a frenzy of circling and whining. No sooner had I said the word when my neighbor, Diane, called. So I was left talking to her with a dog crying behind me. I asked her if she knew who bought the ghost farm, and she informed me her two nephews are the new owners. She doesn't know if they have any plans for the place.
Here's shot taken at the farm a few days ago, looking north toward the river bottom.
I turned on the CD player, which had my Native American music CD already in it, and set about making a campfire; the atmosphere isn't quite right unless I have a fire and Indian music going. I'll admit to taking a bit of a risk with the fire: it was windy, and dead leaves are everywhere. But I watched it closely and kept water handy. And doused it when I went to bed.
Sadie is afraid of fire, so she refused to come around to the front of the cabin. By 7 o'clock, she was ready to go to bed. She parked herself on the sleeping bag as soon as I let her inside the cabin, and later when I joined her, she insisted on sleeping on my legs all night.
As night fell, I switched the music on my battery-operated CD player to a capella hymns that take me back to my childhood. Songs like "Oh Why Not Tonight" and "There's a Stranger At The Door" that nobody ever sings any more.
After watching a peaceful sunset, I joined Sadie on the air mattress and had a nice, dreamless sleep. (Don't you just love that gnarled old tree on the right?)