I'm at the farm off Wawaset road again: where James and Laura and Paul live. James and Paul's extremely old grandparents live in the big house, and I never see them. The rest of this huge farm is bare fields and forest maintained by my friends. There's a young dog here that seems to be mostly a lab if not 100%. She's named Luna, and she runs around constantly chasing animals and rolling in muddy ponds and streams.
I'm standing here beside the barn watching James hose the mud off Loon-Dog, and scrubbing some dog shampoo on for good measure. James's father is also standing here. He stopped by to water some asparagus. James is giving turn by turn directions explaining how to find the location of the place where he took a great horned owl with a busted wing. James's father is going to retrieve this owl, and it is my understanding that the owl will return to, and maybe live on, the farm. The picture that I saw of this owl is a riot. Not to make fun of crippled animals, but it has the most serious look on it's face, and the wing is sticking straight out like it's pointing at something. Owls have the ultimate poker face, but you still feel bad for the guy. So James took it to a crippled creature fixer.
I came over here earlier to assist with (watch while drinking beer) the installation of some new fence posts to replace some that have rotted out. The farm is a good place to spend time, and one of the better places I've seen, period(.) I will park here tonight, and that's just plain fantastic.