Didgeridoo

Twenty six years ago, Dylan moved in with me. We took the commuter train up to the Ogden farmer’s market to celebrate. There, because it’s easier to go an hour there than walk further through worse areas to attend the local one. Read and chatted the whole way.

At the market, a woman with a guitar doing a very good version of Riptide, dude rocking out on a didgeridoo*, lots of dogs, the aroma of bbq.

We decided it was Chekhov’s bbq, once smelled, by act III it must be eaten. And, wow. Yum. Brought some home.

We also like trains.

Dealt with the wheat harvest today, straw strewn. Not threshed exactly, but all the heads in a bucket for the next day.

Moby leaving us nearly half the couch.





*video to come