Front Porch Sittin'

It took awhile gather the motive to rise up from my perch on our recently dusted-off front porch this evening. There just seems to be something about farmhouses and porches. A good sampling of the visitors we've already had have echoed my exact thoughts about this phenomenon: "There's going to be a lot of front porch sittin' here, eh?"

I won't even pretend to take credit for readying what I'm adopting as a makeshift man cave. With her bountiful energy and armed with some convenient vacuum attachments, Tracy single handedly eliminated the graveyard of insects from windowsills, cleaned out the Nyberg moving debris and topped off the decor with a slice of authentic Americana she dug out of the barn. After completing yet another day of picking through ridiculous Criminal Law hypos, I decided against giving the mosquitos another blood buffet on Nelson Creek in favor of enjoying my last Brewery Vivant IPA (affectionately given my brother Erik) on the newly (somewhat) habitable front porch with Thule. 

Perhaps we'd see our targeted harvest for this fall trot through the orchard. Maybe the resident black bear would finally make his presence known. Feeling eerily similar to deer camp, I fought back the reality of wildlife watching (or lack of it) at Camp NOLA with optimism and sipped on my hoppy bitterness. Evening birdsong and a chorus of crickets filled the transition silence between tunes on the recently installed jambox - my one contribution to the porch. Ahh the (pretend) farm life.

After another draught I gathered the courage to get mutilated again on Nelson Creek in pursuit of my first yet-to-be landed wild brookie of the season. Thule in tow, I lasted about 5 minutes. "Tomorrow," I thought. "After some front porch sittin'."