Back Yard of the Bored Gods
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Long time, no see! But now I'm back from meandering the sacred mountains and ready to don the good ol' "Gods Are Bored" riot gear!
There is a campground in south central Pennsylvania where all the happy bored deities go to chill and be with their various homies. The place is called Four Quarters Farm. It doesn't matter which deity or pantheon you call your own, this place will welcome you with arms wide open. For a gal like me who praises and worships Anything and Everything, it's like Wonderland.
Four Quarters Farm is in the same zip code as my former property. It's near Artemas, PA, a town that is hopelessly waiting for its one-horse application to be approved. I cannot tell you how happy I am to find a new home in 17211!
Over the weekend, the whole of 17211 sweltered just like everywhere else. But Four Quarters Farm has the answer to the heat: several first-class swimming holes, surrounded by fabulous geologic shelf formations. Instead of attending workshops, or yoga, or any of the other fun deity-service activities, yours truly just ensconced herself in the upstream swimming hole, the one by the fairy cairn. Floppy the vulture sunned himself on the rocks, and Puck the faerie and I spent three entire days swimming.
When I pruned up like a California Raisin, I just got out of the water long enough to study up on my Walt Whitman ... trying to learn a new poem this summer.
In the evening, there's big-time drumming. And a bonfire. If you don't like that, you can have a brilliant tea party with all the bored deities. If They ever had quarrels amongst themselves, They've patched things up. It's great to see them laughing as the little kids run themselves ragged.
Four Quarters Farm is a family campground that even has a meal plan (delicious stuff). Caveat: the swimming areas are clothing optional. Not a problem for the bored gods or me.
I did some ancestor work on Sunday, and as I was visiting the most ancient spot in my Appalachian heritage, I was buzzed by a buzzard. Literally, the gorgeous fellow was just above my head. The moment was ruined when that buzzard started laughing about Floppy's name. Vultures are like that sometimes.