When my family farm was sold, and I got my share of the evil ducats, I thought about going to Scotland or England, to the land of my forebears.
Except you've got to ask yourself: How many generations of your family has to live in a place before you cut loose the cords with Europe? If the answer is more than ten but less than sixteen, I'm better off doing walkabout in Appalachia.
Therefore, for the next six days, I will be in Appalachia, walking among my ancestors, paying them the respect that has gone missing since my grandparents died. I will leave tokens for them from my shrine and petition their help for me.
I plan to take the waters at Berkeley Springs, a meditative site that is chock-a-block with faeries.
Then I'm also going to this thing called Drum & Splash, which is held yearly at Four Quarters Farm. There are two nice swimming holes at Four Quarters Farm, and the place is pretty much open to any and every bored deity you could imagine. I've never spent much time there before, but I do like to drum. I've got a great drum. It's an old wash pan that belonged to my grandma, that I found out in the woods. I beat on it with a wooden spoon. If the other drummers object to this heirloom musical instrument, I will take my talents to the perimeter.
Basically, I'm going home without going home.
Floppy and his band of merry golden vultures will be going with me as a Sacred Thunderbird escort. I hope the turkey vultures up on Polish Mountain will be polite. It turns out that Floppy is sensitive about his name. He's like me: very easily vexed. I think we are going to be great friends.
Oh yeah, one last thing. That reprehensible moron developer who wanted to turn 1,000 acres of mountain land into a town of 14,000 people is starting to make noise again. Therefore, also on the agenda is some earnest petitioning to Cloacina for her continued protection of that pristine watershed.
I will try to check in with all three of you readers on July 6. Until then, have a safe and happy 4th of July. Be careful with those fireworks!
PS: Heir and I spent two hours chasing a yellow budgie around Cooper River Park this afternoon. I think I taught him how to fly with my overzealous pursuit. We left him some bird food and a pamphlet entitled "Surviving Hawk Attacks: A Bird's Guide to Public Safety." I borrowed it from Decibel's library.