I went to sleep last night with a farmhouse filled with people; I woke up at 1pm today and we were just about the only ones left. Thankfully, to relieve the post-partum depression imparted on us by one of the greatest weekends in recent memory, Todd Walker and Chip Chapman stayed around. We all felt hungover, even though none of us had been drinking last night. After watching “About a Boy” in Great Barrington, we came back to the farm, Todd took some pictures, Chip walked around the grounds, Tessa gardened, and we all had a major decompression.
Tonight Tessa and I gossiped about the various goings-on and personality disorders among our friends, and how much we loved everybody. I also remarked than we learned a lot about the farm this weekend; namely, that it can handle the collective urine of 50 over-educated iconoclasts caroming into their early 30s – and that the carriage house is indeed soundproof, because we didn’t hear the screams when Joy and Julianne were attacked by bats. I think the farm also acts as advertisement for the area, which is fine by me, because I’d like to drag every last guest up here to grow incontinent with us.
Jamie and I survey the grounds like we know what we’re doing