I spent last weekend at my favorite place on earth:
I've written about it before, the hunting club where my faux-uncles are members. My Uncle Dennis, who was my dad's high school best friend, likes to tell the story of the time in 1977 when 14 couples & no kids came to Bear Hollow for the weekend - when they were young, before we existed. And now? My cousin Patrick is on his way to becoming a member himself, & soon that'll be us.
There's no cell service at Bear Hollow, so it's always an excursion spent in blissful disconnectivity. And just like in days of old, we find other ways to entertain ourselves. For example:
Someone brought habanero tequila.
And someone else brought guns (it's a hunting club, guys).
I read a lot of Mary Higgins Clark & wore leggings as pants all weekend & did not shoot anything:
My boyfriend spent a lot of time looking like a hipster, which he is not.
My mom & my Uncle Michael took turns giving my cousin's wife a Justin Bieber haircut.
There were Australian cowboy hats.
And cute dogs.
And a rousing game of Apples to Apples & an inexplicable number of fold-up chairs from Dick's Sporting Goods.
And a bonfire, where we played Never Have I Ever & someone secretly vomited - still no idea who, though we have our suspicions. Also, my cousin's wife misunderstood the rules of the game & thus accidentally admitted to having a penis.
I took an impromptu camera lesson from a family friend & spent much of the weekend taking photos that qualify as artsy in no one's mind but my own.
Did I mention the front porch?
Or the taxidermy menagerie?
And don't worry, we didn't go fishing.