By Lucy

The dogs have sort of become mine. Part of it is because Earl is usually chained up outside my door, I guess so she’s by the house but not in the way, and Luigi just sits with her. Luigi is also a big suck who will beg anyone for pets. I usually gives him a head rub or scratch behind the ears on the way by, so he tends to follow me around.

While I was gone, they fixed the gas hob in my cabin, not that it means much to me. I have no need or intention to use it, but it does clean off my counter a bit and feels like progress.

The weather is starting to become comfortable for me. It helps that the weather in Thunder Bay has finally chilled to the same range, so soon I can smugly look at everyone’s posts about hating shoveling while I’m in a t-shirt and shorts. It’s around 15 most days, maybe 20 in the sun with no wind. Some days I can get by with one pair of pants and no toque. I think I’ll always wear 2 pairs of pants to feed the chickens though, just cuz they get so feisty. And also to make sure only one pair of pants is crusted in chicken poop!

I was getting Tuesday and Thursday off. Tuesday because Simonetta would be out all day and didn’t feel like trying to come up with a list, and Thursday because I had a Soroptimist meeting.

Another day, another list of small projects that feel like I’m crossing things off the “honey-do” list. Gary aught to thank me – I do so many things I’m pretty sure Simonetta would usually ask him to do, but she has me now!

I knew Kelly was coming in on Saturday and Sunday, but I was unsure whom of us was expected to do the chickens, so I went out to do them anyway. Halfway through she came to join me, and possibly to her credit, she jumped in and did the last pen instead of just going “oh you’ve got it” and leaving.

She was sent to turn over the cabins, and I was sent away with a hammer and a pocketful of nails. Simonetta wanted me to patch up a bench that was broken by the wind blowing a tree branch down onto it. It was near-completely shattered, however. If I had the proper tools to remove the bolts, I could have changed out the slat in less time. I even found a nice piece of wood that was partially mossy, so the colour wouldn’t look too out of place. Alas, the bolts were seized, and I couldn’t find any WD40 or whatever the New Zealand equivalent is. I tried a few cans of stuff I found in the tool truck, then I gave up and awkwardly patched the slat together. As long as she’s happy with it…

Another of my tasks was to fill post holes. They’d dug some holes for things – a roof over the BBQ, a gate by the road – but they weren’t going to bother finishing those projects. I was directed to grab some large rocks from the garden, fill the holes as best I can with them, and then dump gravel into the cracks. It took a bit with the wheelbarrow, going up and down the drive. They suggested using this all-terrain vehicle type thing they call a “side-by-side”, but the bed in the back is about as tall as my shoulders and I couldn’t think of a way to comfortably shovel gravel into it. Besides, I could always use the exercise.

The guys were doing a rare Saturday overtime, powerwashing the side of the house before it could be repaired and painted.

“Working on a Saturday?” I asked Ethan as we walked along.

“Yeah, but I’m hourly.” He said, smirking.

“What do they pay you an hour?”

“25.”

25 an hour…

Minimum wage in New Zealand is 23 an hour. Part of that is just how their inflation is – even a 2 bedroom single story house in Greymouth costs over 200K. But even still… does he repay them for room and board? Or is that in addition?

I was supposed to be getting paid for extra hours over my usual 5…

For dinner Simonetta was feeling fancy, because she made a dish called Moussaka. Moussaka is basically lasagna, except with eggplant instead of noodles. It was very good – creamy and cheesy, the eggplant just melts away on your tongue! We were teasing Ethan about if he’d eat it, but he was game. He seems to eat almost anything, except string beans. Gary picked at the cheese and beef before pulling out the eggplant and leaving it on the side, so I grabbed some of the eggplant off his plate and covered it with extra sauce and ate it myself! Simonetta told us a story about this place in London that just does Moussaka and wine, and it’s still there 40 years later! Check it out when you’re in London.

She also made a blueberry cobbler for dessert, from an unopened bag of blueberries a customer left behind. Mmm, two plates of dinner and a bowl of dessert! I went back to my cabin and turned the fire up and laid in bed, playing DS and feeling pretty good!

On Sunday I was called upstairs. Simonetta and Kelly have been decluttering before the listing pictures are taken. Throwing out things she doesn’t want to keep, moving some things to Kelly’s place so they aren’t in the way, etc. I’m the muscle, so I carried the heavy things down the stairs for them.

Simonetta has a room stuffed to the gills with furniture that was supposed to be in the house that I was supposed to be working on. She wanted some things out of it and some things moved around because whoever put the furniture in there to begin with left it a mess. Eventually, I just hopped onto the pile, easily balancing on tabletops and the backs of couches in my sock feet, lifting “heavy” things overhead. It was basically like scaffolding except with soft furnishings and no 3 story drop.

“Oh yes, you can stay here for as long as you want!” She said happily.

Monday was foggy. I wonder where the fog came from.

I ran out of marmalade, so I had cornflakes for breakfast. I rinsed out my jam jar and left it on the kitchen table. There was nothing in the staff fridge but the marmalade, which I didn’t feel like having more of. Later on Simonetta gave me a half-full jar of apricot jam. I do kind of feel like Cinderella, begging for scraps.

We have some new additions to the team. It’s spring break for the kiddos, so Gary’s grandkid Cooper has been hauled out here to help… somehow. He is perpetually in a pair of English prep school shorts and a ratty black sweater, and he loves any opportunity to drive the side-by-side.

We also have a couple of tradies around the place. I presume they are carpenters, but no one mentioned them and I’m not asking. Simonetta shuttered the lodge for the rest of the month in an effort to get more work done, which honestly should have been the way things were done from the start. Instead of me and Ethan trying to work our way down a list while also feeding the chickens, gardening and cleaning the cabins, just shut down the lodge for a couple of weeks and get a crew in here to do it properly. They start replacing shingles on the side of the building and fixing the broken eave with birds nesting in it.

Simonetta made a freezer pizza for lunch. She stuck her head out to where I was working. “Can you tell the builders it’s time for lunch?”

“Sure! Am I a builder?” I asked cheekily.

“Of course! You’re my very special builder.” She replied, in a voice that wasn’t entirely sarcastic.

As we all crowded around the staff table to eat pizza, I noticed she was still hunched over her computer, working on three things at once, and her tea was ice-cold on the counter. I reheated her tea and brought her a plate of pizza.

“What? Oh, thank you Lucy. You look after me like Kelly does.”

Only Kelly? Ignoring Gary, do people usually stay here for work and notice her not eating or drinking and shrug it off? I couldn’t imagine being able to ignore that.

The group that had been in the other cottage checked out on Sunday, so we went in to prep it before the other woofers come next Monday. She showed me the little water heater that runs on propane, which is how all the cabins have hot water. It’s pretty neat! Do we have this in Canada? We aught to, when groundwater is so readily available there.

At 6, after I was technically “clocked out” for the day, it started raining. Ah, I love the sound of raindrops on the tin roof….

Ah, wait, the laundry on the line!

I shoved my feet into my shoes and jogged down to the laundry line and started grabbing stuff off it. I was almost done when Simonetta came down the path as well. As we finished taking it all down, the rain stopped.

“Oh well.” She huffed. “How much of it was dry?”

“Most of it was, the towels and jeans are a little damp still.”

“Ah, we’ll just throw them in the dryer then.” Most days she throws the towels in the dryer anyway, even if they are dry, to “fluff them up”. “I know you have tomorrow off, but you’ll do the chickens in the morning?”

I smiled and nodded. If I didn’t have somewhere to be first thing in the morning, I didn’t have a problem being helpful. It’s not like she ever gets a day off.

“I forgot to ask, how much chicken food do we have left?”

“No bags, some in the bins.”

“Ah. Ok, just be… careful, about how much you feed them tomorrow, from the bins. Make it last.”

I was woken in the night by the sound of something on the roof… something bigger than mice. I shrugged it off, but I was roused again by a POP!

I sat up. No fireworks out here. I haven’t heard thunder either. Those were gunshots.

Well… farmers often have guns. Gary supposedly has one. For rogue dogs, or cats, or possums. Probably nothing to worry about…

It took a long time to fall asleep again.

Tuesday… the day to escape from the underfed chickens.

I got up and out early. If I was in and out before their usual breakfast time, they might not realize I hadn’t given them the usual amount.

I gave them a scoop and a half. Usually they get two. The food at the bottom of the bin was compacted and visibly moldy, and had probably been there for too long. I started the water running in the water dishes, then ran into the coop and grabbed the eggs that were in the nestbox. Usually I’d hunt around the place, they don’t always lay in the box. Sometimes I’ll find an egg one of them just laid in the middle of the yard for some reason! But since I would be letting them out, I could come back and search later. Once the water dishes were full, I grabbed the bin for the food and dragged it out with me while they were still pecking away.

That made my job slightly easier for the middle pen; I could just lob some feed over the fence, and let myself in while they were occupied. I threw the bin into the corner – they could dig the food out themselves and save me giving myself some exotic New Zealand mold disease. Grabbed the eggs from the coop and went into the third pen, where the water for both is located. I gave them a scoop and a half as well, and dumped the rest of the feed in that bin into the middle pen. Roughly even.

I grabbed the eggs from the third pen while the water was running. I put the tray of eggs down so I could pick up the bucket of water, and they struck!

I never worry about putting the eggs down, cuz obviously we leave them unattended in the coop all the time. Occasionally a chicken will knock an egg or two out, but that’s it. Today, there was a cracked egg in the middle of the tray, and they absolutely went to town on it! I could only watch, horrified, and hope they didn’t eat the rest of the eggs, which they didn’t. I guess they realized they weren’t getting any more feed and it smelled like food.

When I went into the house with the eggs, Simonetta hadn’t left yet. She put a jar in my hands labelled “plum jam”.

“Wait… these plums? From here?” I exclaimed.

“Yes.” She smiled.

She has quite a few fruit trees around the property and makes her own preserves. Supposedly the tree with the little plums hasn’t borne fruit for a few years, but this year there are small green plums growing on the branches!

Oh, what a gift! There must be precious little of this left! I could have hugged her but that might be awkward.

I hung around ’til noon. You don’t want to let the chickens out too early – according to Simonetta, they lay around 10 – but I didn’t want to waste the day either. Around noon, I made myself some lunch and let the chickens out.

Chickens are odd creatures. Despite the fact I obviously had no feed on me, every time I tried to step into the pen they’d come swarming back like a nightmare, thinking I brought food!

I had to grab the eggs, however. Luigi loves eggs, for some reason. Protein? The crunch as he breaks the shell? How naughty it feels to steal them from the nest box? Unknown. I managed to walk him most of the way to his kennel to lock him up, but once he realized where we were going he threw himself down on the ground. When I reached for his collar he bared his teeth at me, and it wasn’t worth losing a finger. I walked him back up to the front of the house, then I went in to grab all the eggs.

I brought a pair of scissors with me. We usually cut the empty feed bags in half and use them to line the nest boxes, and the dirty bags end up in a pile. I cut up most of the bags and left myself a neat stack of halves, then shoved all the dirty bags into an intact bag and hauled it outside and shoved it into the garbage bin.

All the eggs cartons had left with Simonetta, so I just left the eggs on the counter in their trays.

That done, I hopped on the bike and away I went.

I had a plan to go to Methven, mail my postcards, grab my Metamucil and then head down to Washpen falls for the hike.

I didn’t make it far down the road when trouble struck. I’m used to it being windy – the sign calling the nor’easter a taniwha is accurate, because it feels like a demon summoned to whirl you away! But I felt unsteady on the bike and that was new…

Wobble…

Wobble wobble…

A violent, sudden crossbreeze grabbed the front of the bike and threw it towards the deep gravel at the edge of the road. I was unprepared for it and lost control, the front end of the bike sliding away from me. I ended up in the long grass on the side of the road.

Ow.

My other falls had barely left bruises on my knees. This one was severe enough to tear both my jeans and the skin above my knee.

Well, that’s new.

What happened? Was it just the gravel and the wind together? Was the wind really that strong today? I feel like I must be burning through my nine lives of not hurting myself when I fall and at some point I’m going to really injure myself.

I pushed the bike back into the middle, most cleared part of the road and started off again. Usually, the closer I get to Methven the more the wind calms down.

It did not. Even once I was out onto the paved road, the wind continued to bully me, shoving my bike back and forth across my lane. I pulled over and checked the weather report, but I had no idea what the numbers for the wind meant.

Well.. I can survive without Metamucil, it just won’t be comfortable. I turned around and headed home.

As I pulled into the driveway, Gary was outside. “Aren’t you supposed to be grabbing your sister from the airport?” I asked.

“Cancelled all the flights for Christchurch. Too windy.” He says, nodding at my bike.

Really? Ok, so it wasn’t just me. Note to self; check the wind report before heading out on the bike.

I made myself a snack of toast and the plum jam. It was every bit as sweet and rich as promised. It was hard to resist having some more, but this must be rationed.

Gary left. The wifi was misbehaving and I went inside the staff kitchen for a better connection, since no one was home. I chatted with Jeremy for an hour before I had a sense I was needed, and I went outside. Simonetta pulled up just then with a car full of groceries and I helped her unpack them.

“You’re back early.” I commented.

“The wind out there is absolutely mad today!” She went off to list how her day had been. I grew concerned as I cast around and didn’t see any chicken feed.

“Did… you grab chicken food?” I asked.

She froze. “Oh no! That’s what I forgot! And it’s too late, the store will be closed now.” She collapsed, head in her arms, on the counter.

“Well, the chickens are out now, and I’ve gathered all the eggs, so we don’t need to do anything with them tomorrow…”

“Ah, you did? Smart thinking. One day without food won’t hurt them, then.” She started busying herself around the kitchen.

Later on, she came by and knocked on my door.

“Since Gary’s sister won’t be here tonight, we won’t be going out and dinner will be at the normal time.”

“Ok!”

The fire was hard to start that night. Strong wind changes the air pressure in the chimney.

Dinner was the usual. Gary must have been feeling festive, because he broke out the ice cream. He garnished it with some peaches from a jar, called black peaches, with dark purple flesh. They were yummy and slightly denser than regular peaches.

The chickens head back to their coops for the night automatically, so after dinner I went to close up the gates. As I went to close the third gate, I came face to face with the denizen of the Canterbury plains… a possum!

I heard a skittering above me, on the stable roof. I glanced up as an automatic reflex, even though my brain told me it was a squirrel. Except there are no North American-type squirrels here, that I’ve seen. Instead, a shadow loomed over me – the size and shape of the largest racoon I’d ever seen! I shrieked as it fell to the ground in front of me, and then my brain clicked. It’s a possum.

They aren’t like North American possums, with their little rat faces and tendency to play dead. These things are more like lemurs, or racoons with prehensile tails. They were brought by the Limeys and are considered a pest cuz they breed a lot, and they spread tuberculosis. Most farmers shoot them on sight – they also steal chicken eggs.

It hadn’t intended to attack me, however. It appeared to have just fallen off the roof. They aren’t very smart.

A minute later, there was a barking and something bumped into my leg as the possum hightailed it. My shriek had summoned Luigi to my defense. I gave him a belly rub for his prompt, heroic response.

When I was brushing my teeth before bed, I noticed the right side of my jaw hurt and I was spitting out mouthfuls of blood. The tumors? But it shouldn’t have done anything exciting that quickly. Did I smash my mouth when I fell? Or maybe I finally got sick from all the mouse and chicken poop I had to be accidentally ingesting.

I’d brush more often and rinse with warm salt water and see if that made a difference within 2 weeks, before I rushed to try my travel insurance.

The wind undid a lot of my work! It blew down both the fence I’d fixed and the garage netting. The empty feed and garbage bins were blown all over the place.

Since I had no feed for the chickens, I sat in my cabin until 9 and then went into the staff kitchen. I brought a tea with me and washed and sorted the eggs into the cartons that Simonetta had brought back until she made an appearance.

“Could I get your help with something?” She asked.

“Sure!”

She led me into the dining room, where a large piece of yellow brocade patterned with red and blue flowers was stretched across the giant dining table. She asked me for my opinions on a few plans she had to use the material, not knowing I was a seamstress, and to help her move it around and straighten it out to measure – there was 8 meters of it.

“It seems to be holding on to the shape of the roll… How long have you had it?” I commented.

“As long as I’ve been here.” She said breezily.

“What… 20 years?”

“Twenty-two.” She nodded, looking away. “I have a lot of projects I haven’t been able to find time to work on.”

Gary stuck his head in. “I’ve got your darn chicken feed!”

“Thank you!” She said. “Since his sister had to take a different flight, I asked him to pick some up. Be careful, it’ll be a heavy bag.”

I’ll say. It was 20 kilograms. But then, I’m stronger than I used to be. I couldn’t quite sling it over my shoulder, but I was pleased with how easy carrying it felt.

I grabbed a bucket and did a loop. 2 and a half scoops into the first pen, since they were underfed yesterday. Same for the third pen. It was hard to gauge for the middle pen, since I usually give them most of a 10 kg bag, but I eyeballed how much I usually fill the dishes and spread on the ground.

For lunch Gary pan-fried some sausages. I guess he was starting to feel all of us teasing him, because ostensibly he’s supposed to cook dinner once a week, but he hasn’t cooked it once since I’ve been here! He took umbrage with me and Ethan calling them sausages and the small round hashbrowns “tater tots”. “They’re Cheerios!”

Me and Ethan glanced at each other, no doubt thinking the same thing; they’re cocktail sausages. Cheerios are breakfast cereal!

“I know what tater tots are! I’ve seen that movie.” Regan says.

“Napoleon Dynamite?” I offered, as the first movie that popped into my head involving tater tots.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I’ve never seen it.” Gary says.

“No, it’s a little warped.” Regan replies.

“Guess we know what you two’s sense of humor is.” Gary laughs.

Is Napoleon Dynamite warped? It’s certainly very American, very 90’s. I can’t even say I liked it, although I do appreciate the dance number.

One of my carpentry-like tasks today was to hammer down all the staples from when they pulled up the carpet in the unfinished bedroom. I brought a cat’s paw and a bucket with me to pull them up originally, but then I realized they were too twisted to get a good grip on, so I changed my plan. Are you supposed to pull up staples or hammer them back in? I have no idea and neither did anyone else.

When I was called back into the dining room later, the fabric had been cut. “I’ve been brave!” She said. “Can you help me clean this room up? We’ll be having dinner in here tomorrow.”

Since Gary’s sister was finally here, me and Ethan were on our own for dinner, not that I was worried. I grabbed a couple packs of ramen (they were only 200 calories) and a couple of the eggs that were too large to fit in the egg cartons. Since my gas hob is technically fixed, I could have fried them, but I have no idea how to use that thing and I’m not in a hurry to learn. I know how to poach an egg in a microwave, which is important to know if you’re ever stuck living in a hotel. All you need is a microwave-proof bowl around the same volume as the egg, and something to cover it with. Stab the yoke a bunch to break it, then add a little bit of water to the bowl – maybe a teaspoon – and some salt and pepper. Cover the bowl and microwave it on 50-70% power for a minute. Tada, cooked eggs!

Simonetta told me the eggs get bigger the longer the chicken has been alive, so the biggest eggs are from the chickens before they are too old to lay. I wonder if the reason they stop laying is because the eggs gets too big to be laid, and they get stopped up.

I cracked the egg into the bowl and out came two yokes! How odd! Are all the big eggs like that, or was it odd luck?

Simple as it was, it was nice to cozy up by the fire in my pjs, without having to put clothes on and stomp across the cold yard in the dark for dinner.

Thursday I was awoken by the sound of the nail gun punching through the roof.

Well, not quite. I was technically awake, but laying in bed watching the sun rise through the curtains as I psyched myself up to brave the chilly morning air. It was the coldest night in a week. Thursday was a day I had asked off, because the Soroptimist meeting in Thunder Bay was happening. The tradies get here around 7 and apparently went right to work on the roof, without even knocking on the door as a courtesy.

The chicken feed had been delivered, so I grabbed a bag off the side-by-side and fed them.

“Could you put the bags in the coop?” Ethan asked.

“I’ll do it later, when I let them out.” Not like it’s my day off or anything, and you get paid!

He nodded.

Gary was redoing the gravel on the driveway. Oh joy.

“I swear you are trying to kill me!” I yelled at him as he made another pass with the tractor.

“No doing wheelies on my fresh shingle!” He called back. I guess shingle is what they call gravel?

The meeting didn’t start ’til 12:30 and went ’til 2:30. I was bouncing in my seat by the end – the last entry for the Washpen falls hike is at 4! I had a choice to make; go to Washpen falls and risk the post office being closed, or go to the post office first and risk Washpen being closed? I chose the post office, and made it down the freshly laid gravel without incident.

I realized what triggers me about the gorge road. It’s like a roller coaster, except instead of being securely attached to rails that have been extensively tested and engineered, there’s just crazy ol’ me and my tiny little bike. Hoping I don’t throw myself off the edge, or get knocked off by a car driver, impatient that I can’t whip around the corners fast like them.

I sent my postcards, then went to the grocery store. There wasn’t any Metamucil there, so away to a pharmacy. They had a single bottle of capsules behind the counter, and it was 40 NZD! That’s even more than the cost in Canada, because the bottles in Canada have 160 caps and this one was only 100.

I need a job that pays me money. If I was gonna be forking out 40 bucks every 6 days and change, I’d be burning it fast. I could put myself down to 9 a day instead of 15, but that would still be 40 every 10 days.

It was quarter to 4 by the time I left. I decided I wouldn’t be able to make Washpen falls and went directly home instead.

Dinner would be odd today. Gary’s family would be here, and I wasn’t sure what that meant for me and Ethan. Eating alone in the staff kitchen? Eating in the dinning room with them, and sent away after?

The kids were still outside tearing around in the side-by-side at dinner time. I put on nice clothes and wandered over to the staff entrance. Ethan was seated on the couch with a beer. A woman with short grey hair waved me in and gestured for me to sit next to him.

“Gary tell me that’s your bike outside.”

I nodded. It had been uncovered to cool off when she got here.

“I used to ride, too.” She smiled. “Before I moved to Australia.”

“Whaddya drink?” A man in a t-shirt and shorts, seated on the opposite couch, asked. “Beer? Jim Beam?”

“Jim Beam?”

“Whiskey.” Ethan rescued me.

“Ah, that one!”

I was handed a small can of Jim Beam pre-mixed with cola. It was alright. The cola was what made me nervous – three days with no Metamucil, let’s top it off with canned gas!

“It’s not Crown, eh?” Ethan asked.

“How’d you know I like Crown? How do you even know what Crown is?”

“It’s Canadian, and I like it too.” He said, surprising me. I would have thought a red-blooded American drinks American whisky!

We sat around chatting for about half an hour, until Simonetta said dinner was ready. She had whipped up a spread of garden salad, potato salad, some sort of pie that definitely wasn’t a quiche but had a top and a bottom layer of flaky crust with eggs and ham in the middle, and a frittata.

The little girl – Mackenzie – was struggling to reach the potato salad in the middle of the island. I offered to scoop some for her and immediately became her best friend.

We grabbed the food from the kitchen island and went to the big dinning room, which was stone cold. Gary is usually in charge of heat, because Simonetta is perpetually too hot – not giving me a fire the first night was something she comes by honestly. He forgot to light the fire in the dinning room and it didn’t occur to Simonetta, so we ate while frozen in our seats.

I staved off eating for a few minutes longer. I try to avoid starting until Simonetta has sat down, because she’ll fuss around the kitchen forever unless reminded to eat. Gary and his sister kept bothering me for it until I gave up and started eating just so they’d stop.

“Y’know, one of us has to make sure she actually eats something.” I said pointedly.

Not to be rude to the family – they were all very nice people – but she was worrying far too much when she probably could have thrown a pizza in the oven and made them happy. Hell, they had shown up with at least 3 cases of beer and one case of Jim Beam cola. We had a pleasant dinner, in my opinion, they were interesting to talk to, and it’s nice to let your hair down every once in a while.

After dinner, it was suggested we have dessert “in the warm room” so we all hustled back to the staff kitchen with the toasty fire. I cleared and sorted the plates into the dishwasher while Simonetta whipped some fresh cream and ladled it onto plates with some lemon torte. Everyone settled onto the couches with their beers while me and her sat at the staff table.

“You and me, Lucy, at the staff table like the kitchen help we are.” She said forlornly into a glass of prosecco.

It’s funny cuz I can see both sides. I can see why she looks down on them as rednecks, and I can see why they look down on her as too posh. I just don’t understand why they can’t meet in the middle!

Mackenzie, having apparently decided that she rather likes me, sat with us. She told me all about the drama in her family before having a conversation, mostly with herself in the way that kids do, about whether she’s a dog or a cat person.

Eventually I drifted couchward and forced Simonetta to come with me and socialize. Ethan was into his fourth beer and I wondered if anyone would get drunk enough to do something hilarious (sadly not, but probably for the best). I only got the one can of Jim Beam, which made me a little sad. Sitting around a roaring fire with some good company and a belly full of cheap whiskey is a good waste of an evening.

Eventually it was time to call it a night, and I headed back to my small cabin where the fire had burned itself out as I hadn’t anticipated being gone for 4 hours, and I couldn’t be bothered to light it again. I just buried myself under the covers