If you’re unfamiliar with this West Virginia based cryptid, take a moment to explore the virtual version of the museum. Mothman hangs in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, and is tied to multiple sightings, omens, and a bridge collapse.
Fortunately, the one open antique store was right beside the trading post full of all your cryptid needs including Bigfoot and the Flatwoods Monster, another West Virginia resident. We didn’t buy any old dusty items, but I did purchase some festive mothy things. We did not venture into the adjacent museum. Another trip perhaps.
Point Pleasant also hosts a Mothman Festival that has been on my radar for a while now. I’m guessing it’s a big moneymaker for a small river town. What better draw than a winged creature with, as Heather from Sinisterhood podcast has pointed out, a very juicy booty.
After years of seeing metro park posts about skunk cabbage, one of the first spring wildflowers,I finally got to see some live and in person.
The ones that ABBF and I found were partially submerged in a swampy area. Their glorious lime and dark purple fashion choices were still vibrant and I could see the funky inner spadix.
Apparently skunk cabbage creates its own heat which helps it bloom in cold weather and can also entice bugs looking for a cozy hideaway. The putrid skunk smell also pulls in the bugs, and was the other reason I wanted to see one.
The swampy area was accessible via a boardwalk, and unfortunately, all of the skunk cabbages were at least a foot away from the boardwalk. Makes sniffin’ hard.
So I made a choice that is probably along the lines of why the National Park Service has to put up signs stating to not to pet the fluffy buffalos. I asked ABBF to hold my hat and glasses, laid down on the boardwalk, gripped the edge, and stuck my nose in a skunk cabbage. ABBF did not take a picture because he was convinced that he would have to rescue me. However my sweet yoga energy saved me from face planting into the few inches of swamp water and muck. (Actually my ass end is the far heavier end and it was firmly planted on the boardwalk.)
Unfortunately, I did not get that sweet, sweet, putrid skunk stank just musty water and rotting leaves. Some online sources suggested that you have to bruise the leaves to get the stink, but my stronger suspicion is that the water was blocking the smell.
Having five cats definitely contributes to being a homebody. Very few things are more appealing than napping under cats or reading with a cat on my lap. However I do enjoy a good purposeful road trip where you have an interesting something awaiting you. Please direct me to your world’s largest ball of twine. Therefore an adventure to Arkansas to dig for quartz crystals after seeing a post of a favorite jewelry artisan LilyinFlux doing the same, made sense. Adventure Buddy Boyfriend loves geology and was immediately on board.
Fortunately, the Loveless Cafe outside of Nashville made a yummy late lunch sort of halfway point stop. Biscuits and catfish, y’all. Unfortunately, this was the halfway point of an 11-12 hour drive which ABBF thought would be a snap. I knew in my heart and can now confirm that I can no longer tolerant that long in the car. Six hours might be a reasonable max for a long day, but you absolutely lose me and my mind at around 8 hours. Add driving in the dark and I’m just anxious and useless. I spent the last two hours in the passenger seat reporting on armadillo facts and other random things. There are armadillos in Arkansas; we saw plenty of armadillo roadkill, but no live ones.
We hit Hot Springs, Arkansas, around 11:30 pm. There was no one, but us sitting at the intersection until a buck came running up the cross street and hung a left. Welcome to town.
Research had indicated that the Crystal Loop was west of Hot Springs and that the tiny town of Mount Ida had a number of spots for digging. Our first stop called Crystal Vista was a free dig -your -own scenario. You just had to hike up a mountain to do it. It was a very straightforward dirt and rock trail, but it was absolutely uphill the whole 1.6 miles. As soon as I shouldered my backpack, the humidity weighed me down. I was prepared for summer temperatures, but the humidity made it tough. At least one morning on this trip, I woke up nauseated with a splitting headache like I had been on a bender. Zero alcohol. Just dehydrated from existing.
However the hike up gave me plenty of opportunities to stop, try to breath, and stare at the ground where there were the occasional tiny baby crystal on the trail.
We lasted about 3 hours before heat, a lack of significant finds, and a hunger for lunch beyond granola bars sent us back down. It was as advertised: a rocky vista. There was plenty of nature to sit and look at in between turning over rocks and playing in dirt. ABBF made a new bestie. Jeffrey defected from his group of scouts? – Cousins?Church group? The details are hazy- to come chat with ABBF. Jeffrey described himself as a more science minded person and when I overheard him give ABBF a “well actually…”, I knew they deserved each other. Someone in his group, of course, found a really amazing large crystal point.
Our next dig day was at Wegner Crystal Mines. We had driven by this location and other local tourism mines on the way to Crystal Vista. For a fee, they threw about 15 people into a truck bed with benches and drove what felt like full tilt but probably wasn’t up a very bumpy mountain road to the active mine dig. We were delayed from going up an hour by a storm that rolled in with lightning and heavy rain. It turned out to be a good thing. As our guide pointed out, the rain washed off a layer of dirt exposing rocks and crystals. It was also easier to dig in wet mud.
We left covered in red mud, every pocket and a giant blue Lowes bucket stuffed with rocks. We ended the day by purchasing two geodes from the rock shop. ABBF proposed that we each pick out a geode, have them opened, and then trade halves as a souvenir of day. He’s so pretty. He also listened to the rock shop lady.
When choosing geodes, you want to choose the lighter rock. The lighter rock is more likely to be hollow and sparkly inside. I obstinately stuck to my choice because I was certain the pink color on the outside would show up on the inside. I got a solid geode; he got hollow and sparkly. Not sure what that says about our personalities.
It was all we could do not to turn our rental’s white tiled kitchen into a red mud mess. It was so exciting to clean our finds. We limited ourselves to unpacking our immediate pockets for soaking in the sink. Once home, I spent weeks soaking quartz and picking red mud out of the crevices.
Because we hadn’t played in enough mud, our next stop was Crater of Diamonds State Park where there is the tiniest chance that you might find a diamond in the diamond fields. It was raining, mud covered and crowded at the tables where you could strain and sort your finds. The visitors ranged from the ultra conservative, thankfully retired science teacher who had nothing nice to say about anyone different from himself (read that for all the “snowflake hating” and racism it implies) and had chosen to spend his retirement mining with a season pass to tourists like ourselves, but armed with crying children. It was a nasty day out in the fields, but the rode hard, put away wet look of some miners suggested that finding a diamond was their last hope.
It was a neat experience to put on my list of destinations with odd purposes, but I think we both tired of being damp and muddy. We reassessed and headed for Texarkana to find Burt Reynolds.
Leaving Arkansas with buckets of crystals and bags to-be-determined rocks, we plotted a today course, heading to the Missouri Institute of Natural Science. It is a large open space dominated by Henry the triceratops who is slowly being restored using 3D printing. There were cabinets of all manner of specimens. This was the place with a coprolite display in one bathroom.
Their “about story” is pretty amazing. On 9/11 construction crews were told to cease all explosive work. However already loaded charges had to be detonated. The explosion revealed an unknown cave system full of artifacts. Screeching halt and a museum was born.
On one of the cabinets was a sign that said “Ask about fossil hunting”; ABBF lit up. I gave him the fine go ask your new bestie the museum guy. Guess he forgot about Jeffrey already.
A half mile hike from the edge of the parking lot was an outcropping with tons of fossils. We did not find any loose ones, but the ones we could see embedded were very cool. And here I was thinking I wasn’t getting sweaty for a day. We also walked the Springfield Botanical Gardens so much sweating was had. If you’re roadtripping to Springfield, Missouri, I would recommend both stops.
That seemed to be the end of looking at rocks. The next day was a longish drive day.
However when LilyinFlux later posted the jewelry she made from digging in Mt. Ida, I had to have it as a fancy Arkansas souvenir. Just looking at the rock, ma’am.
It took a while to soak, scrub, and pick red dirt out of my treasures. I had a fair amount and offered some to friends, urging them to take a few because I wasn’t sure what to do with them. A yoga buddy with a geology degree geeked out over them. “YOU PUT THEM EVERYWHERE. HOLD YOUR BOOKS UP WITH THEM. PUT THEM ON ALL YOUR SHELVES!” she enthused while stuffing crystals into her fanny pack. She was right.
Turtles make bad choices like the rest of us. Fortunately for at least four turtles in the Arkansas and Illinois area, the ABBF and I are willing to stop for them.
We were out on rural roads for rock looking purposes so it made sense to see our turtle friends. However their choices of road crossing locations was baffling. In 3 of the 4 cases, the turtles chose curves in the road to cross, giving drivers very little time to stop and making assistance just a bit more hazardous. ABBF took the first one. I got number two, but ABBF did not document. We absolutely took them in the direction they were pointed.
Angry over the line turtle.
Turtle 3 was surly. It had made it to the line and intended to camp there. It was so unhappy with my help, that it ran under the car as soon as I touched it. Turtles can high tail it when they want to. I had to slowly move the car forward as ABBF herded a turtle.
It was the last and tiniest of the turtles that made us think about the mythology that must emerge in a turtle community. When ABBF picked up this chubby ‘ittlesnapper, who was crossing at the entrance to a gas station, it just closed its eyes.
Imagine this turtle making it successfully to its turtle goal only to tell its turtle brethren of how it flew. Surely other turtles who have not made the road crossing will gather around wide eyed at the tale of the creature that came from the sky and bore the wayward turtle aloft. Somewhat addled turtles who survived being hockey pucks under car tires might scoff, but enough of the elders who had also flown should be enough to help sustain the legends.
I did not go into a recent trip intending to document bathroom oddities, but given the frequency with which I pee, seeing some weird shit (See what I did there?!) was inevitable. By the end of 7 days on the road, I found that I had a number of pit stops in my camera roll. I now regret not documenting my first pee break barely an hour in where the gas station had used folding accordion style doors to delineate the two stalls. This bathroom had a lot of issues: the toilet that wasn’t secured to the floor, the panties peeking out from the trash, the non handicap stall where you were supposed to straddle a trash can to get to the toilet, but those accordion doors. Damn. Fortunately, my bathroom finds do not revolve around filth and disarray. Most prompt a more philosophical, “Why?”
My first submission for perusal comes from a tiny cafe in a tiny town in Arkansas, our target state. I would say the name, but it was such a small town that I fear someone’s feelings would be hurt. Not that big towns don’t have feelings, but this was literally one of possibly two maybe three places to get a full meal. I have no complaints. We had subsisted on granola bars that morning for our hike up a mountain to look at rocks (more on that in a later post) and were filthy, probably smelly, hungry people. The cafe was decorated with lots of antique tools and taxidermy-I feel it-, the food was good, and our server was quick and very kind. I made a pre-meal attempt to wash the dirt off my hands which lead me to corrugated tin walls and what I thought was a tiny rifle resting in the skull’s antlers. No worries, it was a straw broom.
The bee painting???
Returning to our table, I sent Adventure Buddy Boyfriend (ABBF) off to wash up and report back on decor. He said there were a few signs and tools but did not offer photographic evidence. He’s not a picture taker and probably did not see the potential interest.
So he’s not a picture taker and about half the time, my phone refuses to send his phone pictures and sometimes even texts. My phone does not understand that when you’ve discovered a gas station with a bidet, you need to tell someone about it! He got the text like an hour later.
SQRL would have been my new favorite, and I was really hoping for a clothing line, based solely on my strong feelings for squirrels. However throw in the terrifying concept of a gas station bidet and it becomes an unstoppable chart topper. Do all SQRL’s have bidets or did we wander into the fanciest one in Arkansas? Fancy or not, I was too scared to try it out. I envisioned myself exiting the bathroom soaked and bedraggled. It was also worrisome that the Stop button had been pressed so frequently that it had to be relabeled. Upon a return stop a few days later, I found that someone had activated the heated seat. It was not the “oh someone sat here for a while warm” but actively heated. It made my insides clench up even though I had to pee.
Having to pee is how I found myself in a coffee shop bathroom in Texarkana, contemplating whether or not government issued toilet paper is really a thing. Apparently you need to label your TP textures. This sort of tracks because during Teacher Appreciation Week, the PTA decks out the staff bathrooms with mini toothpastes, mints, scented soap, and SOFT toilet paper.
Side note: Texarkana was only an hour away from our activity location that day and the allure of standing in two states at once was just too much. Plus Texarkana always makes me think of Smokey and the Bandit, but I’m sad to report that there was not a statue of Burt Reynolds in front of the courthouse. Also it might be a lovely place, but our exit into town took us down a LONG road of pawnshops, gunshops, cash today stops, and smoke stores. We were both like “mistakes have been made” and NOPED out of there after a pee/snack break and dual state existence.
The “second most photographed courthouse” according to the internet.
The next day, I added another state to my toiletry tour at the Missouri Institute of Natural Science in Springfield, Missouri. One blessedly air conditioned bathroom featured a black light and a display of rocks and fossils that have bioluminescence. ABBF and I then traded bathrooms because the other housed a display of coprolites which is fossilized poo! That was definitely my new fact of the day and certainly a fossil perspective I had never considered.
Missouri also enthusiastically offered up this gem at a late night rest area. I tried it, but I cannot say that I had any particularly strong feelings about it one way or the other. I was mostly happy to not be murdered at a deserted rest area.
A discussion on toilet oddities would not be complete without thinking about Uranus. I knew Uranus, Missouri ,and all of its bad puns existed, but I did not realize we would be going by it. Sadly, Uranus looked shut down for the day and we still had two hours to go. Exploring Uranus could be an interesting future adventure.
Visiting Key West and specifically the Hemingway House and its 6-toed cats has been on my to-do list for several years. Thanks to some impulsive planning, I landed there in mid-October surrounded by feral roosters, invasive iguanas, Adventure Buddy, and OG Adventure Buddy. It turns out that AB and OGAB really like each other-I have a type, I guess. Fortunately they were mostly on board with my game plan of grabbing as many 6-toed cats as possible, stuffing them in a carry-on and heading home.
The Hemingway House
We started our Hemingway Day at Blue Heaven for their breakfast special: bacon, tomato, and lobster omelets. It’s a beautiful tree and rooster filled courtyard with an atmosphere that suggests you could sip Bloody Marys there all day while listening to live music. We went back the next day as well. It also turns out that Blue Heaven used to be the location of the bordello that Hemingway’s wife Pauline donated his regulation sized boxing ring to so she could build Key West’s first in-ground pool while he was off presumably cheating on her with soon to be wife number 3. Let’s be real. If Ernie was alive today, he would be so cancelled by everyone. But he really liked cats so….
Blue Heaven
During our tour we learned that his first 6-toed cat was named Snow White and that Hemingway just let her go do her thing which led to more 6-toed cats. All the cats on the property have the genetic potential to pass on the 6-toed gene whether they are displaying the trait or not.
Snow White with some Hemingway offspring.
Hemingway enjoyed naming his cats after celebrities and contemporaries as a joke. The museum has continued in that tradition which is why I got to pet Daisy Buchanan! During our tour of the house, our guide referred to the bed in the master bedroom as “Billy’s bed” because that is the name of the cat who sleeps there so frequently that he has made a cat-sized indentation. However during our tour, Daisy Buchanan was using the cat dent; she was not there crying over the most beautiful shirts (Chapter 5, people.) However, she was really over me taking selfies. The stars aligned for sure! It was Gatsby time in English 11, so I was extra excited to see her; and I absolutely showed them photos of Daisy when I got back to school. They were as impressed as she was.
Daisy Buchanan cannot be bothered.
Our guide also chose that stop to mention that since the house is a protected historical site, the cats are registered and protected by the federal government. She said that more people would show up to look for a missing cat than if she went missing. There went my cat-napping plans. Had my plans moved forward, I absolutely would have gone for some of the recently released juveniles. Most of the adult cats ignored visitors, and begrudgingly accepted pets and attention. However the new kids were all about exploring, playing, and making friends.
They had been recently given free reign after getting acclimated in the cat kennel which is a replica of Hemingway’s house.
During the gardens part of the tour, we learned that the fountain in the garden was made from a urinal trough that Hemingway carted home from the original Sloppy Joe’s location when it moved. He just wanted his cats to have a nice spot to drink. Love his yard art aesthetic! His fashion editor wife was not a fan and added the tile work and giant urn to hide the urinal-ness of it all.
Since getting sloppy at Sloppy Joe’s was a Hemingway way of life, we were also told that he used the Key West lighthouse, a block over from his home, as beacon to stumble back to the house. We ventured up the lighthouse’s narrow spiral staircase and out on to the platform the next day. I did not die, but might have had concerns.
At Sloppy Joe’s on Duval.As seen on a tree on Duval Street. “Hemingway pissed here.”
I’m not sure if we saw, petted, and photographed all 59 cats, but between the three of us we tried our darnedest. We even witnessed a potential cat versus iguana showdown in a tree. The cat seemed very intrigued, but the iguana made moves to exit the situation.
My crowning glory and final act as a Hemingway Home visitor was to poop in his pool house. I absolutely texted my English department about it: “You guys! Guess what I’m doing!” As I sat there contemplating what a really good breakfast, coffee, and Bloody Mary will do to my internal system, I had to happily note that the toilet paper comes with claw marks.
The danger of saying, “Wouldn’t it be fun if …” to me is that occasionally I will act on the idea which is what happened over breakfast on a visit to MomBert’s. We were most likely looking at an issue of Birds & Blooms when MomBert suggested that it would be fun to see a large group of migrating Sandhill Cranes. I knew that the biggest group gathered in Nebraska which was not a reasonable trip for us. However within a 5 hour drive, groups of cranes stopped over on their way to Florida at the Jasper-Pulaski Fish and Wildlife Area in Indiana. The DNR’s website posted yearly counts of the cranes which tended to peak in the thousands at mid to late November.
We planned for the weekend of November 12-13. As we got closer to the date, the crane count did not look promising. The site indicated that flooded fields had caused the cranes to spread out, impacting the count. An additional article suggested that warming temperatures caused the birds “to procrastinate” in their migration. Thanks, climate change. Regardless, we had a hotel room, I had a personal day scheduled, and the adventure was on.
We started off in sunlight (sounds like the opening line to a weird novel), but entered an alternate universe of gloom, rain, and eventually sleet about two hours from Jasper-Pulaski. The goal was to get to the viewing area an hour before sunset when the cranes returned to the field for the night, drive almost another hour to the closest hotel I could book, and rinse repeat the process in reverse at sunrise. The drive was tedious highways and eventually confusing country roads that made us question the wisdom of the GPS.
Crossing a time zone yards away from our destination made the car panic, and made us have a conversation about what sunset timing might mean. The time space continuum means little in the middle of a field.
The middle of a field also means the lack of a “formal” bathroom. When I researched the area, information had indicated there were porta johns in the parking lot. However we were in the parking lot with nary a pottie in sight. I headed for the trees, got paranoid, and doubled back to basically mark the front tire of my car. IT’S MY CAR NOW! (For future adventurers, the porta johns are beside the tower in the parking lot with handicapped spaces. It’s only a short walk on a path through the trees.)
We could hear the cranes and were starting to see small groupings flying our way, so we did our best to bundle up and hustle to the viewing tower. In anticipation of the birds being far away, I had borrowed a camera with a long lense from the photo teacher at school. I also had my regular camera, binoculars, and my phone. It was a bit much, but this was our opportunity. We thought we were prepared.
When we left that morning, we were aware that it was November and that it might be chilly. However we had not fully realized the level of “chilly” we’d be facing. It was cold and windy on the ground, but standing on the viewing platform about a story up intensified everything immediately. The was nothing to block the wind other than turning our backs to it which meant turning our backs to the birds. While I had practiced with the larger camera and manipulating the settings, I lost feeling in my fingers quickly and had to hope for the best.
You’ll want to turn on the sound for the videos in order to hear the cranes calling as they come in, but you’ll also be able to hear the fierce wind and the ice ticking off of everything. You may also hear the resident “bird guy.” I’ve encountered “bird people” at home. They terribly friendly and want to tell you all that they know and have experienced. It is at once useful and overbearing. He told tales of seeing the field full of cranes up to the platform some years, and explained their schedule to the people around him. I tried to listen over the wind as I took photos and attempted to get feeling back into my fingers.
I love the symmetry of their landing.
You can also hear MomBert whisper, “Look way back there” as small flock after flock came in from where they had foraged throughout the day. The small groups that we had seen coming in while in the parking lot, became more consistent as sunset closed in. We were physically frozen and maybe a little miserable, but emotionally in awe of the birds.
The birds kept coming in in the increasing levels of snow and darkness. By the time we got back to the car, we had to clear all the windows. (Also despite, a myriad of open spaces, someone had parked right beside us and most likely stomped in my pee puddle. They are mine now as well.)
The next morning we got up way too early to make the 45 minute drive back to the viewing tower before sunrise. Once we got away from the town and hotel, it was pitch black except for an ominous pink glow on the clouds ahead of us. The glow turned out to be some manner of factory or greenhouse whose lights were reflecting on the low cloud cover. Every driver I passed flashed their lights at me which must be a rural Indiana code for something because I swear I was not driving at them with my brights on.
We crossed the time zone to confuse my car one more time and then hit the parking lot. Having learned from yesterday’s frozen adventure, we suited up with extra layers by pulling our flannel pjs over our other pants. Work with what you’ve got. In the dim light of dawn, we could hear the cranes rallying.
This photo says, “TOO EARLY! TOO COLD!” Roughly 6:28 a.m. depending on which time zone my phone noted.
I had assumed that the cranes would start breaking off from the group to start their days, or that there would be some tangible warning before they departed. However one moment I was messing with the camera, and in the next moment they collectively spread their wings in a wall of slivery gray feathers and took off together.
This is my panicked photo of that moment.
We gasped. It was an astounding coordinated movement. The entire flock began circling the field and edging over the viewing tower area as they worked towards new locations for the day. I was desperately trying to take video with one hand and shoot photos with another. It was probably best for my self esteem that the first people we had seen that morning emerged heading towards the tower just as the flock was heading out. They missed my poor juggling act.
In the space of 30 minutes, we were done and ready to search for a hot breakfast and roads back home. MomBert lamented the lack of a gift shop in the area for at least a crane magnet or sticker, and I reminded her that I had peed in a parking lot so we probably just needed to accept the experience.
When I start my cult which, honestly, is going to take forever because I hate organizing things for other people to attend; I always feel responsible for their level of enjoyment. Additionally, I really dislike meetings of any sort and tedious paperwork. I feel like getting a cult off the ground is just going to be so many meetings.
Anyway.
When I start my cult, it will be based on the philosophy of “chaotic barnyard yoga.” (I must credit the ever patient yogi Dana with that phrasing. Her practices are timed with rooster crows and goat mishaps.)
There will absolutely be judgmental cats. Our main agents of chaos will be barnyard fowl. You would think it’s the goats, but the ducks and chickens are in constant communication and movement.
This cat is much friendlier than the expression implies.
We will emphasize approaching each day from a different perspective. Adjust your view.
There will be goat selfies. This is crucial to finding joy…mostly for the goats.
The goats will head up (head up, get it?!) any necessary conflict resolution especially over food.
As potential cult leader, I can really see all of my dramatic entrances being heralded by a parade of goats. Floppy ears preferred.
Over the years, I’ve managed to recruit a few potential followers. The Cult of Chaotic Barnyard Yoga is not for everyone, especially when I accidentally imply that there is cockfighting. There were roosters having a disagreement in my personal air space, but it was on their own terms. No betting was involved. I may still be able to bring this person into membership.
Ultimately the goats will whisper the tenets of Chaotic Barnyard Yoga into the ears of my “herd.” This is Harrison working on recruitment. He is the size of my sister’s Newfoundland; his back lands at my hip.
Like most cult leaders, I can’t really guarantee what your day to day living conditions will be like, but we will all be peeing outside and bellowing with great enthusiasm for that day’s yoga practice.
****If you are in the Central Ohio area, goat yoga with Dana from Bern Yoga at Harrison Farm is the real deal from May to October. Lots of other events happen at the farm as well. On the Insta @harrisonfarm13 and @bernyoga as well as Facebook.
UPDATED 7/21/21:I saw a post from Katherine last night (7/20/21) as I was going to bed. After 76 days of ruling the farm and the farmer, The Empress unexpectedly passed away. We were lucky to have snuggled her on Day 11.
Only 11 days old with a name bigger than she is: The Empress Isabel Paloma Consuelo Dioge.
This was back in mid May when an Adventure Buddy who wanted to try goat yoga came along. The Empress was not yet big enough for yoga because at the time she was not even the size of a newborn goat. We got to snuggle her and hear her story after the yoga session. As Katherine Harrison the farmer and owner told it, she found the premature baby goat in the straw left for dead. Katherine also thought the baby was dead until she moved her head slightly. The Empress became a “kitchen goat” with round the clock care and bottle service as well as a Pyrenees caretaker. The Empress has continued to grow and is learning “how to goat.” The farm’s Instagram is @harrisonfarm13 ; it is worth the follow simply for goat antics.
Goat Selfie
Per usual there were plenty of regular sized baby goats and adults to assist with yoga poses. I came back from the bathroom to find a goat on my mat as a greeting. I get a pretty minimal amount of yoga done during these sessions. I try, but I’m there for the silliness, the interactions, and to hear which rooster will reliably interrupt the instructor.
This baby was yet to be named on our visit, but I believe has been dubbed Ferris Bueller.
Adventure Buddy said that she would go again so that’s a win for me.
possumscatsthingsgnawingatme 