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So I called the farm yesterday, trying to (a) track down Dad, as his birthday is coming up (suffice it to say it's a big, round number) and (b) see if there's been any word from our relatives in the bayou, as little things like "mandatory evacuation order" tend to bounce off our genetically-hardened skulls.
Well, surprise surprise, the birthday boy is in fact not on the farm, nor anywhere close. He's in Alabama. Do not ask me why. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt that he's down there on work and that his proximity to yet another cataclysm is just another coincidence and neither the Hand of Fate nor some lemming-like magnetic pull toward chaos.
Anyhow, hippo birdie to him, and speaking of birdies, a pic my sister sent from the farm: baby peacocks.
Well, surprise surprise, the birthday boy is in fact not on the farm, nor anywhere close. He's in Alabama. Do not ask me why. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt that he's down there on work and that his proximity to yet another cataclysm is just another coincidence and neither the Hand of Fate nor some lemming-like magnetic pull toward chaos.
Anyhow, hippo birdie to him, and speaking of birdies, a pic my sister sent from the farm: baby peacocks.
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| Baby peacocks Picture from my sister of a peahen and her new wee ones. |