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Easter midst the Spanish Moss

In Florida there lives a woman. I suppose there are many - but this one is unique. Writer, journalist, bibliophile, homesteader, seamstress, activist, musician, environmentalist, and Mogg's holy grandfather knows what else. On 20 acres and a cabin, amid tortured trees dripping with the ubiquitous hanging plants and with numerous outbuildings scattered round, she dwells... no! Dwells not, but rather dominates. And with her and her friends we were privileged to dine on a beautiful Easter Sunday.

"Groaning Board" would not do our table justice. Lamb shanks there were, and deviled eggs; asparagus and beans; rice and ham pilaf and roast carrots; green salad and hot crossants; tapioca pudding and lemon meringue pie; wine and coffee for those who imbibed. After having finished the first volume of The Hunger Games, I felt as decadent as a resident of the Capital.

The Table

Deviled Eggs prepared by my own wife.

Beautiful Wood Stove

There was conversation, covering an alphabet soup of topics. And after food came music; two of our fellow guests were local folk musicians, and we enjoyed an impromptu concert on fiddle and guitar.

As enjoyable as the company was, and the food, and the music, what captivated me most was the quantity and breadth and variety of books the goodwoman of the house had crammed into almost every available nook on her property. Two separate copies of the Brittanica 9th edition, another from 1957, three other encyclopedias, and shelf after shelf of books on every conceivable subject. It was a space I could happily die in. I can't wait for her own book to come out, chronicling her journey as a homesteader. It's bound to be intriguing.

A few of thousands

Far and away the most unique Easter I've ever spent, and I was sorry to see the day come to an end. I must figure out a way to get back here some day...

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The Old Wolf

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