I’m currently binge watching Showtime’s original series Billions.
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It basically has two main characters…. the ruthless billionaire hedge fund king and the twisted US Attorney who wants to take him down. Both of them are a combination of good and bad, but I’m afraid if it comes to a choice between being a billionaire and a government employee?
River will take door number one and enjoy luxury homes, private jets, a kick ass yacht and the Lamborghini every time.
Salvia, geraniums and New Guinea impatiens are blooming in my little stone wall garden bed, but unfortunately now and then I find a hole.
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See the empty space on the left? Thank you Mr. Woodchuck, please tip your server. 😡
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Happily my strawberry shortcake foxglove is on the list of woodchuck avoided plants.
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It’s also rhododendron time.
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And this year, they’re glorious.
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Every season I tell myself to cut them back, then they give me a riotous bloom and I cave.
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This year I planted three tick weed (coreopsis) behind the marigolds. Sadly, they must have been on the ‘favorite woodchuck snack’ list because one morning I looked out and they were munched down to nubs. Solution?
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Giant headed yellow marigolds. They’re not my favorite flower, but they’re not a woodchuck’s either … so that’s a win.
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As is this pink cosmos. Such a happy flower. I smile just looking at them.
Today is Father’s Day and it’s time to honor dear old dad. The man who’s always got your back. The grill master. The king of lame jokes. The guy who thinks he rocks that Members Only jacket. And what better way to say you love and appreciate dad than a gift?
Okay, so the father in question doesn’t actually have human children? No problem. I’ve got you covered.
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Coffee mugs from your furry four footed overlord.
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And in case you think we’re too cat-centric here at River’s World…
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There. Proof positive there’s a perfect gift for every dad.
I shall never look at Peter Rabbit the same way again.
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Nope.
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I know you tried that, because I did as well. But the fact that it’s called a weenus? That’s the real headline.
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This is extremely good news… and may be cause for celebration. Cheers!
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Not being a mother, I admit this next one freaked me out a little.
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What! I’m getting tiny Sam Elliot and Wilford Brimley visuals here…
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May I just say… eww. Is the womb so cold a place every fetus has to don a fur coat they later consume? This falls under the category ‘I actually wish I didn’t know that.’
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I have never been to Disneyland. Point of fact? I never want to go to Disneyland. Alive… or dead. Though I’m sure it would probably be less annoying if I could haunt that obnoxious mouse ear wearing family from DuBuque.
Small, rustic and not at all fancy. But the food is fresh and tasty, the drinks are strong and cheap. What more could you want?
We’re regulars and feel good supporting a local business. Our town has never had a pub before so the owners had to fight long and hard for licensing as well as acceptance. Some of the older residents of our little hamlet thought a bar would attract a bad element, but this small establishment is just as likely to be serving lunch to a troop of Girl Scouts as they are the functioning alcoholics. Lawyers and fisherman. Bankers and construction workers. Hippies and veterans. You never who will sit on the neighboring stool.
We’ve met more locals here in the past 2 years than we have living in this town for 19. And it should come as no surprise that when we introduce ourselves and explain where we live? Everyone always says… oh, the big red barn with the nice porch. Sure!
And if you’re wondering just how rural my town can be? Take a look at who pulled up the other day…
What passes for news in my little corner of the world might seem silly to some….
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But I like to think of our Facebook page as the New York Times of happy living.
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You’ll be glad to know this crisis was averted.
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I’m not sure if this a thing in your area, but in Maine late spring means it’s time to thin and divide the perennials. Some people sell them in their front lawn, but more often than not the bounty is simply shared.
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Go home Freyr. I don’t care how tasty the tuna is down the road.
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That’s one fluffy little cock.
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Damn. No one ever drops roosters off at our house.
The other day we drove almost 2 hours to look at a used pool table. It was a piece of junk and we had to drive almost 2 hours back. Funny how that works. So when I saw a sign that said Pies! Pies! Pies! I knew we had to stop.
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At an adorable little store on a lovely 40 acre farm.
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Yes, a mother and her 15 year old home schooled daughter run the entire farm by themselves. Please note all work is done by horse and ox. Maine women are nothing if not capable.
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The store was filled with the fruits of their labor. Jams, jellies, relishes, honey, pies, wool, dried flowers, wreaths, maple syrup, soap… and yes. Everything was made by their own hands.
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And this wasn’t some run down ramshackle operation. It was lovely, well kept and clean.
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When my husband opened the upright freezer and saw it was packed with pot pies, quiches, turkey soup, mushroom ravioli, pesto, and minestrone he asked the girl when they found time to sleep.
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Jam came home with us. As did some soap, some soup and of course…..
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Pie.
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Which instead of a traditional crust had a marvelously buttery and flaky rolled pastry foundation.
It feels like it’s almost over, but I still want to laugh.
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I hate when that happens.
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A little regional humor. But no less true…
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This was precisely the reason we chose our current home. I know we technically have neighbors, but not seeing them makes them makes my fondness for them grow.
