Seven days, one weak

The vacation finished strongly, with a Labor Day trip to Oxon Hill Farm - a national park that highlights agricultural practices of years gone by (although there were several distinctly modern tractors parked up - perhaps they're all 2015 models).  Normally there's some chicken wrangling but Mr Foxey visited the chickens last week and they are now...well, ex-chickens.  We met Tracey and Virginia in this rustic idyll before scooting off to the nearby National Harbor, which is a nice big urban shopping mall.  They're building a massive MGM casino here too, which will keep my Dad happy when he visits.

And then Tuesday morning arrived, with the emotional overload of going to school inevitably acted out in an upset tummy, tears and tantrums.  Pete was very understanding but eventually lost patience with me, because my crying was "embarrassing him in front of his friends".  Kids these days.

So here I am for the first time in three-and-a-half years with free time, possibly having to achieve something with my life!  The depths of this existential crisis cannot be overstated.  I think I can even get a work permit and look for a job (Starbucks is always hiring).  Or maybe I can finally write that great American novel I've been toying with for years - agents can get in touch at the usual address.  Either way this all needs some serious reflection, possibly an attempt to "find myself" in a far-away, exotic location.  Excuse me while I just ask this gin and tonic for some advice.

American pastoral.

Pete grinds the corn.



And then in walks a tall dark stranger.

On the wagon ride.  Tractor rather than horse-drawn.

Pete and Virginia line up with the animals...

...but machines are much more fun.

Checking out the cow.

And then sitting on one, at Ben & Jerry's!