Sunday again! If this is to be my only blogging habit, then let's do our best to at least maintain it, shall we?
As the Sunday before Thanksgiving, it was officially Cider Day, and we spent the day at the farm pressing cider and eating donuts and gazing upon the miracle of the loaves and the crock pots. I brought the rolls, so I knew there would be more than enough, but lo, there were crock pots by the dozens, and though more and more guests did arrive, still there was chili and macaroni and cheese for all.
(Seriously, it was a potluck, but we were starting from the baseline of the 10 crock pots my sister owns herself. Literally ten. And she uses them, regularly. It's amazing.)
It rained, but this is what greenhouses are for (in the fall, when they are empty. There is lots of delicious cider, Mike's family came up for the weekend, my mom's recovering very nicely from her knee replacement, and all's right with the world. If I can eventually shake this cough, we'll all be golden.
(You know, in fiction, mentioning my cough at the end of an otherwise positive blog post would mean that I had the tuberculosis and was probably doomed. Luckily it's real life and I will eventually recover from the head cold that wouldn't die. NOTHING OMINOUS TO SEE HERE, FOLKS.)