What Happens at the Mountain Stays at the Mountain

I've heard that but never fully appreciated it until I brought back something from the Mountain ... a bug of some sort that still hasn't left. Yesterday (a week after returning to lower altitudes), I slept 16 hours straight and I feel somewhat better today ... but not fully recovered. Yukkk!

On a more positive note, and not giving away any information on meeting of secret societies or unlocking of ancient codes which may (or may not) have happened at the Atlanta Knitting Guild's annual knitting weekend at The Mountain (Little Scaly Mountain, NC), I did have a great time. It was very relaxing and peaceful and time spent with valued friends is never badly spent.

Most particularly, DO NOT ask me any questions about the other group at the Mountain or the spells they placed on us, or about highly exaggerated rumors of Knitting Water. I will never tell. Well, a bribe of a skein or two of Malabrigo sock might change my mind but ... No! I am mute on the subject of wiccans and Jack Daniels.

This is the third year I've gone to the Mountain, and the first that I've been able to participate in an annual treat called (by me) Soup at Sharon's. Okay, I've been hearing about it for years but never knew quite what it meant--soup? So? What's the big deal?

I'm a convert now. Sharon and her husband live on a beautiful rural piece of land in an old house where you can just feel the history. The picture here is of a log cabin on their property, the original homestead of the family.

In case you're wondering, the soup in question was served in the main house which is almost as old but substantially larger. There were five different soups--Southwestern Vegetable, Chili, Peanut, Potato, and Stone Soup. As piggy as I was I only sampled three of them. Next time I go with little ziploc baggies and fill them up--that's my plan. Don't tell.