The “Crick” House

Way up yonder in them woods, is a little cabin off the grid…lovingly known as the “Creek House” (I like to use the southern pronounciation of crick as it sounds more woodsy.) It is owned by two younguns, Liz and Tracy, who bring them their friends up for fires, and fun and the occasional target practice.

Wood gets chopped. Bourbon gets drunk. Birdhouses get painted. Crafts get made. Music gets played. Hotdogs get eaten.

We three spent our their time upin the woods this past Memorial Day weekend. It was a memory that’s fur sure. There was no agendan – just wake up, get that their coffee goin, and wile away the hours readin, or playin games, or slurpin some beers. All of which we did, yesum. None of that tv box, or e-lectricity. None of that waterbox you call a shower – just some old fashion hot water in a bowl for splashin. And takin a lil stroll to the wood hole for urinatin is the stuff that dreams are made of.

Don’t be fooled. It was hard work watchin them deer and turkey cross the road, walkin in that cool crick, hangin with the locals in town. But we managed. That there Tracy even made her own short film which us 2 Lizs’ helped shoot…it was a dandy time. Honest Lizzie even did some wood choppin, just like our great pres-i-dent Mr. Lincoln. And because no day is complete without a lil gunfire, we-un stepped outside and shot off a few rounds, just for the funa-it.

Lizzie read us some sentences from her book ’bout a local murder and bad-man…and we even took a lil detour to find the street where it all happened…somethin we like to do for en-tertainment.

It was peaceful yes siree. It was out there. God Bless America.

(photos courtesy of Tracy Toscano)