Memories of the Weekend πŸ•οΈ

It was a nice weekend, spent camping up at Cole Hill, cooling off in the Switz Kill and riding trail and road at Partridge Run. But it came and went much too quickly. Four work days, and then it’s off for summer vacation, leaving bright and early on Friday, before the morning rush hour.

Stayed overnight at my parents house on Sunday night. πŸ• Slept in the back of my truck, after the previous night hammock camping up at Cole Hill. Ended up sleeping in my bathing suit, because somehow I managed to misplace my change of clothes I packed from camping. πŸ‘• The only thing I can think of is they got mixed in with the dirty clothes and got washed. I don’t think I left them up at the State Forest and I can’t find them anywhere in my truck. πŸ˜•

Spent a while down at the swimming hole — maybe just waterfalls, 🏊‍♀️ cooling off after taking down Camp in the Switz Kill along Old Partridge Run Road which was nice. Rode trail for a while at Partridge Run, 🚲 it’s nice they’ve restored the deck on the bridge there, to the full width as a motor vehicle bridge but it seems unlikely they will ever fully restore it.

It was nice to see the family, πŸ‘¨‍πŸ‘©‍πŸ‘§ but boy oh boy were those eggs greasy this morning they made up. I felt like I was drinking vegetable oil straight out of the bottle — I swear three-quarters of the eggs were lardy goulda cheese πŸ§€ with one half of an egg white, and a sprinkle of spinanch. 🍳 Certainly not may way of cooking, but it’s good to enjoy what my parents still offer when I still can. Some of their recipes will forever be gone upon their passing. 😞 I am in my forties now, my parents 75 and 77 respectively, so I know I won’t be with them forever. Burgers πŸ” the previous night which also were quite greasy.

Then of course their biggest excitement of the day is trash pickup. πŸ—‘ Last year my dad finally broke down and let mom sign up when they decided it was too difficult to drive things to the transfer station, and you’re not supposed to be burning stuff anymore. πŸ”₯ Not that rednecks ever pass up on a good bonfire. Every Sunday, it’s all they want to talk about and when the trash man comes their excited. πŸ—‘ I don’t know, I like the old way of doing things.

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