The Hideout

You know how old English houses have names? I guess most fancy places have names. Truthfully, I think that all places have names, just few of them are referred to generally by them.

I have been very lucky lately, and have gotten myself a nice little place in the North Valleys. It’s a very, very little place, but it has a porch (which is really quite essential for my happiness, I find), a large, walk-in closet, a shower which retains it’s hot water for a sufficiently long while, and I’ve got a good little garden growing in pots and baskets on the porch, and if the birds and rabbits don’t get them first, some wildflowers that I’ve sewn a bit helter-skelter in the backyard dirt.  

I have named my place ‘The Hideout’ and I have named the valley I live in ‘Quail Run’ because there are always quails running across the road and across the yard, and all around. I adore them, the sweet little things.

I like quails very much, also because they stick together, don’t they? The husband and wife never leave each other’s side, they always stick together, and soon there will be little quail-lings running all around behind their mothers and fathers. Mr. and Mrs. Quail are always a welcome sight. They always make me smile.

Oh- if anyone knows where I can get ahold of pumpkin seeds, I would very much appreciate that. I want to grow pumpkins more than anything, so I can have my own jack-o-lanterns come Halloween.