Don’t be fooled. Even though I call our little city a little city, we’re very much on the prairie. Last Saturday, after fifteen minutes in the car, John and I visited Prairie Fruits Farm, which makes goat cheese and grows fruits-of-all-kinds. Before the farming season gets all farm-y, the Farm hosts Saturday Open Houses where you can visit the baby goats, buy aged cheese, and have a farm-house breakfast. We skipped the breakfast (not gf friendly, lame), but made up for it by buying some goat-milk-gelato that tasted just like Nutella. It was magical.
Other things you need to know: We currently have a house guest who looks just like Ellen Page. It’s uncanny. She’s contemplating joining John’s program, and we’re hosting her while she visits.
Also, last night I dreamt that the country of Belgium called me and ordered me to come visit. I woke up confused, trying to figure out if I needed to cancel my weekend plans because I would be out of the country (I won’t be, by the way).