Cabins and Knitters and Vodka, oh my!

I couldn't upload my pictures from last weekend until I took my laptop to Panera, which is why it took me a week (?!) to get this entry up. But here goes.

Last weekend Amy, Heather, and blogless Kate, Amy Jo, Taima and I descended upon a wee llama farm in Asheville, NC.

Kate and I arrived together, and our first sight was this:



The view off our back porch. Oh yes. Win.

We met the cabin owners who were very friendly. So friendly, in fact, that within minutes the female half had her nose on my glasses. Her nose. Directly on my glasses. Which were on my face at the time. Because that, apparently, is what one of the llamas will do.

Have I mentioned that my default reaction is politeness? It's true!

But they showed us around, and showed us how the tv works. Apparently you press the on button and then you can use the channel up or down buttons, or type the numbers in manually. What they didn't tell us was that you have to flip the light switch by the front door in order to use the tv. But I guess you don't want to give everything away all at once.

One of the first things we noticed, upon entering the cabin, was this:



Creepy-ass dried fish thing. I call him Fluffy.

The best we could tell is that it's a gourd wrapped in leather with a metal fin shoved into its tail-area, and weird stitches on the top (see them??). I don't know. I really don't know.

When Amy/Heather/Taima arrived I showed them our weekend mascot, and Heather's eyes got wide, and I would've sworn that the next words out of her mouth were going to be "Get that thing out of this house."

In fact, what she said was, "That is the talking fish. No one is allowed to speak without the talking fish."

Heather, if you didn't know, is hella funny.

We spent a lot of our time here:





Or here:





Watching a lot of this:



That brown llama was some serious kinds of lazy. He'd tromp out to the middle of the field and foomf down on his side, and that was it.

We got two bags of alfalfa to feed the animals, but only the goats would come visit (so I never got to see if the llama would put his nose on my glasses -- all that politeness was for naught!).

Some were a little enthusiastic.





But generally friendly.



We didn't know how to call the llamas over, so we tried a variety of things, including "Heeeeere llamallamallamallamallama!" and, um. Humming at them. Because llamas hum, right? (Yes). So maybe they would be open to our humming?

This was the most enthusiasm we got (this was when we called out "snackies!"):



But it quickly turned into this:

.

Jerk.

We toured a few yarn shops and were not altogether floored.

But then Saturday night we had a shindig for Stacey's birthday.





And it's possible there was vodka,



which we may have added to some very excellent pound cake of Amy Jo's, which we subsequently tried to light



on fire,



and when that didn't work, just tried to light the vodka, which also failed:



And all was good times. (There also might have been talk of getting drunk and shearing llamas in the night with safety razors, but I can neither confirm nor deny such a thing.)