You may have noticed that I was MIA this weekend  I was in a land far far away.  A land with limited internet connection.  A land called Pennsylvania.

I guess it’s not as bad as all that, but it does take me about 30 minutes to load my email on my phone from my grandmas house–which, in my book, is pretty bad.

The Long Drive

It’s a lovely 12 hour drive, and logically I got to sit in the back of the car.  Because when you’re in a car with your parents you don’t get to sit in the front seat.  You just don’t.  So I spent about 10 hours of that lovely Thursday fighting the desire to hurl.  The other two hours I was fine since they eventually took pity on me and let me drive.  Two lovely hours of stomach happiness.

And no…I don’t think eating half a bag of dried mangoes did anything to help my stomach, but they were delicious, so hush.

Eventually, as always, we arrived, unloaded our bags, and made our way over to my Grandma Bessie’s house.  You know all that rain we’ve been getting down South?  Well they’ve been getting up North as well, a little heavier it seems.  Grandma Bessie informed my dad that she had water in the basement, surprise!  Two whole inches of it!  So my dad, wonderful son that he is, spent most of the weekend figuring out how to fix it and make it so that it didn’t happen again.  He got rid of all the water, and repaired the broken downspout that caused the problem to begin with.

Friday we went to the farmer’s market.

Where we got pierogies, biscotti, those delicious cinnamon almonds, and a whole bunch of other cookies.  And tomatoes, beets, and a few other veggies and things, but who counts the healthy stuff?

We were really excited about the pierogies.  As common as they are in PA you cant really get them in GA unless you buy frozen Mrs T’s in the grocery store.  What are pierogies? (and don’t laugh PA people, I’ve run into many people down South that don’t have a clue) Wikipedia calls them “dumplings” but they remind me more of ravioli than dumplings.  Normally I get them stuffed with potato and onion or cheese, and they are oh so amazing.  About.com claims that a “recent” survey (they don’t tell you what survey because then they’d have to kill you) shows that people in Pittsburgh eat 11 times more pierogies than anywhere else in the country.  I believe it.  A few years ago my Aunt and cousins gave me a stuffed pierogie (you know…the normal kind of stuffed animal…living food: arms, legs, eyes, and all) that I believe they had gotten at a Pirate’s baseball game.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen walking talking food at a Braves game, but the Pirates, logically, have their own guys in pierogi suits.  I’m not sure what kind of food Atlanta could use as a mascot, though, so maybe it’s all for the best.

The Bird

The most important part of what would have been a lovely yet insignificant trip to the farmers market, was nestled–or should I say nested?–in the parking lot.

Yep.  That’s a bird.  I’m not sure what kind of bird, but if anybody knows, I’m certainly curious.  The closer picture was taken by zooming in; she was way too frightened to let me get any closer.  The picture that looks like it was taken from farther away was as close as I could get without mama bird either exploding (imagine that scene in Shrek) or jumping out from behind those bricks and trying to kill me.   Notice how close that truck’s tires are to the nest?  Some brave soul must have gone over and put the bricks there to keep people from running her over.  I’m somewhat curious as to why she decided to build a nest and lay her eggs in the middle of a fairly busy parking lot (note: the farmers market is only there 3 days a week, but still), but I suppose birds aren’t necessarily the most intelligent of God’s creatures.  Or at least this one wasn’t.

My dad was worried about her all weekend.  My dad is still worried about this bird.  He drove over to check on her multiple times when we were still up there and continues to ask “Do you think the bird is okay?”  I’m not sure what he was going to do if the bird wasn’t okay, but if something happened to her it wasn’t for lack of caring on his part.  She was fine when we last checked on her Sunday evening, so hopefully her tiny brick fortress is still keeping her and her eggs safe.

Later in the week I’ll introduce everyone to the wonderful hashbrown metaphor and take you to the wedding (since that was why we drove up in the first place).  And I haven’t forgotten about Liz’s request for egg-less Irish Cream Ice Cream–I’ve got a recipe, I just have to double check it with out getting distracted and letting it boil over on the stove.  Yep, I make some fantastic messes.  It’s a talent. 🙂

And for anyone interested, here’s the farmers market info (does a lot of good in GA, I know): South Fayette/Cecil: Original Farmers Night Market, Route 50, 5 miles west of Bridgeville exit of Interstate 79, at Route 978. 5:30 to 8:30 p.m. Fri. in May; same hours Mon., Wed., Fri., June through Nov.