TALLY HO!!
The thick mist parts over Badminton Hall and one hundred horses tear down the hill at a full gallop, mounted by Lords and Ladies in tweed and black breeches. The bugle blares through the morning air, intertwining with the otherworldly call of fifty beautiful hounds that lope effortlessly in formation, the Captain of the Hunt galloping close behind. Then, there it is, like a smear of red paint on the brilliantly green hillside. The fox moves with blinding speed into the dark trees, followed moments later by hounds, Captain, Bugler, and the many mounted hunters. With another exultant blare of the horn, the foxhunt has begun.

There is literally nothing, in the farthest reaches of my imagination, more utterly English than a foxhunt, but that is precisely where we found ourselves this morning, at the misty crack of dawn, on the Badminton estate hours from White House. It has been a wild few hours. Yesterday, while we were working on the stable (great progress by the way, frame finished, doors hung, building waterproofed, a dozen pillars set in cocnrete, and a wall well on its way to completion) Toby Stubbs approached us with a casual offer that made our jaws drop. Did we want to go Badminton for a foxthunt with he and Kate (his wife) for a foxhunt and then an expedition into Bath? Um, well, let me check my calendar, YES! Hours later (I love spontaneity) we were in the back of Toby's Land Rover Defender hurtling down the M5 towards Badminton. After getting thoroughly lost we arrived at The Fox and Hounds, a pub which served great cider and even better food. There we had a glowing meal of warm food and company. In addition to Toby and Kate (who are incredibly fun) we were joined by Sue, Kates friend with whom we would be attending the hunt (she is one of the premier horse back riders and fox hunters in England, and great buddies with the Prince of Wales and the rest of the royals). A wonderful meal of beef in red wine and stilton sauce with mushrooms, served over rice with vegetables, two pints of apple cider, and crumble with Devon custard. Then we retired, in a daze, to Sue's cottage, where we collapsed onto the sofa in front of a crackling fire to sleep wonderfully for only a few hours, before we were woken and joined the hunt.

Kate Stubbs, dressed stylishly in a fitted tweed jacket, breeches, helmet, and the coolest boots I have Ever seen, leapt up onto a massive horse and trotted off with Sue, who wore bright pink under her tweed. Toby, Casey, and I followed in the Defender. A bit lackluster, I know, compared to, say, a White Stallion, but much cozier. Our riding skills would Not be sufficient for the hunt. Before we knew it we were barrelling through the mist, hot on the heels of the pack, listening carefully for the call of the bugle, the howls of the hounds, and the thunder of four hundred hooves. The hunt lasted four hours, and traveled miles over the Estate (which is, in total, 50,000 acres of woodland and fields). Horses leapt high over hedges, we saw a massive herd of the Kings Deer, and four foxes. And the hounds, oh what beautiful hounds! These are without exception, the finest hounds in England, owned by the Duke of Beaufort. Fifty of the the loveliest, most lean and muscly and elegant beasts ever to prowl the earth. Combined with expert riders on powerful horses, they made a sight to behold.

Interestingly, though elegant and stately, what we witnessed is very controversial. Fox hunting was banned several years ago, and what they practice now is only exersize for the hounds. One of the riders drags a scented piece of cloth ahead of the hounds, and the hunt follows this scent. However, there are so many foxes on the estate that occaisionally they do go hurtling out of the woods.  Should a fox "cross the path" of the hounds, the hunters are not held accountable.

After the hunt, and an eagerly anticipated breakfast in the warm cottage, we drove down to Bath, a breathtakingly beautiful town of elegant architecture and victorian spas. We had a lovely lunch at the Cafe Rouge--tres francais--and explored some classy English clothing stores.

Well, we are several days behind, so I will give a quick rundown on the weekend (easily one of the best ever). Friday night work ended at noon (not technically night yet, but that is still when the festivities began). It was a brilliant evening of mixed drinks enjoyed at Ben and Kat's classy bar, listening to records and having a blast. Great, great company. Good cheer.

The next day was spent playing music and working out at Toby's gym, and then venturing into Lichfield for a tour of the pubs, and a spectacular Indian meal. The Indian food here is unbelievable, due to the commonwealth Indian population of Britain. Ate like Kings and drank like ruffians. It was a lot of fun going out on the town with Ben, Kat, Toby, Kate, and Emma. We were no longer teenagers wrecking havoc, but rather well-dressed, respectable, civil (don't take any of those adjectives too seriously) adults enjoying a night out.

Sunday we rose late, had a spectacular feast of sweet corn cakes and bacon, before driving (en masse: Ben, Kat, Emma, Camille, Jasper, and the unbelievably entertaining and adorable Quinn and Anya) up to Chatsworth, a beautiful Manor House several hours north. Chatsworth is an incredible house set amidst sprawling gardens of green fields, gorgeous trees, a wide tree-lined avenue, a reservoir with a fifty-foot-high fountain, waterfalls, massive rock piles, caves and grottos, and various modern art installments including bizarre statues and eight-foot-tall white orchid sculptures. Not to mention a geometric labyrinth of hedges where we got thoroughly lost. The day was utterly dreamlike, including a sumptuous picnic of sandwiches, Scotch eggs, champagne, cakes and honeydew melon, to name a few delicacies. After the picnic was the maze, then several hours of playing frisbee and catch on the green lawns under the startlingly blue sky (fantastic weather for England). We ran around with Quinn and Anya, and then spent hours exploring the endless (and endlessly lovely) grounds. We stopped for a hot chocolate and then Casey, Camille, and I wandered into a grove of pines for a long nap while the others went to the playground. We drove back to end the weekend with a pork roast and a marvelous nights sleep. I literally cannot imagine a better weekend.

Our stay at White House, which we expected to be the most mild part of our trip, has turned into a series of adventures and misadventures with some really wonderful people whose company we can now barely imagine living without.

Tomorrow the stable should be nearly done and I will try to post some photos.

Now we are lounging after a vast bowl of spagetti, enjoying watching Chelsea FC destroy Marseille (the best team in France). Down with France! Huzzahh!

Happy, happy day!!! All the residents (not including us guests) of White House have been enslaved by a brutal regime, more vicious than the Spanish Inquisition, more demanding than a military work-out.  It is evil. And it is called the South Beach Diet.
Thinking that their summer had included too much debauchery, Emma, Kat, and Ben imposed upon themselves a diet free of alchohol, carbohydrates, and many other of life's most delightful culinary items. Since the moment we arrived, the house has been dark, sad and depressed, as though there were a cloud hanging permanently over it (which, considering we are in England, is not a far-fetched metaphor). But it was a place of short tempers and resentment for the very mention of carbs.

But yesterday, on the Day of Joy (a new holiday Casey and I are making official) the reign of darkness ended, and the three dieters allowed themselves toast, potatoes, and yes, a beer. The evening involved us sippuing beers in the garden as the sun set, dancing wildly in the kitchen while listening to The Macabees, and laughing uproarously over dinner before heading to watch a brilliantly obscene Welsh comedy called Twin Town (which Kat dubbed "the funniest Welsh movie ever"...meaning?...). Though we have been constantly happy and comfortable while at White House, tonight was wild: everyone was joyful beyond belief. In other words: fun!

Today, as well, was extremely fun, including a visit to the pub and an incredible dinner (there are far too many great cooks at White House). Other than this, the last few days have included endless hours of work (there is nothing more to describe about the warehouse...same old, same old). As for the stable, we have acquired sufficient tools and supplies for things to really get going: today we got all the vertical columns in place, set in concrete. Now construction can proceed! More tomorrow....then an exciting weekend...

This is starting to feel more comfortable...more like home.

I wish, more than anything, more than life...

We skid, bumping along far too fast, the wispy headlights barely illuminating the dense thickets of trees around us. Suddenly there is light, far too much light, and it is glaringly bright, the stark brightness of a high security prison, glinting off watch towers and razor wire. The ancient ATV that we are riding seems to splutter slightly, weakly, and I cannot help but imagine us puttering to a stop here, in the dark woods, late at night, five feet away from the tall walls of the high security prison housed at Swinfen Hall. For the rest of the journey back to White House we all glance back, nervously, picturing a running figure (our imaginations having transformed the criminal into some sort of vicious zombie) who will hunt us down and tear us limb from limb, then steal the ATV and ride off into the dark.

It doesn't happen. No zombies, no escaped convicts, no brutal death. We coast back to the house having successfully fed the pigs and scurry inside away from the cold, unharmed. (I should mention that "cold" in this context is a reference to the Californian conception of cold which, quite frankly, is anything less than balmy. Casey and I are adjusting to real world weather).

We have eaten like kings ever since we arrived here, and will now readily not only dismiss, but condemn any rumors that English food is in any way below par. We assume (graciously) that any who critisize "english" food have not been to England. Too bad for them. Example: Saturday night we were invited to dinner with my aunt and uncle Lesley and Simon (notice the exceedingly normal names, unusual for my aunts thus far). We were fed pulled pork (cooked for 11 hours), grown on the farm (in fact, we had been feeding these same delicious critters). This incredible pork, succulent and tender and richly flavorful (I hope your mouths are watering) was accompanied by home grown leeks and potatoes and a pie of home grown blackberries and raspberries and a lovely Argentinian Malbec. A feast. The company was wonderful too and we had intense debates about everything from the merits (and tragedies) of college vs. gap year, global warming, and food! Then we headed back through a bracing midnight wind to the house, which we had to ourselves all weekend.

The next day we ate at the Creperie, a local cafe that serves only savory galettes and sweet crepes. I had a leek and cheddar galette and Casey had a goat cheese, tomato, and walnut galette, and we shared a pear, ice cream, and chocolate crepe. While I am aware that these are actually French dishes, I am also aware that they are incredibly delicious.

The rest of the weekend consisted of working out at my cousins incredible state-of-the-art gym, playing lots of music (new tunes we are collaborating on include So Long, Marianne by Leonard Cohen). We also spent a lot of time late at night working on our respective artistic hobbies (architectural sketches for Casey and writing string quartets for me). For a project we also repaired and repainted Quinn's high chair, which he shyly thanked us for. We also went into the local town of Lichfield (not unlike a very English version of Petaluma), and wandered through the street market and incredible cathedral. It was the ultimate relaxing weekend.

Then came Monday, far too early this morning, and we leapt (crawled) out of bed, and raced (stumbled) up to the warehouse where we worked rapidly (sluggishly) and with beaming enthusiasm (weak grins). Today we packaged up 5 different massive orders to be shipped to shops in Ireland. I glanced at the order form we were working with and it appears we were actually handling over 25,000 dollars worth of fragrant candles and sachets etc. We went into the local shop and they are selling each of these fricking candles for 20 pounds ($30)! What an industry.

Anyway, more work work work, and the stable project is gaining steam. Now it is time to relax, have a beer and a beautiful hamburger and stretch out in front of a movie. Well earned rest for us hard working candle sorting laborers.

The last two days have been a bit of a whirlwind. Now it is Friday and we are relaxing in blissful luxury in an empty house (everyone is away for the weekend!). Made ourselves a great dinner and watched Animal House. Now we are just playing violin and guitar, and writing this before heading for some well-earned sleep.

Quick note on Photos: I have posted a few below with labels. If you want more, we have hundreds of beautiful photos and could probably set up a flickr account.

Yesterday we were given a new warehouse challenge, which involved me climbing up to a huge shelf 25 ft off the ground and perching precariously on a support beam while Casey hurled up boxes of (you guessed it!) cinnamon cones, to be put in storage. This took Herculean strength from Casey and delicate balance, not to mention mastering my fear of heights, from me. But eventually we had all the boxes stacked away and spent most of the day simply replenishing the warehouses supply of various products. Box-cutters have become like an extention of our arms, and we are definitely getting stronger from all the lifting. You know how I mentioned all the nice smells in the warehouse? Nothing smells remotely good anymore. It is all suffocating.

But luckily we have been given a new task in addition to our warehouse work. I will describe this in more detail once the project really gets going but essentially we are turning a falling apart lean-to structure on the side of a warehouse into a stable for my cousin's horses. If you know about our Airstream restoration, you will know that this is the kind of job Casey and I relish, but This is a project of massive proportion, requiring skills and craft expertise that we definitely do not possess (but please don't tell our employers). For now, anyway, we are just clearing out the space, leveling it, and finalizing our plans for the construction. We will keep you posted, and maybe post some blueprints.

Last night, after work and a beautiful walk through the woods and fields around White House Farm, my cousin Conrad took us into Lichfield for a Classic English Pub Experience. Being, for the first time, of drinking age, we were able to enjoy a beer in public, which was a nice change. We also tried a couple drinks (like English hard cider, which is lovely) that we wouldn't normally be able to come by. Visited two different pubs so I guess this qualifies as a "pub crawl," though a small one. Walked home, very cold and tired (and, in my case, a little irritable), and fell into bed.

This morning I went back onto warehouse duty, pleasantly monotonous, but Casey had to sleep off the nights after effects, causing him to get a fairly late start on the work site. Forgivable, given the circumstances.We are now really starting to know our way around this warehouse, and are no longer merely stacking and packing, but filling out orders for clients, etc. We are moving up in the world!

Having enjoyed an endless summer of relative relaxation, it is strange to once again treasure the weekend, as we do now with our new work schedule. On that note, goodnight and enjoy your weekend. We will ours.

Casey with one of our local pigs.

Our beautifully organized warehouse with its alphabetised, stacked, crates of scents.

White House Farm, where we are staying. (Not to be confused with The White House). The Stubbs' have lived in this house for 100 years.

The road we walk most days.

As promised, here are the fragrances. Just because, scents are beautiful. Casey and I are both now determined to live someday in houses Full of sweet smelling things.

First there are the abstract names, scents that to each of us probably smell different:
Welcome home, sunshine, solitude, remember when, moonstruck, holiday keepsake, Christmas bliss, blue door, autumn avenue.

Then there are what i think of as the kitchen scents, fruity and aromatic: Vanilla cream, strawberry market, spiced cider, sangria, pomegranate, orange vanilla, orange clove, grapefruit splash, fresh apple, apple pie, cranberry, cinnamon vanilla, red-hot cinnamon, caramel apple.


And the outdoors scents: Water lily, vintage berry, frosted berry, tulips, sweet magnolia, seagrass, lily of the valley, water lily, lilac mist, lavender lane, bouquet of roses, 

And a few others: White cotton, rainforest, Cyprus

by the way, if you have read this far and are interested in smelling one of these scents yourself, you can just respond (ie comment with a request and your mailing address, a fee undeserved compliments to me wouldn't hurt either).
Ok enough.

Scented candles. Hundreds, nay thousands, nay millions, nay probably actually just thousands. Anyway, today was another 10 hours of work with many unextraordinary but very satisfying tasks. I wont bore with the details but here are a couple stories. Please excuse my slightly unintelligible writing, a combination of exhaustion and a pitiable attempt to immitate the brilliant writing style of Dave Eggers, who I am reading (and slightly idolizing) right now.

But today I (Percy) rose early, not of my own volition, but rather because two fierce spell-casting, sword-bearing, warrior mages knocked down the doors of my room and proceeded to violently destory the entire building in an attempt to kill me. These, if you haven't already guessed, were my two cousins, Anya (4, spell-caster), and Quinn (2, warrior), waking me up with a pillow attack. It Was violent, and there Were spells. Anyhow, I managed to cast a counterspell and escape (thanks to Emma Ritcey for teaching me magic...expelliarmus!). Having escaped, I went for a long run through the beautiful fields and trees surrounding White House, went over to Home Farm, where a few aunts, uncles, and cousins live. The air was icy, bracing, and burned my whole being (interestingly this was by far the hardest part of the run, although I thought it would just be that I am in terrible shape). Got back to the house, big nutricious breakfast with the family and the two little gremlins, and then up to the warehouse.

We were thrown from the peaceful domestic scene of breakfast into total chaos, as the "lorry" (not Semi), arrived and we began unloading 350 more boxes of pine cones and far too many boxes of other scented goods (turns out that this import business is the #1, the one and only imported of Cinnamon Pine Cones in the UK. How prestigious). Unloading was a sweaty, intense, and dramatic affair, lifting enormous weights for a long time and generally suffering terribly. But with us, Ben, Toby, and Kate hard at work it went quickly, and we spent the rest of our working day stacking, restocking, and alphabetising endless crates of scented candles. We had two sandwiches for lunch!

This work is soothing to an extreme. Everyone has done jobs like this, but quite frankly, most of us avoid this kind of monotony. Now, it is blissful. Once you are lifting and carrying and unpacking and sorting and alphabetising your millionth box you eventually begin to go into that sweet state of numbness, (not unlike how you feel when you are, say, going for a run) and you mind eventually goes clear. Numbers and figures and where this box goes and whether this box is Lavender or Vanilla  become your only concerns. If you still retain the mindpower, you can think about things, like an upcoming trip to mainland Europe, or how much you miss your family, or whats for lunch (two sandwiches!, as I mentioned), or whats for dinner (incredible toad-in-the-hole, courtesy of Emma Stubbs). But you can also just not think, let your mind, normally so full and buzzing, go clear, not clear like a blank slate (I don't like that metaphor), but more like the clear, fresh smell of a sachet of Sweet Magnolia petals. This reminds me, I am going to post later all the fragrances we are working with so that you can, if you so desire, imagine them. Luckily, using only your imagination, you can control and limit your exposure to said fragrances so they don't get disgusting (I wish I could do the same). It is funny to be surrounded by such fragrances after reading "Perfume." If you have read this book you will know exactly what I mean when I say I hope I don't end up like Grenuille.

All right so after dinner we went out to a movie (Cyrus, if you haven't seen it Please do, it is a brilliant, painfully honest and truthful, well acted and beatiful movie. Classic Sundance film). Now back home, eagerly heading to bed for some deep sleep filled with dreams of cinnamon and spice and everything...ok.
Goodnight.

WORK. 10 hours of work. 118 crates carefully stuffed full of cinnamon cones (unpacked from 354 individual pinecone boxes). 576 boxes of beautifully scented perfume sachets repackaged into 18 huge crates (the smell was a big improvement on cinnamon). Finally, we restacked approximately 300 crates in preparation for tomorrow, which is Delivery Day, when a Semi packed full of perfumed products imported from the U.S. delivers more perfumed products than you ever imagined existed. Or needed to exist.

Our English family/employers (especially Ben) are in a pretty severe state of shock at our work ethic/hours. I would take credit for our incredible determination, tenacity, and teamwork, but in fact most of the credit for these attributes has to be given to Tom Stubbs, who has trained us well to work long hours for no apparent purpose with zero silver lining and no end in sight. I guess we do have Something to thank him for.

Anyhow, besides a delicious dinner and a wonderful chat with Maddie Jensen (who is great, by the way), this day was mostly work. In the next few days we hope to venture out from White House Farm a bit more. It was interesting, as we worked hard today, thinking about where we might have been now: college, probably. Now don't get me wrong, we Are truly working hard, and it is not going to get easier as the days drag on. And yet, the toil, the burn of muscles constantly strained for multiple hours, the mindlessness of a repeated task like, say packing cinnamon cones, and the dramatically increased appreciation for relaxation, food, sleep, and the occaisional cold beer, all these factors together make me relish where I am right now and what I am doing. Sure, when, someday, I have some sort of college degree it is unlikely that I will aspire to working in a warehouse, but who can say? For now at least, this beats sitting in a stifling classroom feeling trapped and watching the clock tick. Don't get me wrong, I know we have been working but a short time yet, and our friends in college are certainly having their share of trial and triumph, and yet for me, a privileged, well-educated, somewhat (haha "somewhat")sheltered kid right out of high school, a little toil is exactly what I hunger for. Well, that and the delicious fromage awaiting us across the channel, where, someday soon, we hope to venture.

For now, we will go to sleep, tired and satisfied, to dream dreams of all our beloved friends and families in various foreign lands (cheifly California but also Florida, Massachussetts, New York, France, and many places besides). Good night.

The box-cutter slashes down and the box opens, releasing by now near-toxic fumes. Casey and I grab two bags each and begin to jams their spiky masses into the new cardboard crate. The first layer involves two rows of four bags with two more bags carefully wedged between the rows ("one, two, three, push"), careful not to overstuff the crate and tear through the cardboard. Then, when all 36 bags are carefully layered in, the top of the box is seals with 437 layers of heavy-duty tape, shot out of my expertly-wielded tape dispenser as Casey holds the crate in the appropriate position. Then the crate is stacked up on the massive pile we are currently working on, and we begin with a new set of bags and a new cardboard crate. Again. And again. Day One at the Swinfen Imports Warehouse on Old London Road.

The bags that I mention above are bags of cinnamon-scented decorative Christmas Pinecones from South Carolina, where I suppose such things are made. Of course. These are the precious commodity it has become our duty to restack and organize so that they can be shipped off around the UK to be sold at exorbitant prices. Now while we are both extremely aware that this easily beats working in your standard, say, meat-packing warehouse, the smell of cinnamon, at first pleasantly aromatic, becomes slowly cloying, then heavy, suffocating, and eventually, as I may have mentioned, completely toxic. After five hours in the warehouse, reorganizing bags of cinnamon cones, the smell is anything but enjoyable, so I wander around the warehouse, to be washed clean by the more muted fragrances of orange blossom, vanilla, rose, magnolia, and jasmine. This is easily the best warehouse I have ever been in (not saying a whole lot, but still).

This is, as Casey and I see it, the first real blog post. The journey across a continent and two countries, by bus, plane, car, and train is now over, and we have arrived at our first employment. I will back up to yesterday:
As Casey mentioned, we arrived at Heathrow and took a bus up to Northampton (which, if you are an avid reader of "The World at Large" you might notice is the Second Northampton we have been to, very stange. Apparently, we are not only touring all of the world's Women's Colleges [first Smith, then Barnard] but also all of the world's Northamptonses). There we were met by my Aunt Jane Mahood, (aka "Pooty," don't ask me exactly why), and had a beautiful dinner with her and her son George (my favorite cousin, don't tell Casey) and his beautiful family, including two of the most beautiful little kids (Layla and Leo) on the entire planet. Then back to Pooty's house for an incredible night's sleep in one of the most comfortable beds I personally have ever experienced. But when we woke, it got even better, as we were greeted with a breakfast of bacon sandwiches, gourmet granola (Dad, you would go nuts for this stuff, no pun intended), fresh fruit, and chocolate pudding (which apparently isn't a normal thing to have for breakfast but, after this, I think it Should be). Served with breakfast was traditional English tea, a delicacy utterly impossible to replicate in Any other corner of the globe. Pooty then sent us on our way on the local train up to Lichfield, leaving indelibly in our minds one of the warmest welcomes either of us have ever recieved anywhere, and an excellent beginning to our English odyssey. She is a one-of-a-kind hostess.

The English trains are (although heartbreakingly expensive for us backpackers) incredibly comfortable and efficient. Our train glided along through the brilliantly green patchwork quilt of open fields, grazing sheep, and tall hedges. A vastly different landscape from the corn, corn, and corn vistas of the American midwest. Before we knew it, we were at Lichfield Trent Valley station, where we were picked up almost instantaneously by cousin and Boss (or "Guvnah" as he likes to be addressed by us warehouse workers) Ben Stubbs.

Now seems like an appropriate time to give a brief run-through of all the characters of the British Stubbs clan with whom we are now living (skip this if you don't care and would rather be confused for the next 200 blog posts). The Stubbses are an ancient English line, stretching way back past William the Conquerer. A dynasty of farmers, pig owners, and groundskeepers with not a single bit of royal or even remotely noble blood in a thousand years. Hence the very wise move of my Grandfather Denys (recently deceased) to marry into the powerful and influential Cassidy family with my Grandmother Margaret (even more recently deceased). They had five children. The most well-known (although not well known for anything of merit) is Tom Stubbs. If you don't know who I am referring to I suggest you get off my blog. Then there is Pooty (married to John), with children George and Joey. George, Pooty and George's family you have already read about, John is a retired doctor and Joey is a super-high-powered Lawyer currently dominating the legal scene in Hong Kong. Then there are the Cornwall Stubbs', who I want talk about because, for now (thank god!) they remain in Cornwall. Then there is Aunt Emma, whose various eccentricities I cannot fit here but suffice to say she has a LOT of them. Her children are Jasper, Camille, and Conrad, who is starting in Estate Management at Uni this week. Finally uncle Simon whose wife is Lesley and whose children are Ben (wife Kat, children the adorable Quinn and Anya) and Toby (wife Kate, not to be confused with Kat, or wait maybe its Kat not to be confused with...nevermind), the owners and operators of the Import Business we are now working for. There you go, full circle!!

So back to something interesting: we arrived, Ben showed us into his lovely house known as White House (the Stubbses have lived here for 100 years this year), which he and Kat have recently renovated from the musty abode of my Grandmother into a vibrantly colorful wonderland of great decor and loud music. Then we immediately set to work on what is known around here as "The Cinnamon Project." Worked until our hands were bleeding etc.etc.etc., then retired for a beautiful dinner cooked by Emma (chicken curry and rice, she is an Awesome cook). Then we went to feed the pigs, which is, like, I guess, what you do on a farm. Gross, man.

Now I think we will have some more tea, watch some traditional English cinema (Austin Powers...oh yeah baby) and hit the hay. Like a pig. Or like two pigs, that is.

New York, Iceland, England

so yesterday percy, my aunt Sandle, her kid kieran and I went to an anti -mosque burning protest in New York city. It was huge, there were tons of cops and tons of radicals everywhere (quite the expierence).  After that we packed our bags and headed off to the air port where we got held up with some kind of ticket malfunction, they wanted us to prove that we were not staying in england for a year, argh it was very frustraiting. But we eventually managed to figured it out and made our way to the plane, got on no problem, made it to Iceland where the weather out side was wet, foggy, dark, and kind of scary, but despite all that it was still quite a beautiful sight to see, (that is from within the airport) once in iceland we transfered to our next flight which brought us straight to london. Now from London we got a bus ride to North Hampton, where percys aunt Pooty lives and had a great BBQ with her and a couple of percys relatives Rachel, George, Layla, and Leo. That was the perfect time, it was right when we got off the bus, we were tired and weak, so a suprise BBQ was un-beatable and the company was marvelous. we are now in Pootys house getting ready for bed and relaxing, it is a very nice house and she is a great host.

p.s. sorry we havent updated in a while it gets pretty hectic at times, we will try and do better from now on.

SMITH!! The college of ivy-clad buildings, sprawling green lawns, incredible intelligence, and pretty girls. This is the place that has kept us going through all those long days and nights (ultimately amounting to 80 hours) on the Greyhound. Now we are here, and for the last day have been eating REAL FOOD, showering, sleeping lying down (Wow!), and meeting all of Kate Detrick's cool Smithy friends. The campus is breathtakingly beautiful, and the neighboring town is very nice. All the people we have met have been friendly and we have had a wonderfully relaxing day. We got up late, walked around the lake while Kate was in class, then met her for lunch, and when she went back to class we walked into Northampton and bought some books at the used bookstore. Then we came back and skyped with Whitney Turley.
So all in all, a blissful day of relaxation. We are about to have dinner (still an exciting prospect even though we have been back in the real world for 24 hours now) and explore a bit more of the campus. Tomorrow begins, as Casey calls it, the REAL ADVENTURE. Tomorrow we will leave Smith at dawn and venture down to New York, where we will spend a day wandering, meet up with Aunt Sandl, and then the following day FLY TO ENGLAND!!

Ilinois,Michigan,Ohio,Pennsylvania,new York,Connecticut,Massachusetts.
Today proved to be a hard day, we had to leave our buddies gabe and James, they were with us from the beginning and now no more. It was a good run. However, the silver lining appeared at Boston's South Station in the form of the wonderful Emma Ritcey, who could not come with us because she is "working hard" and "studying" in school, which, if you know Emma, is clearly nonsense. But it was amazing to see her, even briefly, especially after a monumental 75 (!!!) hours on the Greyhound. Emma had no idea how different she was from the coke-snorting, chain-smoking, and generally shadowy companions of our greyhound adventure. Any way, now we are on the Massachusetts turn pike heading for smith college where Kate detrick is waiting for us with hot food and showers and other things that we can barely even remember. Cannot wait to see Kate!
Phone is dying so I will post this and write more when we arrive. I can almost guarantee nothing of extreme interest will occur on Peter Pan bus # 7049 between here and Springfield, MA.

Colorado, Nebraska, and Iowa, with the Windy City as our immediate goal. This morning, at 6AM central time, we experienced the first tragedy of this adventure as we had to part ways with the greatest bus driver ever. This uncharacteristically exuberant and good-natured southern gentleman welcomed us all onto his bus with a booming voice and no-nonsense attitude, responding to jibes from the back f the bus (jibes which are, we have found standard greyhound ettiquete,) with the following monologue: "You got somethin to say to me you come up to the the front of the bus and say it like a man. Don't holla at me like I'm yo dog. I don't play son. Don't be whining cuz yo hungry--you shoulda had some barbecue like me, woo! Also, keep your leg in yo seat because the fedrel govmint says your a fire hazard. If you light the bus on fire, then ya, your a fire hazard." This character, worthy of
Hemingway, gave us a wonderful few hours of amusement, even allowing us to weigh in on where and when we should stop for food. Speaking of Hemingway, the books that Casey and I are reading right now are very suspect: Casey is working on "Venus in Furs" which, it turns out, is the first literary work that glorifies masochism. Cool, I guess. I am reading "perfume" recommended by Diego Canales, which so far appears to be about a serial killer obsessed with killing women who where nice perfume. A slightly creepy combination, but in no way linked with Casey and my plans for the gap year...

We fell asleep last night to 300, the classic Spartan brutality a perfect greyhound lullaby.
More later when, someday, we get through the endless fields of corn.

California, Nevada, Utah, and Wyoming. Tonight we truck it all the way to the mile high city, Denver! We are passing several land Marks from our previous road trip with Peter which now seems totally lixurios. So far we have met these two cool 22 year olds from marin named gabrial and james, it's funny because they know alot of the Petaluma crew.What Small world! We have also made a freind at a gas station in Nevada, it was this nice old women who worked behind the counter, she gave us two apples for free. They ended up being super mealy and gross ,but the thought is what counts.


We were givin many a care package for our 3 day bus ride, one was fill of great food which we enjoyed at this nice little park in Reno on one of our brakes(thanks mom)and the other is from my amazing girl friend Bianca and her mother who packed both Percy and i which consisted of army men, trail mix,paint balls,nerf balls,cards, really beautiful note books which were hang crafted by Bianca bisson her self,stickers, and more. We still have two and a half days to go on this bus. We have made it for 21 hours and we still haven't killed each other.... Scratch that.... I'm still doin great I don't know where Percy is, I think he is still in Nevada somewhere.... Just joking.

Disclaimer; these posts may get increasingly incoherent as our grey hound incarceration continues.much love

We are on the bus!!! We have just boarded a Greyhound at gate "number D" and have said farewell to our beloved families, and now we are on the open road. Caseys first big challenge of the adventure was getting his bag into an overhead compartment, but he passed the test and now things are looking up...now we are going to open the mysterious packages made for us by the infamous Bianca Bisson. I am apprehensive as I heard a rumor she was using us to smuggle drugs to her contacts at Smith College in Massachusets.

It's a beautiful day and there are dozens of pristine white sails cutting across the bay as we coast over the Bay Bridge, and away into the world. Goodbye San Francisco, farewell Petaluma, we're setting out!!!!!