Where the heck are we? (And other important questions.)
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There are mornings when I wake up, and haven’t the foggiest idea of where I am. This is neither as alarming or as glamorous as it sounds. It’s usually in a hotel room somewhere. And more often than not, Rand is with me, so I can’t complain.
Travel enough, and I suppose it’s a natural side effect. Some places all start to look alike. And other places look … well, unlike anything, really. Certainly not as you’d expect them to look, that’s for sure.
And that’s where I found myself on the first day of the year. I couldn’t help but look around and wonder: where exactly was I? It was only one of many questions that followed …
Questions like, how on earth did I end up on a John Deere utility vehicle?
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Why doesn’t Rand look happier to be in the back?
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Does wrapping plastic wrap around plants actually protect them from the cold? (Yes, apparently.)
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Do the sheep have names? (No. But the little ones have numbers painted on their sides.)
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Why are the branding irons green? (Because they were dipped in paint.)
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Is there manure on my boots? (A little.)
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Is it okay if I think that lamb is delicious, but still manage to find this guy adorable? (Let’s not think too hard on this one.)
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Is delivering lambs anything like delivering babies? (“They scream less.”)
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Do you remember the first time you met Rand? (“He was hollering. He does that when you hold him up by the toe.”)
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Can I touch the plants?
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Is this one part tribble?
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Is this seriously the largest collection of privately owned succulents on the east coast? (The New York Times says yes.)
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Does this flower clash with my scarf?
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Are you mad at me because I almost touched the plant? Are you sure? Cuz before, you kinda yelled.
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What happens if I touch this dial? Okay, okay, I won’t. Maybe you should put up another sign.
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Where are we again? Oh, yeah. Jersey.
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Not what I had imagined Jersey would look like. You can’t really blame me for forgetting, right?
Can we come back here again? Soon? Okay. Good. Good, because I like New Jersey.
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