One way to look at it, tomorrow marks a whole new beginning of our trip. Once we pull away from Anthony's aunt and uncle's estate in Free Union, Virginia, we'll end the 2 1/2 month streak of homestays with Anthony's relatives and finally, truly be on our own. Not that we haven't immensely enjoyed spending unorthodox, and arguably untoward, amounts of time with his family, we're just overdue to extend our road trip beyond the Maryland/Virginia area. Anthony's even agreed (somewhat grudgingly) to shower for the occasion. This could be a good omen.

Yesterday we returned to Richmond for Anthony's nephew's birthday and said goodbye, for the second and third times, to family, friends and neighbors who thought we'd be long out of range by now. Slowly, we're coming to terms with the fact that we have no talent for estimating our speed of travel or sticking to a schedule. We must stop deluding our generous hosts.

This extended stop - we're on night number six here -- isn't a response to car woes, for once. We're staying, in part, because this little handmade country home is much to our liking and comfort. Nancy and David describe themselves as every 70s hippy stereotype, down to their Spartan indoor plumbing and lack of conveniently located salt or sugar. (By our final night here the dinner table was subtly set with the salt, tamari and hot sauce on our side of the table. Couldn't quite quit the condiments cold turkey.) David's a landscape architect and Nancy's a potter who spends most of her days playing with clay and fire in the small studio just down the path from their back-to-the-land abode. Hidden in woods and framed with redbud and dogwood in the spring, their home has been a shared work in progress since the mid 70s.

The other day Liz baked whole wheat bread. Today we rode horses after bribing them with carrots. We could really dig this land-owning hippy life, man.

Host Dog	Bread	We Want Cake
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