Anyway, I expect the weekend doesn't really require pictures. Use your imagination. Here's how it went down:
Thursday night, down to the parents'. Friday most of the day, packing and labeling yarn and knitting to bring to the craft show, and spinning more black yarn for my cushion, while Mom finished weaving a rug and did the edges and fringes for several others. The craft show opened at 6pm, so we had to be there and unpacked by then.
The craft show, as part of the St. Anicet Corn Festival, was held in what I have heard referred to as either the church or the cathedral at St. Anicet, close to the lake. A rather large stone building for the small size of the community (they don't even have a bank anymore). Most churches have a hall for events attached beside or nearby, but here it was as if the body of the church was split in two halves, with the half near the altar containing pews and stone walls, and the back half modernized, with air conditioning, tiled floors, and new, painted walls. The new section was lined with tables for the craft show, with a row of works by local painters down the center (I say painters rather than artists, as most of it looked rather amateur). Saturday there was a book launch/wine and cheese for a volume on local history, and Sunday, the usual Mass, while the craft show was going on, so it was always busy. Many summer residents, some with dubious fashion choices (are tops covered in ruffles in right now?), and mostly french-speaking, so my brain had a workout. I chatted with people and my boothmates, and spun in between customers. More harlequin yarn - the last two skeins of my Tour de Fleece. (I took those pics today, after the great camera clean-up)
It was a good sale for all of us, and surprisingly, I sold more yarn than finished stuff. More proof crafters are taking over the world. Even had a bunch that was a family affair, where the mother bought yarn the two kids picked out that they wanted to knit, and the grandmother bought some to knit for another family member.
We spent Sunday evening recovering and unpacking, but right after breakfast Monday morning, Mom and I headed for the Teafields, and our annual pick of wild blueberries. The guy we usually call to ask if they're ripe, said they were ready, but small, and the terrain more overgrown than usual. His descriptions are always negative, though. It all looked normal to us when we got there - mossy ground, covered in shrubbery knee-to-hip high to wade through, interspersed with half-grown birches and berry bushes. Picked until 2, and came home with a bucket full, and I have a couple containers to munch on this week. Everything ripened a bit earlier this year, and we couldn't put off picking any longer. Not many green ones left on the bushes that we saw. But we got berries, and before the storm that evening, so all is good.
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