It's a strange world sometimes.

Loud music and the smell of the wild garden fills the air, a train rumbles in the distance. You can hear the thump-thump of an old John Deere, and a funny looking dog snorts through some odd canine dream. It becomes a strange place after sundown but before dark, out by the witch tree, where the hawks and owls compete for food and swoop near your head unseen but felt enough to give you a chill. Or down by the creek where the hordes of mosquitos thicker than bugs in an open can of motor oil attack with a feriosity worthy of any wild beast.

Inside - surrounded by old guitars of every configuration, speakers, stands, and cables everywhere you make your way past the stacks of home canned fruit and vegetables to see several old decrepit model railroads and a high shelf stacked with old Macintoshes running some kind of server of 'rust'. What is all this stuff? Why does everything I try to write turn in to a macabre melodrama....

The trains are now all where they belong:

The Idaho Narrow Gauge News

Music:

Here's Didi, Watch Out For That Tail! (230k animation, so you may have to wait a minute if you're on a slow 'out n the sticks' connection like us.) We Can animate one for you!