Over Memorial Day weekend, we took a trip to visit my grandparents in North Carolina, and to cash in on our Christmas gift from my aunt and uncle: a romantic woodland getaway at their log cabin in the mountains.
You say "log cabin," I say "luxury vacation home that happens to be made of (probably luxury) logs." Tomato, tomato.
It was so relaxing because you are alone on 70-some acres and there's nothing to do. It was glorious.
There's an old still on the property, for your moonshine-makin' needs.
Also, this was the first trip we took with the new member of our family.
We adopted a dog from the SPCA at the beginning of May, and she was very scared and unsure of us for a while. Until this pack-bonding trip.
We had never seen her so happy! She got to run free in the "wild," and she was filled with so much joy.
And mud, she was filled with so much mud.
There was lots of beautiful nature for my lens to behold, including some delightful little creatures.
And speaking of creatures... our skittish, mild-mannered pooch truly became a different canine in the wild.
She was running around the nearby brush while we walked along a path, and then we heard a shriek. I thought maybe it was a bird of some sort, so I looked up. Then the Huntress appeared in front of us, with a small brown animal in her jaws, kicking for its life.
I was horrified. Completely shocked and horrified. I buried my face in my husband's shoulder until the kicking had stopped. Then she picked it up again and started trotting back for the cabin, as if to say, "Dinner's on me tonight! Fire up the grill, alpha!" Horrors.
Fortunately, she discarded or buried her prey somewhere in the woods, instead of on the porch.
Then the muddy-bloody buddy needed an outdoor shower, in a bad way.
I hosed her down and then she was allowed to dry off on the porch. 
The view from the porch:
That is one content little doggy, right there.
By the time of our road trip back home, she was a new girl. Leaving her homeless past behind her.
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