Above: Joan in Boots, 30 years after her questionable decision to say, “I Do”. To me.
It rained a lot in Omaha last week. A LOT. Enough rain to turn an entire slope into a mud slide at the Omaha Zoo. It was bad enough that the zebra herd was replace with heavy earth moving machinery. Elephants however, stuck it out. The rain also turned parts of a lovely farm west of Omaha into a soup of mud garnished with the straw, plywood sheets and impromptu gravel which slowed, but did not stop, the faithful who came to celebrate One Man’s Junk.
Junkstock is billed as Three Days of Peace, Love and Junk, and like its 1970 inspiration Woodstock, it would take more than rain and mud to stop the throngs gathered to buy and sell the remnants of agraria from generations past, and the repurposed creations from artists and artisans from throughout the Midwest. Junkstock also featured a good chunk of live hillbilly music and creative eats, although the use of psychedelics appeared to be kept to a minimum. After some gentle prodding, my gal (above) thought ahead and brought her boots. While there were plenty of attendees sporting Wellingtons and other waterproof footwear, there were others whose dainty footwear will probably face a mercy killing.
We looked and talked a lot more than we bought, but that was the plan going in. While there were lots of interesting creations, the best may have been the apple-filled Chinese-style egg rolls, which the server augmented with hot caramel. My only complaint with them is that they disappeared too fast. Peace Out.