Those that stayed the night are here for breakfast and an even more casual time of chatting on yesterday's talks. I pack my art when most of the guests have left. S asks me if it will all fit in the car. I reply, "I don't know". It never has, but this time it does.
My plans of leaving change and I decide to spend the night. G gives me one of the most heartfelt goodbyes yet. M also sits to have one last talk with me. I think that I might have met - and remember - a hundred people or more just through Smoke Farm. I doubt that I will return to Seattle in the future, but there is no question on my mind that I will return to Smoke Farm.
When everyone is gone, I build a campfire. It is the only campfire that I have built during the year. I read a bit, but I see it as a distraction from what I should be paying attention to. I settle into my sleeping bag, on the wood deck, in the free air, about 8pm. It is dark. I listen to the farm. I think of the birds and animals that I would like to see once again. And, I think of a couple animals that I do not want to see at night.
Sometime early in the morning, still in the blackness, I am laying on my right side and my ear picks up the padding of something walking on the deck. I look over my feet and spot a dark shape some 20 feet away. This was not there when I settled in. I clunk my feet on the deck and the feral house cat darts off.