Alpaca-riffic!

The husband and I travelled home this weekend to drop off the turkey for the Thanksgiving celebration with his family. While there, we also visited an alpaca farm in the general vicinity of his parents' house. We've been looking at a lot of alpaca farms online.


Do you even know what an alpaca is? I wouldn't, if I didn't knit. This is an alpaca:



Our long-term life plans at the moment revolve largely around this creature. We want to eventually move out to the country and buy alpaca (and maybe chickens and various seedlings to grow food from, but mostly alpaca). I am going to take a handspinning class, so that I can shear the alpaca and then turn their fleece into yarn. Then maybe I'll knit products out of the yarn, and then sell them for profit. Look at that sentence structure. An alpaca future turns me into a 3-year-old, syntax-wise.

I do fully realize that the husband and I are turning weird. Seriously, we don't plan to have kids anyway, but if we did, they would totally be the awkward kids who wear handmade clothes and bring their own weird lunches. ("It's a tofu sandwich. My mom made the bread and my dad made the tofu. The little chunks are spelt!") But knowing that you're weird offsets some of the weirdness, right? If the library has taught me anything, it's that people who are weird to the point of making you uncomfortable never have an inkling that they're uncomfortably weird. At least that's what I'm telling myself. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to harvest the dog's hair to make my first yarn. (Not really, but I totally could.)