Mushroom Farm Lodge - a weekend treat
Imagine flying. As humans, the closest we get to flying is by parachuting us down a plane, or by rolling down a hill on a glider or by kitesurfing on a lake. That's what I thought before I got to Mushroom farm lodge. I am writing from the coffee table outside cob house, my 'home' for the weekend and one that will probably stay in my memories for a long time. The sounds of the crickets has been incessant since 5am. I wonder when crickets go to sleep. The little patio outside the cob house opens into the valley. The drop should look scary. Rationally, it is scary given landslides afflict the area in a rainy season like this. Yet, I peacefully look down and I can't have enough of the view. Rolling mountains open under my eyes, covered by bushes and trees, tainted by muddy patches here and there to indicate... Well, the landslides. A few houses lie peacefully at the bottom of the valley, some patches of grass stand out where people have put the mountain coast at work fo...
