Oh, poor sweet naive little Brittany. You're in for a surprise.
Our first clue should have been the creek crossing on the way in. Sure, the creek was at about 12 inches, but it was raining CATS AND DOGS and wasn't supposed to let up until late Sunday afternoon. Did that stop us? Nope!
We get to the cabin and hunker down for a truly fantastic weekend. Gallons of hot chocolate and Prosecco were consumed (almost). An bottle of robitussin was split between the two of us over the course of the weekend. Poached eggs were practiced (and failed, whoops). Forty rounds of rummy were played, thirty-six papers were graded, two movies were viewed, and two driveways were raked. See? Productive and relaxing.
However, this was the only "clear skies" we got all weekend, and it lasted for a good seven minutes, tops.
By Sunday, as predicted, it was still raining, and we had just enough gas to get us back to town. That means NO SIDE TRIPS TO SEE PRETTY TREES, as I was told.
Yeah, you couldn't cross that in a semi-truck, let alone our car. You see those little creek-level stakes in the right-hand picture? No? Well, that's a bad sign. It's halfway into the red zone.
So, with no more food, barely any gas, and intermittent power outages, we spent another night in the cabin. Monday morning
Monday morning, we were able to get out, with barely any gas to spare. 12 hours of "dry" weather shrunk the creek back to a respectable 12 inches, and calmed the creek enough to cross.
See? You can see the green-for-go lines.
The trip home was relatively uneventful, save some gorgeous skies, beautiful weather, and a bird who discovered how fan-stinking-tastic singing on a conference call can be (sorry to all of Tim's coworkers; I did my best!).