Thanksgiving morning. I’m in a Carolinian cabin filled with Scottish tartans and pipes and a fireplace and two stuffed ducks. Dozens of squirrel-sized chairs are placed lovingly on all the available empty spaces: on dressers, on the china cabinet, on the bedside table. If people disappeared and this house were left to the elements, the squirrels of the woods would civilize themselves so they could sit obediently on the small chairs and celebrate squirrel-Thanksgiving.
A Thanksgiving fireball
A Thanksgiving fireball
A Thanksgiving fireball
Thanksgiving morning. I’m in a Carolinian cabin filled with Scottish tartans and pipes and a fireplace and two stuffed ducks. Dozens of squirrel-sized chairs are placed lovingly on all the available empty spaces: on dressers, on the china cabinet, on the bedside table. If people disappeared and this house were left to the elements, the squirrels of the woods would civilize themselves so they could sit obediently on the small chairs and celebrate squirrel-Thanksgiving.