Home, home on the lake. (Where the deer and the antelope roam.)

Last night we opened a bottle of wine from a local vineyard that we had been saving for a special occasion. It was a most excellent wine, but I have to take issue with the label on the back, which was either written sometime in the dark ages, or by a copywriter who has never actually visited this part of the country.

Beautiful? More like tragic.
Mysterious? Well, okay, I'll give them that.

Do you know what the mystery of Lake George is? The mystery, my friends, is where the fucking water went to.

(Yes, those blobs in the middle are sheep.)