Mea Culpa - part 1

This is an awkward post to write; it involves an object of obsession for some, and a nocturnal beast with insomnia.

Several weeks ago, I was able to get a copy of The Principles of Knitting - a book of mythic reputation - through our inter-library loan system. I had to wait quite a while for the book to become available, so it arrived just before we left for vacation. We were going camping, and I thought "I am going to be knitting. This is a golden opportunity to bond with POK."

So we packed our car (up to, and including, the roof rack) and headed north to the wilds of The Pinery in Canada (So called because it is in an oak savanna) and made ourselves at home.



The weather was great. I'd sit outside with my red crate of knitting stuff, working away, while Hubbo frolicked and gamboled with his bike. Life was good.

One afternoon, we returned after shopping for our daily viands. I sensed an ominous presence slipping away in the brush. I approached the red crate.




With trepidation, I looked down.



What were those marks?



RACCOON! (to be continued)