#evergreen state fair

[tetedurfarm]

state fair take two

[styleandcheek]

Aghh 🥹 I love puppers

[jedimasterhyladae]

[lisaahn]

Quick Bread - Fair Scones Recipe In less than an hour, freshly baked scones similar to those at the fairgrounds will be ready for consumption. Butter and raspberry jam are complimentary.

[sketchbookpoetry]

Fair Scones Freshly baked scones just like at the fairgrounds are ready to eat in less than an hour. Serve with butter and raspberry jam.

[originalaccountname]

kind of tangentially related to the bsd timeline stuff but do you happen to know if it's ever been explicitly stated (or at least hinted at) as to what time of year dark era takes place? or if not do you have any guesses?

Disclaimer: I think Asagiri marks the time mostly through how old characters are approximately. Since skk were 16 during the DHC, and Dazai is 18 during Dark Era, "two years" have passed, regardless of the actual months:

But Asagiri brought up actual months a few times and the characters have birthdays so I'm free to extrapolate and force the timeline to make sense.

so:

Asagiri keeps seasons vague, the only exception being 55 Minutes, as stated in its afterword:

No there isn't a specific date or time of the year stated, and right now I can't remember if there were any comments that could help us pinpoint the time through temperature or trees or whatever.

But, building off my Fifteen -> SB -> Dragon's Head timeline, the DHC started in January or February and lasted 3 months, Oda in Dark Era says the conflict happened "2 years ago", and Dazai is 18 during Dark Era. I needed to make a graph for that one:

Going from approximations (what you could reasonably refer to as "two years ago") I'd say we find ourselves in the blue box's range. Anything above 1.5 years and below 2.5 (and before Dazai turns 19) is fair game. The 2-year mark of the start of the conflict would fall in Jan-Feb and it could be a very comfortable answer (Dazai would be 18 and 7-8 months)

So yeah. Probably not summer and more chances of it being in winter or the very beginning of spring.

edit: the real life author Oda Sakunosuke died January 10th 1947, so chances of Dark Era happening in January are actually pretty high! André Gide, for his part, died February 19th 1951, reinforcing this theory.

edit 2: in the epilogue, we are presented with Oda's grave, said to be on a "verdant mountain trail". However, some trees keep their leaves during winter in this area, plus evergreen trees and bushes found in mountains, so this wouldn't outright contradict it being winter.

[whirld-of-color]

Debug AU Part 3

hey look it's a chapter 3 exposition dump look at that

SSD stands for stick state dollars. evergreen has not told anyone else about The Offer. no there weren't any security cameras when the Incident happened, who's putting security cameras at a fair. evergreen does not want to jail he very badly does not want to go to jail. indigo is kind of losing it trying to figure out wtf went wrong. END POST WOOHOO god that was an ordeal. this and part 2 would have been a single long comic if it werent for the demons

[sallymareeq]

Midnight In Her Arms

Summary:

Girls are finally at Welton and Neil is Immediately in love, Fluff and romance ensue. Neil x Femme

Notes:

first fic, im trying but i, like all fanfic writers, wrote this past my bedtime on a school night so enjoy.

Neil still remembered that stunned moment in the cave, Charlie had just announced his article published in the name of the Dead Poets demanding girls be admitted to Welton. A fleeting moment of excitement followed by a rush of panic, of course, it's what every guy there wanted, but still. Charlie certainly got a beating for that one. But looking back now he really took one for the team, his article could have been the thing to spark the formation of the Welton Hall preparatory board, proposing Welton and Henley Hall have merged lessons. Nuwanda’s radical behaviour finally shook Mr Nolan into realizing the distraction a lack of co-ed interaction can cause in teenage boys, and like that, all classes in the high school merged to the Welton Campus.

Even still there was pushback from concerned parents of Henley Hall girls, resulting in a maximum of 50 girls joining the school of 400 boys. Mr Keeting had always been pro-merge, stating that “in order to appreciate beauty we must expand our knowledge and see with new eyes”, Neil had to admit he was happy about the merge. It would be interesting to hear poetry and ideas from a girl's perspective, it would also be interesting to talk to a girl, to laugh with a girl, to kiss a girl.

The first day of the merge only one girl was assigned to Mr Keating's English class, Jenny Maree. She was small and quiet with dark brown hair that had a slight auburn tint in the light, her rosy lips and evergreen eyes stood out against her smooth, alabaster skin. Neil wasn't sure why he noticed her so, it could have been because she was one of the first girls he really got to look at, but it also could have been because she was really quite nice to look at. Neil felt he finally understood what Mr Keating meant about appreciating beauty, he thought he could write an epic about the way he felt as his eyes travelled from her face, down her smooth neck to her chest, her hips, her thighs.

He could never tell her, firstly out of shame but secondly because he was sure she could never find him attractive, why would she go for him when she could pick Knox or Charlie or Todd. Still he couldn't help but smile to himself when he thought he caught her eyes flicker away from his in class, a light pink blush dusting her cheeks.

After months of classes and many easy conversations on the way to class, Neil finally realized not only how beautiful Jenny was but how insightful and profound her writing was. Listening to her smooth song-like voice recite observations of the romanticism of a flower's new bloom, or the tragedy of time, was like nothing else to him. He realized he may be in love when he sat down to write a poem for class and all he could think about was her, all he could write about was her.

He sat at his desk, a cool breeze blowing through the cracked window lightly ruffling his hair, he set his pencil down and hung his head back with a sigh. “what's wrong?” Todd questioned from his bed. “I can't.. Write” sighed Neil dreamily. “Well why not?” “I can't, stop thinking about” Neil stared out the window “Jenny Maree” “Jenny?” Todd smirked, Neil looked at him. “Fair enough, she’s really quite brilliant” “She is” “You should talk to her,” Todd added casually. “I already do todd, we’re friend’s, we walk to class together” “No but like- actually talk to her. Invite her for lunch,” Todd chuckled to himself “ooor a midnight stroll and some poetry reading like Charlie” Neil laughed before picking up his pencil again “you know that's not a half bad idea Toddy, but it still doesn’t help my poem” Neil huffed “stop trying to fight it,” Todd advised “just write your poem about her, then you can talk about it after class” Neil thought for a moment then wrote a title, Miss.

The next Friday in class it was time for the oral examination on their personal poetry piece. Charlie got up and read his short prose on freedom, then Knox with his Haiku on love, then Todd with a brilliant piece about train of thought, then it was Neil. As he stood to read his paper, Mr Keating winked at him and nodded assuringly, he smiled back and took a deep breath in, trying not to look at Jenny and her soft, sweet smile.

Miss Midnight in her arms, A moment to ourselves, Real and full and true. Everything is clear, Evergreen our love shall be.

He looked up as Todd smirked proudly, and Charlie gave him a sarcastic thumbs up from the back of the classroom, but all Neil could see in that moment were Jenny’s evergreen eyes, pupils enlarged with admiration. “A lovely poem indeed Mr Perry” chirped the Captain as he stood “i'm sure we all envy the ‘Miss’ for whom this poem was written” he smiled knowingly, glancing in the direction of Jenny. “Anywhoom, Miss Maree, care to share with us your splendid piece?” Neil watched as she slowly stood and walked, hips swaying slightly, to the front of the classroom. She turned and to Neils Surprise she was smiling at him. Once again her eyes flicked away and she began to read.

Heart Writing poetry is painful, when love is absent, Longing, pining, admiring, Birth writing from the heart, But in doing so they take parts with them, Until the heart is but a half, But if love can be found In another half heart And as they begin to beat as one They give life to something new The most profoundly unique piece of art life.

(ill add more i swear)

[supersonicart]

Brad Woodfin's "The Rising Tide."

Currently on view at Antler Gallery in Portland, Oregon is artist Brad Woodfin's solo exhibition, "The Rising Tide."

Brad was born in Marblehead, Massachusetts in 1970. He moved to Olympia, Washington in 1991 to study printmaking and painting at The Evergreen State College. His work has been featured in solo shows in New York, Vancouver, Calgary, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Melbourne, as well as group shows and art fairs in Hamburg, London, Miami, New York and Melbourne. Brad lives and works in Montreal.

THE SUPERSONIC ART SHOP | FOLLOW ON INSTAGRAM

[bitchinbarzal]

see you later, six | r.sandin

summary; sandy’s been traded.

-

You were at work when he called. You missed it the first two times.

The third time, your assistant came rushing in with your phone “you’re going to want to take this-“

You looked up from your presentation “Lily, what-“

Your client pulled his phone out “Holy crap! The leafs have traded Sandin to Washington”

Your breath hitched and you snatched the phone out of Lily’s hand, answering the call you knew it was him.

“Ras” You mumbled, sadness clearly evident in your voice.

“Hi Käresta” he has clearly been crying.

“Baby I’m at work, what is going on?”

He sighs “They’ve traded me, Washington”

You clench your eyes shut and whisper “Okay… ok, right we will deal with this when I’ve finished this meeting. I’ll be finished in half of an hour”

“They want me on a flight tonight. I’ll need to go home and pack”

“I will meet you there, just pack your stuff” he mumbles an agreement and you hang up, turning back to your clients.

“I apologise for the interruption there-“

The man, the one who had pulled out his phone smiles softly “Sweetheart, go home”

You shake your head “No, it’s okay-“

He stands “I think you’re needed at home more than you’re needed here right now” you smiled gratefully, picking up your bag.

“Thank you, please speak to Lily and we will reschedule”

“Please pass along our congratulations to Mr Sandin on the new team. We’re big leafs fans, he will be missed” You give a tight lipped smile and leave.

Your entire ride home, your knee is shaking with anxiety. Entering the apartment, you can hear him hauling stuff around.

“Ras, I’m home!”

The clattering stopped “I’m in the bedroom!”

You appear in the doorway, leaning on it and staring at him.

He can see the tears in your eyes, even behind the smile “Älskling, please don’t cry…”

You give a watery smile, stepping off the doorframe and hugging him “I’m so proud of you Ras”

His fingers tangle in your hair “I love you, so much”

You sniffle, wiping your nose on the back of your hand before you head to the closet. You begin pulling stray clothes and folding them, placing them in his suitcase.

Your folding becomes more aggressive, Rasmus reaches out and stops you “Baby…”

The hoodie in your hand falls to the floor and you sob “This isn’t fair!”

“I know, my love”

“It’s not fair, Ras!”

He doesn’t respond, he knows there isn’t anything he can say to make this better.

When he has his suitcases packed and next to the door you’re lingering around, you’d made something to eat in order to consume your time.

“Babe, I’m leaving soon”

You nod, waltzing towards where he stood. Your jaw clenched as you tried not to cry again.

“Don’t cry”

“I won’t” You mumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I love you, so much” he kisses your lips over and over again, erupting giggles from you.

“I will be with you in a week” you mumble against his lips “Packing up our lives and headed to the evergreen state… what are we gonna do without bagged milk?” You joke.

“I’m sure we’ll survive” he smirks, then his phone rings.

You look at him “Your ride?”

“Yeah…”

He leans down and kisses you one last time “I’ll see you in a week”

“You go out there and show Washington what they’ve got, okay?” You say, tears lingering once again.

“Okay”

You help him down to the car with his bag, holding the door as he gets in and shutting it behind him.

You stand on the sidewalk watching as the car pulls away. The car disappeared around the corner and you still stood there just staring down the street.

“fucking Washington”

[grandpa-kita]

The Majestics organising a Renaissance fair and inviting random teams - GIF edition

Thanks @balsamfue for the request! More info on requests here.

Olivier followed by the rest of the Majestics, welcoming the teams at Versailles (in this case a b&b near the fair, somewhere in France)

His majesty Ralf/Robert Jürgens flexing his blonde wig to hit on the girls

Julia Fernandez Queen of Spain, not taking any of his bullshit

Enrique/Giancarlo Tornatore dressed up as Leonardo da Vinci, about to invent a flying beyblade with real wings to beat the other teams

Takao bringing the message about the beyblade with wings from one king to the other, followed by his servant Daichi

His other majesty Johnny McGregor, listening to Takao explaining Giancarlo da Vinci's story of beyblades with wings

Yuriy Ivanov literally to any of the European kings, taking the role of the dangerous enemy as always

Lord Hiwatari, his charme an evergreen regardless of the century

Max, Emily and Rick Anderson who are not big experts of European Renaissance since they are from the States so they just dressed up as some weird fairies and are now waiting for the duel between the Europeans and the Russians with flying beyblades

Bonus: Boris Kuznestov, that one knight who disappears somewhere at some point of the battle and comes back two hours later

[sovaghoul]

Happy - Chris Catalyst

Oh, you sweet Anon... this is precisely my state and predicament lately. And to have it be a Chris song on top of that... whoever you are, you get me. I love you, thank you 🥺🥹

Lyrics:

Oh! I wish I could be happy, just like everybody else

To be content with my existence, a-hanging smiles upon the shelf

Not compare myself to others, avoiding poisoned parallels

Oh, I wish I could be happy, just like everybody else

Oh! I wish that I was normal, just like those inside my screen

Where the rain is always absent and the grass is evergreen

But with kaleidoscopes of colour over miseries unseen

Yeah, I wish that I was normal, just like every nobody

No-one said it would be easy

No-one said it would be fair

Oh! It’s good it's good to be here

It’s good to be anywhere

At the top you think you’ve cracked it, loving everything you see

Other times it feels a battle, just remembering to breathe

Not every day can be a great one, but if you manage to get up

Celebrate! Be grateful! That’s the way we measure hope

No-one said it would be easy

No-one said it would be fair

Oh! It’s good it's good to be here

It’s good to be anywhere

Hey hey, don’t hurt yourself today

Hey hey, my my

Hey hey, I’m a million miles away

Hey hey, my oh my

So, now I’m glad that I’m not average, just rotating in routine

Capture the wonders but still relish familiar mundanity

It’s up to you to dig out brilliance, it’s up to you to glean your glee

And that’s the best that we can hope for… reckon I’m happy being me

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

A perfect succinct summation of current university expectations of minorities in America:

The soft bigotry of low expectations.

And the hard fragility of high entitlement.

The way this plays out often goes via proxy, however. Many students become represented against their will by activists with a particular ideological mindset. And often, they're "allies" demonstrating their virtuous bona fides, not members of those groups.

Note that the request that set off this shit-show was from "a non-black" student.

This (white) commentator rattles off some bogus pseudoscience to insist he "should have" complied; the same author has also decided that "divorce isn't fair" because her ex-husband isn't poor, so that tells you the mentality.

"I really wish his parents would give me that money"

As a timely reminder, Mike Nayna is releasing his Grievance Studies Affair documentary, "The Reformers," on his Substack over the next couple of weeks. Part 1 (free) and Part 2 (subscribers only) are already up, and Part 3 is coming next week.

Just today he's also released an accompaniment called, oddly enough, "The Reformers: An Accompaniment." This is essentially a re-cut of his previous three-part Evergreen State College documentary into a single film. I believe it's free to view.

Part of the way through the film, a former president of the college - who is black, by the way - is receiving an award and a building being named after him. During his speech, some entitled student barges up, takes the microphone and starts ranting like a nutcase.

Nobody does anything. Nobody cuts the mic. Nobody tells her to sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up because everything is not about her and her tantrums all the time. When she's done, the former president tries to address some of the points, and she and her pals start talking and chanting over the top, rambling about their "oppression."

Keep in mind, this is a liberal arts college in one of the most blue states in the entire US. These are extremely privileged people acting out a perverted, ideological Live Action Roleplay. They have few, if any, real issues; they're out there fighting postmodern dragons. At the time, this was shocking, and the language and mental processes were bizarre and alien. But nowadays, that language and mindset are everywhere.

The film proceeds along to the notorious takeover and hostage situation where students invade and lockdown the admin building, and the then-president tells everyone to go along with it. The students even yell at him over the placement of his hands, and laugh at him about bathroom breaks for the hostages. Nobody pushes back on this. The president even tells security to stand down.

To this day, nobody can tell you coherently what any of this complete meltdown was actually all about, and to my knowledge, little if any disciplinary action was taken against the perpetrators. If there's one person you'll see time and again through the footage, it's a guy called Jamil Bee. He was essentially the ringleader of the whole thing, but he was never expelled, he was never disciplined, and he was held up as a hero and invited to talks and lectures, Kendi-style.

So what he and his activist friends learned is that they could do whatever they wanted. He's even quoted as saying:

"Nothing is the limit to reparations." "There is no limit that can be set over us in being able to squash oppressive behavior."

The definitions of which he and similar activist types get to decide themselves: "you don't get to decide what's racism - only we do." This type of narcissistic authoritarianism has been celebrated and rewarded, rather than ridiculed and mocked as it should be, or held to the fires of the institutions policies and rules on appropriate conduct. They just let him slide.

And part of that was, as you mentioned, bigotry of low expectations. Nobody will tell these students "no." But also the fear of being called a mean name by intellectual infants: "racist," "white supremacist," "transphobic" or something similar. These words are only useful because they're not a pervasive problem any more; they're aberrational. Calling someone "racist" during Jim Crow wouldn't solicit any meaningful moral panic or defensiveness. But now the accused let them get away with this because it's easier than having to defend themselves from some baseless pro forma accusation of bigotry.

And that screws everything up for the majority of students who aren't mentally ill sociopaths.

This is something that plays out again and again and again. Colleges submit to the emotional outbursts and tantrums of students instead of doing the right thing and putting them in a time-out until they can come back and apologize - Yale and Stanford have had this sort of thing play out again and again.

What's not spoken about is that behind the scenes, it's often college administrators themselves - and particularly the apparatchiks in the DIE bureaucracies - facilitating this, teaching students this "harm" and "unsafe" and "danger" and "words are violence" mentality in the first place.

[purple-lotus1]

Purple Lotus

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[archesa]

The Oak and the Rose

A little sneak peek into an old wip of mine, the story of the soon-to-become heroine of Kvatch, saviour of Cyrodiil, most loyal protector of the last Septim emperor, and founder of the Evergreen line.

@nerevar-quote-and-star there we go ^^

These are the closing years of the Third Era... and the last hours of my life. Find him and close shut the jaws of Oblivion!

 

Find him. And close shut the jaws of Oblivion - 17th of Last Seed – 3 E 433

The air was damp and biting. The heavy scent of dust, mould and rot filled the air and made her cough as she struggled to straighten and blinked away the tears that had threatened to drown her dream. The images and memories of the last hours kept coming back to her, hauntingly vivid, if blured through a numbing haze of amnesia.

She remembered the Arcane University, the hopelessness in Traven's eyes as he drove the blade right through his heart, his soul ripped apart to fill the soul gem, the foul crystal turning dark, the betrayal contorting Raminus's face as he found her weeping over the corpse of the Archmage, the blade that killed him in her hands and the black gem at her feet.

The constant metalic sound of drops hitting the bars and shrieking whistle of the wind drilled through her skull, faning anew the embers of a blazing headache. Being drained dry of one's magicka tended to cause dizziness and a low thruming at the back of the head, but never had she experienced such emptiness.

“Oooh, aren't you a fair lass.”, a voice echoed across the corridor as she wandered near the bars. In the darkness, she barely fathomed the outline of another prisonner, in the block across hers – a dunmer leaning against the locked grid, observing her thouroughly. “Your skin is so pale, so pure. And your body is so... strong. Let me guess. A Nord, right? But these robes... Surely you don't belong to the University. Those snotty mages up their ivory tower wouldn't care for a little provincial with some cheap parlor tricks... Did I offend you? Well, why don't you make these bars disappear and prove me wrong? No. What's the matter, mage? Not so powerful,are you? You may have tricked the scholars into accepting you but down here, you're just a wild beast from far off heathen lands to be tamed! But don't worry. The guards always treat the pretty ones nice. Right 'til the end. Oh, that's right.”, he smirked, at the sudden palor on her skin. “You're going to die in here, Nord!”

A door shrieked in the up the corridor tore through the deathly silence of the dungeons.

“Hear that?”, the dunmer taunted, as he withdrew to the shadow of his cell. “The guards are coming. For you.”

The words cut deep through her battered spirit and fear seized her. She backed herself in the shadow and listened intently as footsteps and voices came nearer, descending the stairs.

“My sons... They are dead, aren't they?”

“We don't know that for sure, Sire. The messenger only said they were attacked.”

“No.”, an elderly voice stated deeply. “They're dead. I know it.”

“My job right now is to get you to safety.”, a woman answered in a concerned tone.

“I know this place...”, the man reflected. “The prison?”

“Yes, your majesty. Beneath the Legion compound. We're headed to a secret passage known only to the Blades. No one can follow us there.”

Her lean shape appeared in the light of a torch and stopped before the grid of the cell, her gaze falling immediately on the prisonner held in there.

“What's this prisoner doing here?”, she seethed, turning to another soldier wearing the same ornamented banded armor. “This cell is supposed to be off-limits.”

“Usual mix-up with the Watch.”, the redguard shrugged apologetically. “I-”

“Never mind. Get that gate open.” She then turned to the woman drawing instinctively back against the wall of her cell. “Stay where you are, prisoner. We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way.”

The young woman nodded silently and averted her gaze as the small troop entered the cell. There were three Blades - she could tell now by the look of their armor in the light of the torch - escorting a man well in the winter of his life and bearing on his shoulder the heavy burden of the Empire he ruled upon. Liv instantly bowed her head to him as his ageless eyes fell upon her.

“You...”, the Emperor breathed. “I have seen you.”

His steps drew him closer, and a hand gently grabbed her chin to lift her face to the light.

“Let me see your face. You are the Archmage... the one from my dream...”, he stated, a sense of impending doom in his voice. “Then, the stars were right and this is the day... Gods... Give me strength.”, he prayed through gritted teeth. He took in a deep soothing breath and looked once again upon the young woman from his vision, the confusion on her face plain as day and sign that her destiny was still to get ahold of her. “Assassins have taken the lives of my sons, and I am next.”, he explained further, the sadness in his voice now clearly sounding as resigned acceptance. “My Blades are leading me out of the city”, he added, as the soldiers busied themselves with an intricate combination of loose stones in the alcove nearby, “along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that old way leads through your cell. I have faith that the Gods have placed you here so that we met, in this fateful hour.”

“My liege?”, she creaked, her voice still broken since her capture.

The Emperor nodded to the man behind him, motionning him to approach.

“Release her.”

“Sire?”, the redguard inquired. “Is it prudent to...”

“The will of Akatosh appears to mortal in most unexpected guises. We must have faith in His guidance in this darkest hour.”

The Blade reluctantly obeyed, and pulled a skeleton key from his satchel to remove the prisoner's manacles. The heavy metal binds glowed blue as they were unlocked and fell to the ground with a dull, unnatural sound.

"As for what you've done...”, he considered pensively, the lingering pain in her eyes at the mere mention of her crime almost enough to convince him of her innocence, “it does not matter. That is not what you'll be remembered for.”, he offered with a smile.

“Sire, please”, the captain of the Blades cut curtly, the edge in her voice threading dangerously on the verge between respect due to his rank and irritation facing an old man's whim. “We must keep moving.”

“Walk the rest of the way with me.”, he offered. “After that...” The old ruler smiled weakly, but comfortingly. “You will find your own path. Take care... there will be blood and death before the end.”

[life-of-the-pride]

Life of the Pride Setting - Juniper Bole

No story is complete without its setting.

Our trio and their friends are residents of the small, bustling town of Juniper Bole.  Located in the heart of Texas, just a quick drive southwest of Dallas, Juniper Bole makes itself home to just shy of 5,000 residents.  A small town compared to its larger metropolitan neighbor.  This fair city is home to its eponymous tree, a hardy plant that the town’s founder believed represented its citizens.

He would be proven right in that as Juniper Bole has endured as a “mini gayborhood” for north Texas’ LGBTQ+ members.  In the modern day, it’s frequented by many an individual on the spectrum seeking a safe haven -- or just reasonably affordable housing.  It was both of those reasons that our trio moved here.

The mayor of Juniper Bole is one Anatoly Byakov, a snow leopard.  An immigrant from Gribovka, Byakov came to the United States to make his mark in the world of professional wrestling.  But after two decades in the ring, he threw in the towel for the last time and went into politics.  His fame as a wrestler allowed him to win the favor of the Juniperites.  But he always kept his past career close to him, and so he involved his former rival and best friend, Brazo de Platino, to join as Vice Mayor (trademark pending).  

With two former pro wrestlers in charge, it’s no wonder Juniper Bole has undergone bizarre ordinances.  Public transportation doesn’t really need pull-up bars, but that didn’t stop the mayor and Vice Mayor.  The lively Juniperites are ever ready for their governing officials newest madcap schemes.

The environs of Juniper Bole are surprisingly lush with plenty of evergreen trees to go around.  Besides the eponymous junipers, you’ll be sure to find entire forests of  cedar and mesquite.  The bluebonnets grow quite virulently in the spring, an event which ushers in flocks of tourists ready to see the plants in their full splendor.  To extend this natural wonder, an artificial lake was constructed years ago for the locals to have a respite from the summer heat while still taking in the beauty of nature. All in all, Juniper Bole makes itself home to a diverse range of individuals.  You already know of three, but there will be many more to discover in the world of Life of the Pride.