


Sunday was a big day for the Wren’s Nest: we sold out of several of our books, we had better footwear (or lack thereof) and hydration strategies, and for one magical hour, the main stage on the square for storytelling. It’s hard to be this famous.

Here’s Josie with a volunteer, who had a scarf stuck into her waistband the moment she stepped on stage and was then immediately instructed to shake her new tail. Price of fame, folks. You can also see Donald’s hands on the drum and Akbar lounging appreciatively. Or so I assume.

Check out our Executive Director, hard at work and barefoot. Note: a couple hours later one of the folks in charge nonchalantly referred to Lain as “that young punk who runs the museum”. I think I nearly burst trying to play it cool in the wake of that statement.
I bet you can barely imagine being so thoroughly entertained.

Success! Can’t you just imagine that all those brochures and bookmarks Josie is holding are actually million dollar bills? Me too.
This is the Decatur Mist Fountain, which was right outside of the main tent. For some reason, this fountain is the greatest thing anyone between the ages of 4 and 8 has ever seen.

Our tent and staff, along with Craig, Andalusia’s answer to Lain. No one else got the arms akimbo memo.
And that, friends, was the Wren’s Nest experience at the Decatur Book Festival. Pretty great, huh. And that’s all without even mentioning how great Kinky Friedman was! Goodness.
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