My village is thriving and the personalities of my little people are coming into full bloom. With this continued evolution comes a bounty of interesting interactions between the various denizens of my village and I thought I'd share one such event.

The other day, a group of my male villagers were sitting around pretending to pick up debris from the beach (ever since they have formed a union, it is impossible to get a decent day's work out of them). They were bragging to each other about the various skills of their respective family.

Mali bragged that his father was a Master Builder and while his father *could* create a plumbing system that would provide enough water pressure on the fifth floor of a building, he was so steadfastly opposed to the idea of a beach-front high-rise, that he had refrained for the good of the village.

Galin proudly boasted that his mother was a Master Scientist and could create a potion so powerful that it would protect the person when they went to bury a body. Unfortunately, I must take some credit for their un-natural fear of venturing outside the village common-grounds to the graveyard. It seems that in a moment of confusion, I allowed my villagers to watch the movie "The Village" during one of our film festivals. You can imagine how that went over. Well, as it happens, my villagers really did start to disappear when going to bury bodies and they have since declared Jochim Phoenix a prophet of sorts and it is all I can do to keep them from watching 'Signs' when I'm not looking. Honestly, it's like they enjoy torturing themselves.

Fele immediately piped up that her father was the Master Healer and most talented physician the village had to offer. No one bothered to contradict Fele who, unfortunately, was often the test subject of her fathers various experimental herbal concoctions and who, on this particular day, was sporting a rather nasty looking boil on her neck, which was covered with a thick white paste and what appeared to be, to Mali at least, a few feathers.

Toba remained silent, as was his lot in life, having a mother who was universally known as the Master Breeder in the village. In fact, on most days that Toba wasn’t present, much of the bragging revolved around his mother. Boys will be boys, it seems.

Last was Gorf. His father was also well known. While Gorf would have had us all believe his father was a Master Farmer, it was widely accepted that Gorf was, in fact, the laziest farmer around. Not only had he completely quit foraging at the Barry White Bush, he had flatly refused to plant a seed, water the fields, or harvest a single thing. In fact, Gorf’s father is best known for sitting on the beach and flirting with the female Master Farmers, volunteering to bait their hook with a juicy earthworm so that they may fish. That was all Gorf’s father did. When pressed, he would offer up that his father was the best Baiter in the village. He was a Master. A Master Baiter. Poor Gorf never understood while all the other boys were so tickled when he said this.

I hope everyone’s village is doing nicely and I will be happy to post more interesting stories from my village as events unfold.

Tibby.