Sitting now, in October, surrounded by mist and the turning trees all rustling and fluttering in a fall morning breeze, I can finally commit the summer to computer memory. The time here felt free and open and timeless and so much making and growing and discovering happened. I tried to take pictures of as much as I could, rarely having had the impulse to record things like plants in a pot or the tiny details of daily life so strongly. We lived outside as much as in, with all the windows and doors open all the time, with the back door banging it's prairie farmhouse "RAP" as the little bodies shot through it on their way to and from all their passionate pursuits: catching snakes and grasshoppers and finding ant houses and ripe things to pick in the garden and new birds and flowers and bugs to look up in the book and digging and burying and unearthing in the garden. It felt, and feels, whenever we're here, as if the air and sights and sounds feed us and fill us and clean us out so we are light and new and easy.
D and E with friends M and E creating their mud garden in early spring. In the background is the spot that will become the vegetable garden.
Garden getting plotted. Tractor up and running but mower still being fixed.
Then, a brief sojourn back in the gritty city enjoying the cooling pleasures of a water-balloon-wet twisty slide and the "sprinkadoo" at Van Voorhees Park.
Then a bath,
then some lounging (notice large belly on couch),
then some reading and ear-twiddling,
and some smoothies at Naidre's.
Until back again with a sigh of joy to the daisies running amok and the grass up to our knees.
And Dada with us, from time to time, though never enough.