I harvested lettuce from our garden patch last nite. We had it on our bear burgers for dinner. Why is it food you've planted and grown yourself gives so much satisfaction? Even with 20+ straight days of rain the seeds I planted a month or so ago have managed to break the surface and are showing healthy growth and color. Nature triumphs.
The grandboys and I walked over to the library yesterday morning. Without the double stroller and pushing the single one along in case anyone gets too tired of walking, a walk that once took us maybe an hour and a half round-trip has stretched into one that can lasts upwards of three. Cooper is not a fast walker. He meanders. He loves to go up to trees and feel the different textures of bark. Hardly a dandelion he comes across manages to dodge his keen eyes. Each one is presented to 'Ahma' as if it was gold. (It is.) We all squatted down on the sidewalk to watch a new ant colony breaking thru a crack in the sidewalk, pushing bits of dirt and rock out of the hole. We saw two insects mating and Dylan got a rudimentary explanation of the Facts of Life. My two were also around the age of four when questions about "What are they doing?" began to surface. We have been seeing the chickadees mate, the 'couples' picking up twigs and bits of grass to make their nests. I think one pair might be nesting in the huge clematis on our front porch. I'll have to investigate later...we will find the nest and carefully take it apart so the boys can see the care and artistry involved in the weaving of a baby bird's first home.
There is a Russian meat market along one of our routes. We've passed it countless times in the four years we've been out walking. When the air vents are open whenever the owners are smoking their meats and sausages the aroma, the smoky warmth, blows softly down on us and wraps us in its tendrils. Yesterday Dylan spoke up as we passed under it yet once again, all of us breathing deeply and going "Mmmmmmmmm!", and said, "Grandma, we need to go in there and buy some!" So we did. A small rope of chicken sausage and strips of teriyaki jerky. The smell of the shop was enough to make our mouths water. And my fussy Dylan, who survives on chicken sandwiches, chicken nuggets, and pizza, devoured his sausage in seconds. Go figure. I guess he decided if something smells that delicious it has to taste delicious, too.
As we walked yesterday -- and we did a lot of walking, 3 other short walks after our early morning venture; the sun was shining, don'tcha know -- Dylan said, "Grandma, you need to bring up all those books from the basement and read to us." You could've knocked me over with a feather. When our children were little, we didn't have television by choice. We spent our days listening to music, playing, walking...and reading and reading and reading. We had hundreds of books. And some of the sweetest moments of their childhood were the ones when we three cuddled together on the couch and I'd read to them for hours. I tried with the grandboys. In fact, I'd tried several times. But they were so busy. Flit here, wiggle there, up, down. Never sitting still. I gave up. I boxed up the books I'd bought at thrift stores and put them in the basement. But lately one of their favorite pasttimes is watching "Thomas the Train" DVDs, which are told in storybook fashion. And they are fascinated by them. Enthralled. Glued to their seats. And a few days ago in passing I told Dylan, "You know, these are just like stories in books, Dylan." His deep little mind must've finally put it all together. So this morning, after I post this, I am going down in to the basement before they arrive. I am going to bring that big box upstairs and find a big basket and put those books in it. And I will read. And read. And read. Again. Life is a cycle of circles.