Falling Into Fantastic

Conversations among the children hum:

This is my collection over here.
Can I bring my collection over to the table?
I have an idea, grab that end of the table.
Oh yeah, we can have a little more space, Amelia?

Okay, I will put this out.
I am going to do something with this here.

I am doing a show.
We can’t let people know that we are here.

These are my special ones.

These are my special ones
These are my not special ones because they are bent.

They are talking about bottle caps.

We are camping. Sort of. We packed the car with curvy black boxes concealing an instrument assortment, a cooler with food, clothes, bathing suits and a few pillows. We didn’t have to bring much this time. The Spirit of the Sewanee Bluegrass Kids Camp is on again and George was asked to be an instructor. Instructors are placed in air conditioned cabins  -- a guarantee that William and I would tag along.

Ours is a single wide. Clean and air conditioned and an equipped kitchen.  This high class camping is essential for a Florida August.

William is napping. George is working on some music and my older two collect treasures in the dirt and build a business on a table meant for the trash.

Still in swimwear, I’m propped on the porch on the cooler watching and listening and letting the warm breeze work.

The children move their station towards the porch. We are a pile of pups loving the quiet and the still time. They wash their favorite beer caps until the shine. Counting and trading.  Mind. Craft.

They went to fiddle lessons this morning and learned “This Little Light of Mine” and made a friend that can play the fiddle like they do and George met a junior ornithologist that wants to play the guitar and Amelia wants to meet him and become a junior ornithologist that collects bird specimens. 

We will swim in the river after nap time before the next fiddle lesson.

Our life is a constant fall into the fantastic!


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