Indian mounds dating back nearly 900 years rest only a mile from our house. They are down the road and through a trail in the woods. The city made it into a little park. Now a historical landmark with trails and markers and beautiful oak trees, it's available to anyone but no one was there, so we made it our spot for the afternoon. We've wanted to get there, but I've been to tired to walk the entire thing, so we drove to the trail head (George Wilder rode on his bike beside us) and headed through the woods. We came into this lovely clearing and there right in front of us, covered in spanish needles, covered in weeds, covered in the past, were two gigantic indian mounds. No pictures -- Indian mounds look like mounds. The stories beneath -- what we can't see is what we want to know and see. So we imagine and read the little stories there. William listens to see if the tree has any stories to share. The autumn gives us gifts to hunt. Massive acorns, cla
Showing posts from October, 2014
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William woke up from a dreamy deep sleep of a nap. He wasn't thrilled to meet the day again head on. It was slightly cool, so we made tea, bundled in the stroller, and meandered through the yard. The day before, heavy rain soaked the earth and in turn the earth pushed up chantrelles all over. Bright yellowish orange mushrooms popped up here and there. He pointed and I pulled and placed gently in his lap. The day didn't seem as daunting anymore. He was ready to cook now. He washed them all. He cut them into tiny pieces. Amelia brought him some parsley from the sparse parsley plant by the pool and I cut up an onion. He pulled his chair to the stove and started dumping in his ingredients. I'm sure it was his generous portions of butter that he continued to share with the bruschetta, and his tender patience while he stirred that made it most divine.
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We thought it was time to get a truck. But trucks don't grow on trees. Instead, we had some work done on the Subaru and had it fitted with a hitch. We thought we'd get a trailer, but they don't grow on trees either -- even here in Florida. When George said he was going to try and rebuild the old, falling apart, rotting trailer, probably last serviced in the 70s, sitting on the back of the property, I didn't see it happening. But, George is on a mission to learn and think about how to create and build and rebuild. With the help of our friend Rob, George learned to weld, purchased some new wheels, replaced some wood, and with a few more adjustments, we had a trailer. It was an event here, the maiden voyage. The children happily loaded up piles of limbs and supervised as the trailer carried them to the fire pile. And it made for a perfectly lovely evening ride with the cousins around the property.