Thankful for my brother and Maria. Thankful for the four kiddos they come with. Thankful for hours and hours of play and reading and running and biking and shooting at things. Thankful for delicious food. Thankful, so much for family. I'm thankful for friends who meet us at 8:00 a.m. at a beautiful park to be together and run and walk and talk and drink Bloody Mary's and listen to music and laugh and ride bikes and press pause on life's crazy.
Showing posts from November, 2016
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He read a story about a young boy that wrote a letter to the president and got a letter back. Of course, it was President Lincoln who wrote the boy back. George Wilder had to write Barak Obama. He told him of his ideas on how to make communities and police get along better. He told him he raised pigs and roasted coffee. We haven't heard back yet. We are waiting. He read about Nelson Mandela. He heard that he was in prison for 27 years. A man ran 27 marathons in 27 days to remember the 27 those years. George Wilder decided he would run up and down the driveway every day for 27 days. We are documenting it and learning about South Africa as we go. We didn't roast coffee for over six months. When we tried again, the batch didn't turn out great and it was too hot to even think of roasting. As the weather cooled and we were drinking half way decent coffee, we thought to send George Wilder out to give it a try. He roasted the most delicious pound of coffee I have ever taste
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Amelia talked about the pumpkins growing out in the pasture and brought giant gourds growing wild throughout the late summer. She said there was a pumpkin patch. It was hidden from view and I just didn't think much about it. It was lost under August tall grass, but as the fall approached and the rain totally stopped, dry grass exposed piles of pumpkins. Their golden hues and hints of slight greens are all the fall we have right now. We decided to see how they taste. . . Amazing.