We’ve been keeping busy with summertime activities, but I haven’t always had my camera with me! Sometimes I get tired of carrying it around, but mostly I’ve been leaving it at home (after a record-setting 798-picture July) because I just want to enjoy the time with the kids and not worry about getting pictures of everything. Skipping the photo ops lets me be fully present with them.
Although, there have been a few things we’ve done when I wished I had the camera:
–picking blueberries. We tried a new place the other day…we followed signs by the side of the road until we arrived at someone’s personal property. The family had rows of blueberries in their 3/4-acre front yard which they opened up to the public for picking (or anyone who decided to take a chance on a hand-painted “U-pick blueberries” sign and fastidiously follow the arrows all the way out into the country). They hadn’t pruned last year, so the rows of bushes grew together and formed a canopy over our heads as we worked our way in between them. The ceiling was dripping with blueberry chandeliers.
–playing in the dirt. There is a huge dirt pile a few blocks from our house. Also equidistant, there is also a nicely manicured and well-groomed playground park. Where do you think my kids wanted to spend the afternoon? You got it. They dug, climbed, slid, built, carved, piled, and rolled while I laid in the grass. I did not have one bit of reading material with me, so I laid down and looked at the sky and occasionally looked up to watch my kids dig chairs and beds and cup-holders into their dirt home for an hour. To see every inch of their skin and hair covered with dust and dirt and evidence of their hard work…I wished I had my camera then.
–blackberry picking. One afternoon (it might have been the same as the afternoon of the dirt pile) we stopped at a wild blackberry bush. Picking blackberries is treacherous; all of the really good ones are at the top of the shrub, which is well-guarded by thorn-studded , convexly-growing brambles. They are impossible to get. They taunt us as we settle for the medium-sized berries around the periphery. Not getting scratched while picking blackberries is not an option, so our conversation that afternoon as we filled our buckets with berries was of our various new owies. Most are tolerable, but beware the Bleeding Owie. Elia had a close call when she suddenly declared, “Whoa! I nearly got a bleeding owie!” Whoa.
I did manage to get some pictures of this guy who we rescued from a bucket of water on our front porch.
He was limp and bedraggled when we scooped him out but he began to perk up as he dried.
Time to wash the face.
Home again out in the field.