I finished up a sweet trio of rabbits as the Easter sun rose in the sky. My own little bunnies were up soon after to enjoy them and some pistachios and chocolate eggs. Around here, there is no bunny to bring treats, but the Tomten usually comes through. During our weekly Cream of Wheat breakfast, we chatted on the phone withe Mike and his mother before he started on his way home. He and his sisters had given her a surprise 70th birthday party the day before.
After breakfast and tidying up, the children made turkey sandwiches for us all and we set out on a picnic. Living in our little town, we can walk many places. Behind a giant Baptist church (well, giant for us), there's a playground and the oldest cemetery in town (1747). There's also the oldest public oak, the Royal Oak, for which many businesses take their name. We sat under the old oak for our sandwiches.
I think this captures my three pretty well. Willow, always so lovely; Roan, with his sly grin; Laurel, on the move with Oreos in hand. Our picnic reminded me of the essays in Lifeways
. It was a simple affair, but really so enjoyed. I hope we can repeat it, our own tradition in the cool hopefulness that is Easter. I want my children to know and feel special places. There are so many.
Most of the stones in the old cemetery were without carvings on them, such as it is with limestone and the like. It was a time to remember people who have been, in many ways, forgotten. They, too, were once lovely, mischievous and busy. They exist in inventories of the local cemeteries, painstakingly researched many years ago by devoted amateur historians.
There were thousands upon thousands of Spring Beauties blooming.
The ground was also full of day lilies sprouting up.
This place is so cool and green in the Summer (with a touch of poison ivy).
The Wassum name is prominent in Marion, with their descendents still living here.
The land where our house is was once part of their farm.
There's a lot to think about with this piece of granite.
We skipped the playground that day, choosing to utilize the fallen trees, stumps, and logs.
Sometimes, children need just a bit of modeling to see what is there.
Other times, they need nothing at all but open spaces.
They often ask me to read tombstones for them.
We are not sad about it. It is what it is.
Life was bursting forth and renewing itself all around us.
We watched a train for some time, as this little knoll overlooks the tracks (and a defense plant).
The world rushed on around this little forgotten island of ancient oaks.
Laurel, that girl.
She was looking in an old woodpecker hole.
And here's a tribute to the woman who helped preserve the cemetery and the Royal Oak.
Little did I know that I would visit her special place and walk nearly every inch of it looking for my pentatonic flute.
I didn't find it after we got home, so we went back and looked again.
Becky came over and offered to go look, with no luck.
After Mike got home, I looked for another hour before supper, taking a rake along. I walked in rows, up and down, back and forth. He went back after supper. I called the Baptist church to see if anyone picked it up in the parking lot and turned it in. Nothing yet. I am sentimental about few things, but this really got me. Such sweet flutes the Choroi ones are. I've been planning a recorder post for some time, hoping to weigh in on how they compare and my preferences for teaching music to children. Oh, well. A replacement will be had some time.
On that note, I'll move along.