Saturday, August 08, 2009

Ol' Virginie

I whooshed the gals, last weekend, up to Virginia to visit the grandparents and stay, for this week-and-change, on the farm, doing wholesome farm-like things, the sorts of things they can't do in their not-particularly-wholesome and not-particularly-farm-like hometown. A photo montage, perhaps?

Time was, traveling parento-solo with the girls was a nightmarish proposition, but now they're just plain easy—veteran pros of the airways. June took a hefty little nap, apparently finding the safety cards as boring as the rest of us.

Riding in the back of the truck. A life without back-of-the-truck riding is, in my opinion, a withered husk of an existence. (Okay, that's a little extreme, but I do consider riding in the back of the truck to be one of the finer joys of life.)

Filling up the water pail.

Bottle feeding baby lambykins. (In sheep farmer heaven, all ewes produce 2.0 lambs annually. In the real world, some make more, and sometimes mama-ewe just can't handle the super-sized brood, so the pragmatic sheep farmer tries to do a switcheroo and pawn the excess lambykins off on a different lamb-deficient ewe who has recently birthed just a single lone lamb and, consequently, has milk to spare, but often, the would-be-adoptive mama-ewe catches on and doesn't much cotton to the idea of feeding some other sheep's not-quite-right-smelling-like-as-in-it-didn't-come-from-my-womb spawn, and the lagniappe lamb is roundly rejected and thrown on the mercy of the farmer, who must then bottle feed the little critter until achieves the age of grass-and-grains-only.)

Time for corn.

Corn, corn, corn, corn, corn...!

June, in Queen Anne's Lace and sundry leaves.

Getting to the root of the matter: I tried to prove to the girls that Queen Anne's Lace is, in fact, wild carrot, but this first specimen I pulled up wasn't particularly convincing, prompting June to respond, "That's just a root." (Louise found a second more obviously carrot-like example.)

Blue Ridge Parkway


Catching fireflies

The firefly chase took us, literally, far afield. Due to the perfidious deceptions of optical perspective, it always looks like there are more fireflies over there than there are here, but once you get over there, you realize it's really just another here, and they only looked densely packed because, from a distance, the large expanse looked small, and in the darkening night, all distances collapse to one equidistance (like stars in the sky), so when the confines of the yard stopped yielding an adequate harvest of the glowing creatures, we traipsed out into the open acres of the adjacent field, but as things trended towards pitch black, catching them became maddeningly hard, because we could only see them when they glowed, and as we rushed over to sweep them into our jar, it stopped glowing, and we were left squinting into the now apparently empty night. And then June decided she didn't like being in the middle of a pitch black field in the middle of the night, and then Louise decided she wasn't that crazy about it either, and then we all decided to head back home and let our glowing captives free and scratch our itchy ankles and call it a night.

Charlottesville Airport: "SHIRT & SHOES REQUIRED." It pleases me greatly that the airport feels compelled to make this requirement explicit.

And whoop, there it was.


  1. Anonymous5:09 PM


  2. anytime I attempt to prove the Queen-Anne's-Lace-As-Wild-Carrot, I am inevitably stymied by a little stump of root. I eat it anyway.