Another scorcher sauntered into our neck of the woods a few days ago. Today's weather is perfect, but earlier this week, by the time the hazy sun had positioned itself high in sky, waves of heat would settle over you, like a blowing furnace was pointed at you. I would find myself heading inside, seeking out ceiling fans, and window A/Cs.
But wait a second, it's the beginning of June?
It was not that long ago I was clicking away at these keypads lamenting the crappy, cold Spring. My life seems to be one of extremes; weather included.
But like any less than perfect situation, attitude and motivation are key.
So, as soon as the big girls came home from school, it was off to Gramma's pond.
A ten minute drive, but it's up on a hill, way in the woods; worlds from the blacktop and tightly compacted houses of our suburban stockade we find ourselves in.
My girls gave a whoop of joy, and stripped, on the spot, red-faced and sweaty, hastily getting into any swimsuit they could find that would not a) fall off when they jumped into the water(too big), or b) give a permanent wedgie(too small).
We shuffled into one hot and kinda smelly mini van, and burned rubber getting to Gramma's. We oozed out ten minutes later, and climbed the hill behind their sprawling country home, and huge wrap-around porch.
We reached the grassy precipice,dry wisps sticking to hot legs, and looking down at the pond a few feet away it was apparent that something was in the water.
A black moving murky something, clinging to the edge.
Oil spill? Really that was my first thought; even though that makes no sense!
But looking forward, stooping down and squinting, it was my 2nd who yelled out: TADPOLES!
There had to be thousands. Large black moving pools of them swelled at several different spots of the slimy pond's edge.
It was teeming, and alive and my girls could hardly believe their luck.
Now, they did jump in and cool off first of course, that was somewhat of a medical emergency. Then they got down to the serious business of poly-wog wrangling.
The Picture Of Care-Free Childhood
There is just something about "coming home" even if it's a short drive away, and you are there often.
My parents' place was built by my dad over 35 years ago.
For those 35 years my mother has been making it beautiful, mastering the feat of having every room inside, and every corner outside, appear to be over 100 years old.
Here are just a few shots that I think capture where I get my love and appreciation for simple. country. beauty.