Pickwick

Saturday I drug (dragged? drugged? drudged?) Richard and the kids to Pickwick. To make a long story short, or, in other words, to compress a lifetime of stories and memories and obligations and unfilled expectations into one sentence: my mom owns some land in Pickwick, TN. When she was growing up her family would go there (almost) every weekend and sleep in a gutted out school bus, ride horses (my mom had horses!), and tend the garden. She always wanted to do the same with us, but we never made it. Now she and my dad are rediscovering the land, and since it is exactly halfway between Memphis and Huntsville, we are all very excited about it, with visions of family camp-outs dancing in our heads.

My dad and Bruce staking the territory.

My cousin Bruce came as well with his family and four wheeler, much to Hannah's excitement. She thought it was great, of course, and wanted to go faster, of course, and Sam found the whole prospect absolutely terrifying, of course.

I really, really love walking behind the kids on the trail, because they inevitably take someone's hand, and my heart just melts.


Sam tromping through the woods. Wait, where are his legs?! I can't see them with his camo pants on!

No one knew whose trike this was, but it was buried under the remains of the old horse shed, and just begging for a picture.

My mom's ski from when she was my age. Wait, I mean from when she was a teenager. Sometimes I forget how decrepit I am becoming. She only found one, but that's okay, because she would always ski slalom; she claims it's easier that way.