Saturday, December 3, 2016

Fall 1

Alexe was in the DC area again for some wedding-related activity with Eliza.  Our 11th wedding anniversary was just around the corner, and the new shelves for the store weren't going to make themselves.  Which meant the children were tasked with amusing themselves around the farm while I puttered in the workshop.  

This was my view out of the workshop door.

Nothing disrupts the schedule of pancake/waffle breakfast on Sundays.

Still going to the pool.  Because the country club redid the pool this year, it will be open all through the winter as the new materials cure.  We're going to see who keeps swimming as the weather gets below freezing.

Big kids in the baby pool.


We've been pressuring Caspian to write more.  Periodically he decides to journal, but he's such a stickler he will throw out a letter or journal entry and start over. And over.  (Here's a game: see how many times you can spot Blokus pieces on this site.)

Shameless selfie.  Attending a gala for Innovate Mississippi in Jackson.

We held a voter registration drive.  Three locations, 8 hours each day.  Registering to vote takes maybe 2 minutes, and requires no id.  We registered maybe 10 voters.  The 6 that I did personally were folks I knew who were re-registering since moving to town. It was eye opening.

Another lovely evening at the pool.

What bedtime?

Snack time.

Friday nights at the brewery.

What a sight.

They were sitting on my lap in the kitchen when Caspian froze, eyes locked on something through the window.  He hopped up, raced outside, and plucked this little guy off a flower.  

A friend of mine with a construction company had been building a hotel in Oxford.  One of the subcontractors made some mistakes on the sourcing of materials, and they ended up with a large surplus of stone.  I was offered as much as I wanted, and spent a day ferrying loads of this stuff home.

There's a bunch of it.  I have ideas.  The first one is laying a broad stone stairway down the hillside to the dock.  We'll see what's left after that.

There are worse ways for a childhood to go by.

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