I feel a little bad about this sometimes, as so many of my fond, childhood memories are centered around the joy of all the kids in our neighborhood, and how much fun we had just outside our doorstep. I am sorry that there are no kids here.
But our kids do have that limitless fun, too, just in a different way. Quite different, really, but so very fun. Outside our door is the fun of dirt, and old sticks, and hard-to-find paths. There are more streams and rivers, vernal pools, and fabulous views if you climb all the way up to the top of the little lump across the street from us. And it was on a trip up this hill, on the weekend, that we found a real prize: a bona fide, grainy, nasty, falling apart OWL PELLET. Oh, so cool. We transported it home and put it in the freezer, and tonight was an early bedime for Aoife, and Liam had napped, so he took it apart.