We wanted to give our nephew, Wesley, a good taste of Missouri. But when you’re entertaining guests from Florida, Missouri sort of pales in comparison. Not that I would trade it for Florida, but Floridians are at least as proud of their state as Missourians are of Missouri. So we tried to think of activities that would be a good representation of things that you can’t really do in Florida.
For one thing, you wouldn’t go wading in a stream like this, in Florida. Unless you like being gator bait.
For the same reason, you wouldn’t stand in the river and fish, so that is exactly what we did.
Which brings us to the part where Kinsley catches her first fish. And falls in love.
That look on her face cracks me up every time I see this photo. She was so infatuated with that fish! Just after I took that last photo, the fish squirmed out of her hands and swam to safety. I imagine he told his fishy buddies “You’re never going to believe what just happened to me!”
Sophie in just her diaper. She’s oddly lumpy, and incredibly squeezable.
Storms in the distance.
The whirlwind visits of family from afar.
A conglomeration of nieces, siblings, and daughters. Can you see what doesn’t belong in that photo?
Simple fixes to concerning vehicle issues. It’s so nice to learn that the problem is an $11 part!
Evening picnics on Great-Great Grandma’s quilt.
Making do, in the good old Ozarkian way.
Sisters and nieces. They’re kind of summery, and I sure do love ’em!
Fishing. We’ve fished in about every body of water in the Ozarks over the past couple of weeks, and Kinsley caught her very first fish. But that’s another post for another time.
Swimming. Canoing. Gardening. Plump, juicy blueberries, warmed in the sunshine. Even the to-do list has a certain charm in the middle of summer. There is so much richness to be enjoyed this time of year!
My brother Zion is into this sport called football. I don’t really understand the concept, but it’s something like this.
See that ball? Apparently everybody on that field, wants that ball. And while they’re playing, it has to be that ball, not any one of the hundreds of others they could easily lay their hands on at Walmart.
There are a lot of tense moments during the game. Stand-offs, where no one actually moves, they all squat and stare at a ball which is remaining perfectly still. Then someone throws it, and all heck breaks loose.
Usually, someone eventually catches the oddly shaped ball and then runs with it for a second or two, but apparently deciding that they really don’t know what to do with it after all, the person throws it to a nearby team-mate, who does pretty much the same thing, all while dodging various people who are determined to get their hands and that ball.
There’s some other terminology involved, words like Hike, and Hut, and Quarter Backer and Line Backer, but I’m not really sure how these terms fit into the game. Zion has tried to impress these terms on me, and even demonstrated them numerous times in my kitchen, but I’m afraid it’s all a little beyond me. Sophie seems to be picking it up, though.
Apparently, Zion is showing some real aptitude for this sport (due, in no small part, to all the tussles we all had as children over various objects, including the occasional ball). He has been participating in a summer camp to help prepare for some official games over the fall.
The team is a community team, comprised of homeschoolers, private schoolers, and public schoolers. The dream is that someday it will consist of home and private school kids.
Dad has been acting as an assistant coach during the camp.
Until they get their official uniforms, all their jerseys say “11” on the back. Which makes cheering really easy and fool proof. “Go number 11! You’re the best player out there! Woo-Hoo!!!”
I love this PlayFoam stuff. Papa and Mama gave me some for my birthday last year, and I love it. I’ve kept it hidden away from children, not wanting to share my toys, so their first experience with the stuff was at Silver Dollar City.