My parents sent me this gem. It is about 1970. We are on our grandparent’s farm in Illinois, which we still enjoy today. From the left…John, Andy, Laura, Bill, and then there’s me. Why do I look so serious?
The slide is rigged so it dumps into the pool. The swing set is set up in the back, I’m sure, so my brothers could jump off the swings into the pool. The chair to the right is probably a make-shift diving board. My brothers were fearless, especially John. Laura was most likely in charge while my parents enjoyed sunning themselves in the distance. It’s a safe bet that one of my brothers splashed me or bothered me in some way. Hence, the look.
We are all (almost) in our 50’s now. We gave our parents seven grandchildren among us. The oldest grandchild is getting married in June. Time marches on. Great memories remain.
This is an old wheel from our family farm in Illinois. This farm started with my great-grandfather, was handed down to my grandfather, now belongs to my father and his siblings, and someday will be divided among the our five siblings. It is where I go to rejuvenate. It is where I take my daughter a couple times a year to enjoy the open air, hummingbirds, deer, cats, long walks, river, crops, and general good life. The history of this place is astounding. I am proud to call this my second home.
We had great hopes of seeing snow during our vacation in Ottawa, IL and sure enough, we got it! It is the very first time Emma has seen it and it’s been at least 10 years since I’ve seen it. My hubby goes skiing occasionally, so he’s been luckier than both of us. Most of my fellow Floridians think I’m crazy for wanting to travel north during the winter, but I remind them that I am a northerner by birth, and actually miss my winters very much. We had a great time playing in the pretty white stuff and enjoyed coming back inside to warm our fingers and toes.
This wimpy pumpkin was the sole survivor from my brother’s pumpkin patch in Illinois. Weeds took over and nothing else grew. My daughter planted one in May. We’re pretending that this is hers. Way to go, Emma’s pumpkin!