What makes it better

Sometimes two really is better than one.

Two families blended means kids can entertain themselves for hours and days on end,

especially if you let them make their own "fishing rods" from recently cut bamboo, twine, strange metal antennae and randomly found curtain rods. (oh my)

Surfboards from 1965 are timeless,


and in constant motion, better when used by two.


Two rods, twice the fish,


and rolling out onto the dock in pajamas before breakfast, well, it's certainly a luxury.

But none of it would happen without the generosity of friends, and the ability to slip into step beside one another, working together to make life just a little bit (or maybe alot) more interesting.

Thinking about...

Today I'm thinking about little yellow dinghies,

sunbleached oystershells in driveways

and solitude on the water.

Am I the only one?

Oh, and of course this house and how I might want to make it eventually look something like this, but I'm not obsessing or anything.

March of the tomatoes

I found these forgotten photos in a recent search for a friend, the friend who invites us to the river from time to time, the friend who has nearly killed me on many a violent spill from waterskis, tubes or waverunners while jumping enormous tour boat wakes. And yet I still love her.

She's also the friend who unknowingly has helped my youngest become much less afraid and anxious around big dogs.

She has no choice but to come to love them, there are 4 at the river, all big, all black, all sweet and usually very wet.


This day we picked tomatoes.


Allie carried them.


And made the trek,

back down the hill,

to the beautiful place on the water. I'm trying my best to get adopted.

True

Two of my three children were in tears for a good part of our ride back home yesterday after visiting a friend at the river and the littlest was quickly asleep. If you live in Virginia you know that "the river" is a generic, catchall term such as Kleenex or Google for any of the probably hundreds of creeks and rivers that empty into the Chesapeake Bay. If you're close enough to the bay the rivers are tidal and brackish and the whole environment changes with the added salt. The buildings are weathered and fishing boats become easily rusted, many of the people follow suit (the term "old salt" conjures a whole new image), the jelly fish are abundant in parts this time of the summer as are the blue crabs. Oysters are everywhere and herons and egrets and if you're lucky you'll see a bald eagle or two.

But let's get back to the tears. Lauren started the ball rolling early on, weepy and tearful over the 4 large black dogs we'd left behind and one in particular that she's fallen deeply in love with. John felt her emotion I think and his tears were for the love of all that we'd left behind. Not just the pets but also the crabs, the water, the boat rides and tubing and especially someone who's becoming a very close friend. He said more than once that he'd like to move.

As a mother I consider myself lucky when we find nice children from nice families to be friends with. I consider it an added bonus if I become friends with their mother and even more rare and special if all four parents become friends. But for my kids to love the children of one of my oldest, closest and dearest friends I feel more than fortunate, I wish there was a word for it. The fact that they were instant buddies when they first met after the baby stage shouldn't have surprised me, after all, that's how their mothers started out.

But these visits seem all the more sweet since they are so infrequent and brief, packed with play and intimate chats, and we wish that they didn't have to be this way. There comes a point though when the optimist in me is merely thankful for what she can get.

And when the sun sets on each visit I'm left to wonder if it's prettier at the river, or here at home, but then the optimist takes over and I'm thankful for each one that I'm alotted, no matter where I am when I view it.

Boat talk

"Some rocks may hit the motor, babe, don't worry, we'll be fine, we're not going to sink or anything."

He's told me this exact same thing every time we go on this part of the river for the past 13 years but each time I pretend as if it's the first time I've heard it.

"Okay," I say, "I'll be ready," secretly enjoying being watched over.

The water is so shallow on this upper part of the river that you have to dodge and dart through the maze of rocks or you will hit a few. It's rather on-golden-pond-esque, minus the hole in the boat, the gash in the forehead and hours spent clinging to a rock. But then you remember the movie.

Upriver we motor on, dodging, talking, seeing fish here and there, someone's camera at the bottom of the river, a beer can. The water is so clear, and quiet and a welcome respite.

We stop, switching to the quiet motor and I start a steady stream of babble, reminding me of our first date, where I talked and talked and he listened and uh-huh-ed his way through the conversation and I knew right then that things would be different with him.

So on I ramble about nothing, and something, this that and the other, the big issues, the little ones, from switching car insurance to dreams, raising kids to knitting, to fishing, and the night passes much more quickly than we'd like.

He does a lot of this:


I do a lot of this:

and the sun makes it's way down toward the water,

leaving us full with it's red-orange glow.

And on she rambles

Ahhh, the river last night. Just the two of us. No one else there but the purple sunset. How lucky can you get?

Let the water work

I suppose there are some folks who don't particularly like the water, or the sun, or fishing, swimming, tubing or playing in the sand, but we aren't those folks. We are drawn to the water and soak up every ounce of goodness it has to offer. Such was the case yesterday when we headed east, to where the rivers become tidal, the water part salt, and the fish, like what you'll find in the ocean.

We took the whole family this time, the kids showing more interest in catching now, and with great determination, teamwork,

and astonishment at what they can pull out of the water.

This summer we can take better water breaks, with the maiden voyage of the tube, and have practice drills at how to fall off and get rescued, Lauren's favorite part.

Yet there is one who is still afraid to ride, even with Daddy, but is quite at home in the sand. Maybe next year, little Miss Cautious.

And what does Mommy like to do you may wonder? Daddy described my role as a preparatory one, where I get everything ready so everyone else can have fun. He's pretty much right, but he also has that same job, and we both find it rewarding. Especially when we can then sit back and take these pictures.

Yes, it is well worth it.

A timely reminder

There are times when our days are clear and sunny, we know which way to go, our direction is clear and there is nothing impeding our forward motion. Life is good and prosperity follows.

Then other days seem just the opposite. We become engulfed in our surroundings, our situation, our troubles and can't see past them. We lack perspective or wisdom or a light at the end of the tunnel. We think life may not be so good after all and we are humbled by this notion, sometimes even scared and uncertain, fearful of what we may have to endure.

But even in the muck we remember from past experience that although the outside covering may be bumpy, hard, dirty, gross and ugly, there just might be something special lurking inside if we could just uncover it.

And maybe what we need to do more often is daydream, become lost in a good world for a while, ignoring or giving no weight to the heaviness that surrounds us. There is no place for ugliness in a world of dreams, and there is always the hope that we may catch something really big if we try but more importantly if we just believe.

Still there is something to be said for hard work and determination, knowing that our shovels may just unearth pure gold.

And if we try hard enough, stick around 'till the very end and have the patience to let others flit on by, we may get the chance to wear the really big gloves and have the fun all to ourselves.

I was reminded of all these things and more during the recent visit of my very dear friend, this one is dedicated to her.

Old friends, new friends

If you told me 16 years ago that my best friend in graduate school and I would still be best friends and hanging out with our 5 children at her parents house at the river 16 years later, I don't think I could have pictured it. If you told me that my son and her two boys would be instantly like brothers, I would have been amazed, but that's just what has happened.

We went to see her and her boys, and her sister-in-law and her two boys as well. So there were 3 moms and 7 kids, all swimming, jumping, catching crabs, wave-runnering, boating, throwing tennis balls for the 4 large dogs (that was Lauren's calling), and just having an all-around great time. Rough, I know, but it was good to get me out of my work mode and have real fun with the kids. The water toys are nice, but they would have been just as happy with only water, chicken necks, a net, crabs, tennis balls, dogs, sand, buckets and friends. Very simple.

It's like magic when time with friends is so easy, free and honest. It's so hard to find, and takes nurturing to keep. And that's just what I intend to do.

This is Virginia

This is the Virginia I never knew about when I moved here 16 years ago. Choosing to move here and go to school without ever having set foot in the state, I envisioned tree covered mountains and the beach, but didn't know much at all about what lay in between, especially the wide-ranging network of rivers that feed the Chesapeake Bay.

As an outsider coming in, this appeared to be a world all to itself, a whole separate and unique culture, similar to the coastline in North and South Carolina, but the presence of the Bay making it singular and special, it's own place. And the disparity between the have's and the have not's, wider, more apparent.

Here waterman earn their living, and city people have their summer homes. Jet skis and large boats fly by trees that have fallen in on houses and remain that way. Here the water is brackish and tidal, blue crabs are revered and the water and nature itself respected.

I learned what a paper mill smells like, how dried salt feels on your skin and in your hair, and that fish named croaker make sounds like burping frogs. I learned about Tangier Island, the sulfur-smell of gray river mud and red-right-returning.

Today's spur of the moment trip to Croaker, Virginia started as something fun to do with Dad on Father's Day, but became an adventure, and another file in the children's mental memory books. They found crabs, saw blobs of jellyfish washed ashore and reeled in fish. But the favorite of each was the discovery of their own "private" island.


For Kevin and I, each time we head east and go to the water, we wonder why we live so far from it. We feel strangely as if we belong here, like we've come home, and for a midwestern girl that's an odd and surprising discovery.

Mars and Venus at the boatramp

The summer is my favorite time of the year and always has been. I'm usually cold and so the warm weather is a welcome change and the ability to wear shorts, sleeveless shirts and go barefoot, is in my view the way it seems life ought to be.

But lately it's been a little too hot even for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not holed up inside with the air conditioning cranked and in front of a fan, I'm just not out for as long at a time as usual. In fact, when I was watering the garden this morning and rivers of sweat were running down my legs I acquiesced to a break. When the haze even shows up in pictures, well, it's just plain steamy.


The weekend of "rest" has been just what I needed. Rest is probably a misnomer, as we were up before 7 on Saturday and out the door by 8 to the river with the John boat and canoe. We thought we'd get in a little float on the river for a couple of hours before the heat became unhealthy. So we drove 12 minutes and put in, motored up the river a bit and waded, played, fished, floated, counted fish, made up new versions of "Row, row, row your boat", paddled and learned to blow bubbles with Big League Chew.

We reached the boat ramp just when everyone had had enough, parked the boats at the side and the kids and I waited for Kevin with the trailer. Just then three canoes came up each bearing two teenagers who looked like they either had very little sleep or insufficient morning caffeine. They docked right in the middle of the concrete ramp, despite the large boats and trailers going in and out, with their mouths agape, staring lifelessly at a tree, the water or who knows what. Down the ramp backs Kevin, seeing the daydreamers and still not slowing down, putting the breaks on in uncomfortably close proximity to their canoes as if to say "WHY are you not moving?". Meanwhile I fumble over my words, practically apologizing about the need to remove our boats from the water. It's a bad habit I've got to break, feeling as if it's always me in the way.

Both afternoons found us at the pool, or rather IN the pool, the only place to be. Which has made for some wild


and some very tired


children.