Camping du Pont Couvert is only 15 minutes from home.
Martin passes by each night for dinner on his way home from work.
* * *
Tabea, looking like the little girl she is.
Inside this little girl is a magnificent brain, re-inventing the future as she sucks her thumb.
Akiva, looking like the little boy he is.
Inside this little boy is endless charm and fledgling mastery. Women swoon. Strong men tremble.
All ashes to ashes,
All ashes to dust.
All ashes, all ashes,
All ashes to dust.
She buried him alive
in the sandbox,
one shovelful at a time,
and slowly.
She watched him writhe—
and laughed with glee when he broke free.
We walk through the woods to the island for the first time in a very long time.
I have not been sleeping well lately, & I have no energy to go in the water.
Akiva was excited, so he went first.
He hopped up into the chair and opened his mouth.
Iris went next because she was anxious.
Despite her anxiety, she was the perfect patient.
Akiva & I have been moving for months now. In January, we emptied the storage unit largely by ourselves. It took a good number of trips in the van. Martin went back for a few large items that couldn’t be carried with a child seat in the van.
After storage was emptied, on snowy winter mornings, I would pack a box, put it on the cargo sled, & I would pull the sled & Akiva to school while Iris walked to school. After dropping Iris off, I would pull Akiva and the box through the woods, up the hill to the yellow house, drop off the box, then pull Akiva home. I moved many, many boxes this way.
Long after spring began, when the snow finally melted, I had to get a bit creative in order to get my near-daily moving workout. I used the wagon for a few loads, then I left the wagon up at the Yellow House. I packed my large backpacks full of things, then I left the backpacks & things at the Yellow House. I used the cargo bike for a few loads but, ultimately, it wasn’t terribly convenient, so I left the cargo bike up at the Yellow House.
At the beginning of June, I started packing boxes to bring up with the car. The car! That’s serious! Today was playroom moving day. I didn’t take a photo with the car packed fully, tho it would certainly have been more impressive. I stopped at this point just to look at the car and wonder how many times these items have been moved and how many more they could move, should they live a good life. I remember when the slide and the play kitchen were unpacked in Syracuse, New York when I was four years old, the summer of 1978. They haven’t moved much since then, it’s true. Once, about 35 years later, to Shelburne; once to Waterville; and now just up the street. But they’re good toys. They like to be played with.
Akiva is excited to go to school next year to get away from all this moving and renovating stuff. He wants to play with kids.
One of the most important things that needs to be built before the house can be considered move-inable
is the sandbox.
I am missing the spring with all this work I am doing on the house, so we took an emergency trip to L’Ile Du Marais. It’s been a while! The woods were positively overflowing with wildflowers. Being mainly a photographer of two very specific individuals (I really should branch out), I didn’t take many photos of the delicate blooms. It was an absolutely delightful trip! We should go more often.
How does this superior-type expression of self arise in isolated individuals? Akiva has never seen someone take this posture.
Portrait on the very very very abandoned car.
Another five-leaf trillium!
Iris inspects the labia of a lady’s slipper.
There is a woodland path that begins across Rue Gosselin from the school. I have photographed here often. When there was a camp at Val Estrie, there was an obstacle course of sorts for the children to take part in. In the years since the camp’s closure, the games have fallen into disrepair. Some have ropes that are strangling trees. Some interesting components have been moved to new homes someplace by adventuresome hands. The tires are rotting. This spring, the tiny bridge washed out.
The bridge was integral in getting from one side of the river to the other— as bridges often are. Now one can cross by getting wet, which is fine if the weather is warm and one is prepared to get wet. In winter, the river freezes over eventually, and then it’s simple enough to get to the other side. But during the winter thaws, the long autumns and the chilly springs, the little river is impassible to all but the most intrepid of little children and the most long-legged of adults. Because there is no longer a camp and the new owner has no interest in entertaining trespassers, there is little hope that a new bridge will be put in place.
You can see the tiny bridge in the last photo of this post— https://barefootfool.com/the-river-children/ —and in the first photo of this post— https://barefootfool.com/tiny-bridge-tiny-river-little-boy/
First we went to the library in Derby Line. Dan read a book to anyone willing to listen.
He had a small audience.
Akiva read a book to himself.
Then we went down to do some daydreaming by the lake.
This is obviously posed: why would anyone sit facing the sun with their back to the scenery?
Stretch!
“I’m ready to go, Mama.”
