we sing with one accord

This weekend at our family reunion we were doing some reflecting.

Normally for the Herd reunion we go camping in the semi-wilderness, with no shade, no grass, and no indoor plumbing. I was brought up this way, and have used many a fallen log as a makeshift toilet, and many a leaf of mullein or lamb's ear as toilet paper. We used to sleep in tents, even. Paleolithic! But nowadays everybody has trailers (except us, because: poor) and portable stoves, so it's really not even camping. We have become so coddled, in fact, that we complain about the amount of dirt at our usual reunions. But you have to understand: the dirt in question is that fine, soft, silty stuff that gets everywhere, and with which you become one on a molecular level.

So this year, when we got to spread out all over my aunt Lorraine's acre of backyard grass, was a marked improvement. I want to always have our reunions there. Everyone else agreed, except maybe my grandpa, who is embarrassed by how soft we are. We talked about how important it is to us to have nearby running water, and plumbing, and shade and grass. We are used to these things, and we don't care to go without them, even whilst camping.

This is the fault of the pioneers. If they hadn't sacrificed, and worked themselves raw trying to create a better world for their children, often dying in the effort, we'd be sweating and struggling in primitive conditions, and we'd probably be better people for it.

I just feel disappointed that they robbed me of my chance to be a good person.

the drum beats on two notes and only on two notes

I was going to post photos of our Yellowstone trip, and maybe someday I will. But that day is not today. My remorse is minimal.

We have done a lot of stuff so far this summer. I can't even remember it all right now, but there was a family reunion in there, which was fun. We've gone swimming to Cherry Hill and Seven Peaks. We completed our first session of swimming lessons. Everyone did well, even Grant with his curly, infection-prone Eustachian tubes. Those little rubbery earplugs that look like tiny Christmas trees were the ticket.

Willa might be our best child. She is surprisingly helpful, and often really obedient. I don't know what's going on there.

Ike knows how to ride a bike, which he often does barefoot or wearing irrigating boots.

Emmett is a champion hair grower, and likes to ride his bike with Ike. He wears irrigating boots, too.

Grant has taken over his piano instruction and is progressing rapidly.

I have been amazing at taking care of our goats and weeding the garden with the kids. It's a watershed year.

John's heart may or may not be exploding. He's downplaying it. Other than that he's doing a lot of singing and letting me talk him into running for city council.

And that's all the muck that's fit to rake for right now.