I'm typing this listening to the sounds of my mom finishing up a pumpkin pie in the kitchen with my oldest. Papa took the littles to the park this morning so I could get some school done with him.
We're at my homeplace for what is becoming a fall tradition. Yesterday we took them all to the local fair. I tucked Seth and Evan under my arms and walked them to the ferris wheel for their first ride. "Oooh, Mommy, the people look like dolls." They watched the chainsaw artist while munching on kettle corn. They cheered on the racing pigs.
And then, we came home to a blustery day in what Seth still calls, "The Hundred Acre Wood." My dad, wearing the heavy leather boots he always wears to walk the property, took the boys exploring. They gathered hickory nuts and berries, mushrooms and pinecones. They leaped into gullies. He told them what they'd found as they roamed hill and dale. Plant identification? Check. (And done with the best, I might add.)
This is generational wisdom passed on in the most natural of ways. It's a way for us to enjoy different "teachers" and fun extra activities.
But really, there's nothing for me like fall at home...