On Tuesday morning we set out for a hike into the woods and down a trail I hoped would lead us to the dunes along the shore, but we never made it that far. We stopped to greet the trees and you asked me if pixie was in there. We stopped to touch the mushrooms and you asked me about them for the rest of the day. We gathered acorn tops and dusted the sandy trail with a fallen pine branch. You got upset with me and sat down on the side of the trail pouting you wanted to go home and I felt like a failure for not bringing a bag with snacks or waters or a basket to carry our treasures but then I reminded myself I could bring them next time. Then a woman with her dogs walked by and you forgot all about being upset. We held hands and walked back to the car while you carried a leaf and helped me take pictures of the trees.
In the afternoon we went to the grapevine nursery where love flows from the uniquely grown plants who feel like members in a family. We spoke to the woman who worked there as she sat outside the hoop house where the sprinklers drenched the sheets of worn out plastic replicating the sounds of a feminine rainfall. Flower blooms sprout out throughout the rows of plants but as you reach in to grab a pot you find you’ve picked up someone else entirely. Wildflowers grow from the ground along the rows of shrubs and in most of their pots too, but I think that is why they feel so happy and connected, no one stands alone. My little girl foraging through the burning bushes in the dappled sunlight, while I basked in the nostalgia of a familiar feeling of organized chaos and wabi-sabi bliss. I was surprised to see the wagon hold up so sturdy in its state of falling apart, but you loved riding back and forth over the muddy terrain. The wood of a jade left out in the sun, reminiscent of my own back home after the duties of motherhood swallowed me whole. We packed our car and drove off, already plotting our return.
We get back to Oma and Papas and you throw off your shoes and carry your polar bears to the garden to talk to the tulips, come to think of it those bears might still be where you dropped them. You point and call out the colors of yellow, green and pink, knowing not to pick the delicate tulips but shouting “blooming!” instead. We start our walk towards the beach and you pull my hand towards the grass as you say “mama bare feet, Luna bare feet” and proceed to play with the dandelions. You discover the white ones and that if you shake them really hard the fluffy seeds float off into the wind. I give you a big smile when I show you how to blow them all away with your breath.
We make it to the beach where the sun is beating down but the waves are only a whisper. We make music by throwing handfuls of stones into the water and you still call them crystals, who am I to say otherwise? You put your feet in the waves and clench up your whole body at the freezing temperature, like glacial ice waters. You get sand all over your hands and wipe them off on my jeans as you ask to go home, its getting late for dinner. The sunset was so beautiful this evening and you’re sleeping soundly from all the fresh air. I still can’t sleep with you rolling over on my face but I love waking up with you next to me every morning, so its worth it.