I think this photo adequately sums up the past four days, but of course I can't help but share some more.
Three of my grandparents grew up in the country. Their parents owned general stores, planted tobacco, sent them running to the well for water. One was a city girl. Two married and lived throughout the world: in the shadow of Mt. Fuji, on the beaches of Bermuda, in the officer's clubs of Pretoria. Two married and settled in the suburbs, raising three daughters just a few miles from where I sit now. Suburbs, wild places, foreign soil- I think these are all a part of who I am. And as I checked in on the blog from the farm (farm Internet- enough for email, but for blogging, forget it), I found comments and emails from friends remarking that my posts had either given them the impression that I am a hipster, crunchy granola type, fox (okay, that was my slightly biased dad), or mousy suburban schoolteacher. After a few giggles, those comments did make me wonder about my Internet presence and how I come across. I'm always forgetting that people I know in "real life" read this blog. (Sorry about that pregnancy announcement snafu, guys.) I want to be straightforward and true to myself here, but of course on a blog you get to edit and shape and frame your life in certain ways that might just polish things up a bit. Okay, so yes, I am mousy. That's really the bottom line.
This week I'm celebrating that hippy/crunchy side of me. The side that would rather be at the farmer's market than anywhere else on the weekend. The side that buys organic and recycles and doesn't mind the dirt (but has never and will never wear Birkenstocks, no matter how comfy). But there's also a healthy helping of hipster in Charlottesville. Hipster crunchy?
I've returned to the suburbs to drop off the Biscuit, but I'm returning today for No Boys Allowed Weekend. There will be knitting on a project long overdue, and pie, and gardening, and one very fancy dinner for two due-in-September gals who deserve the break. And maybe we'll just dance naked in the light of the Louisa moon. Who knows? There'll only be the deer and bears to know.