Sometimes I forget I have a blog. Life takes over, and before I know it, weeks (sometimes, months) have gone by without an entry.
No matter how hectic things get, however, I never stop taking pictures. My camera never gets put away.
In the backyard of the home I grew up in, there is a massive apple tree. In spring, its blossoms are resplendent. In late summer, its apples cover the ground below it. Its gnarled branches have held my children while they galloped on an old tire horse, and shaded their play summer after summer.
Its age shows in its bark, but so does its strength.
Connecting the Years
In my daughter’s collection of doll clothes are a few items kept from my childhood.
This tiny embroidered dress is one of them; I can clearly remember dressing my own dolls in it when I was her age.
I’m happy I kept it. It somehow connects her childhood with mine, the years in between disappearing for a moment. It is also a connection of how many of the things I loved have become the things she loves.
While cleaning up the yard, I found these two forgotten toys. They’re muddy and rusted, having been left in the grass for quite some time.
It is a testament to the fleeting nature of childhood.
My children are not quite done with toys, but the value of these little dinky cars, as we call them, is diminished.
Nonetheless (or possibly because of this), I find them to be an interesting subject for my photos.
Is there anything so nostalgic as a lemonade stand?
My daughter had been absolutely determined to have one. She made the sign, found the perfect lemon at the grocery store, even packed ice in a lunch box.
With the round kiddie table from my childhood and a couple of wooden chairs, she and her brother parked themselves at the end of the driveway. And waited.
I held my breath, hoping they would at least get one or two sales. It was a Wednesday afternoon (I could not talk her into waiting until the weekend). A few minutes went by, my children eyeing the cars passing them.
Then, it started. People stopped. They smiled and chatted and drank their lemonade.
A shadow stretching ahead of my daughter holding her father’s hand at the beach.
A hint of the play that is ahead of her, her bucket filled with salt water, ready for sand castles and seashells.