Taste of Home

The apricot pie did it for me; my own little time machine.  From picking fruit in our orchard to fish fries at the beach with pie for dessert, I was a kid again in summertime.  For my son Pete, it was the potato salad.  He started exclaiming at first bite that it was just as he remembered it.  A certain taste, a smell, a few notes of a forgotten song and memories come flooding back.

It was a long drive for Pete and Jake and they arrived just before it was time to put the critters to bed.  If I miss curfew, the chickens will tuck themselves in, just waiting for me to close their doors.  Jake came with me down to the barn where there were a few moments of chaos because the goats were spooked at going into dark stalls.  Smoke from the wildfires burning to the north made spectacular striations against the last of the sunlight.  After dinner we sat at the table and talked until after midnight.  It's been two years since I've seen these guys and we barely scratched the surface of catching up.

My furry little alarm clocks made sure I didn't oversleep this morning, even though I begged for five minutes more.  They take their job seriously.  The boys are still asleep.