dear grampy and grammy,

that pile of dirts isn’t even washed all the way through yet…

and we’re already missing our time spent in gray’s river…with you…

just this last…and all our many other times past…

all the times spent blowing bubbles…and throwing frisbees…and dipping our pigs (and sometimes our whole selves) in the river…and painting…and (even daddy!) dancing…and reading stories…and riding in the cart behind miss mary’s donkeys…and roasting mallows for our grahams and chocolate…and eating any-and-whatever-strikes-our-fancy-shaped pancakes…and hunting woolie bears and garters…and visiting your fellowship…and spooking at “the farmer’s wife” tales…and adventuring…and picking flowers…and walking to the bridge…and staying up too-much-past our bedtimes…and laughing…and listening to i’ya strum…and he and emma sing…and napping…and watching movies…and sipping first-thing-in-the-morning hot chocolate…and (always) eating entirely too much…and swinging…and remembering…

and just…being…right there…with you!

and are you missing us yet?  and…could we just pack right back up?

and, boy…do we ever wish that we could!

but instead…for now…we’re just already counting sleeps until our next time…

with you…

very sincerely,
me (for us all!)

– emma’s image