I’m sitting at my desk, trying to hammer out a bit of work before dinner. Blue smoke rises to my second floor window and I take in the familiar smokey scent of a campfire.
Then I hear the leaf blower.
Of course this is what’s happening. Because when Grandpa promises kids hot dogs over the fire, then by god that’s what’s going to happen.
When I was a kid, Sliding Rock was a staple of our summer. We didn’t have much in the way of an entertainment budget, but I was blissfully unaware of that. On hot summer days, we piled into Dad’s blue Suburban and drove up into Pisgah Forest to play in the almost icy river water of Sycamore Flats, Coon Tree, or Sliding Rock. Afterwards, ice cream for everyone.
Today, there are lifeguards and a hand rail and orderly lines at Sliding Rock. It’s still fun, though, and just as cold as I remember.
Grandpas are handy creatures. They can fix flat tires and slipped chains and send you on your way. When you come home, a seafood feast, okra, green beans, corn, and strawberry shortcake await.
The girls are both very focused on drawing right now, and when an afternoon shower drove them in from the pool they were back at it.
Ahhh…. Finally. The highlight of my summer rolls around once again.
Day one consisted of swimming and eating and swimming some more. Today, everyone who woke up before 9am (which did not include yours truly) went for a morning bike ride and enjoyed some time at the park. More swimming, more eating, and an afternoon of good books pretty much sealed the day.
It’s good to be home.