we went up, up, up north. all the way out of the mitten and halfway across the upper peninsula. you other states don't really have your own peninsulas, but it's sort of like having two states in one. or two worlds in one. things are just different up there. slow and drawling, and you start saying things like youse and thems and everything is just fine. also, as far as i can tell, nobody up there can stay awake for more than four consecutive hours. naps!!
patrick's grandparents are just as grandparenty as possible. there's a pie on the stove. and coffee forever on the burner. and grams smells soft and warm and gramps has those beautiful gnarled old hands and there are rocking chairs everywhere and a million drawings from all the greatgrandchildren. patrick & gramps got to work staining the cabin, grams and i peered at bats in the eaves and visited a wee local farmer's market. homemade handpicked blueberry pie was had by all.
and somehow in the midst of all the unworldly slowness, the unthinkable happened. i learned how to shoot a gun. i tagged along to the "old pit" (which is now a hatchery for some very surprised fish) just to watch. between my curiosity and desire for someone to stop bugging me about it, i wound up holding a very heavy gun. and... i hit the target (old coffee can) on my first shot. i utterly failed to be properly excited about this because i was still mid-protest about not wanting to do this. after a little more practice (and the rather clever idea of putting my glasses on so i could see) it turns out i am not bad at guns. still don't like 'em one lick but if the zombie apocalypse comes, i will at least have the gun pointing in the right direction.
of course, two minutes later i was taking pictures of lichen and little boats and sort of realized why patrick often refers to me as the little kid in the outfield staring at butterflies.
and then my cousin got married at one of the loveliest outdoor weddings ever and i didn't take a single picture. (outfield, butterflies) she was gorgeous.