It was a summer unlike any other. Mostly because that’s how it works, and also because I said I’d start a post with a suggested line given to me from a previous comment section. Though that reminds me: I asked a question in one of these once, my one reader at the time attempted a guess, and I never responded with the correct answer . I suppose if I’m looking for audience participation, I need to keep up my end of the deal. It was “bananas”, by the way, but I digress.
Actually, speaking of bananas, I decided that I would not pack any fruits or vegetables for our car ride up to Nova Scotia this summer. With six kids, one dog, a passenger princess, and long-suffering husband, I figured we didn’t need the added stress of determining whether or not we should let the border guard know there was contraband onboard. As far as I know, no stomachs were harmed by the absence of fresh produce for a day and our consciences were clear. However, roughly 26 miles before we reached the Canadian border, James said, “Quick, we don’t have much time! We all need to memorize the Declaration of Independence!”
“Why?” I stupidly asked.
“For when they ask if we have anything to declare!”
If you want to visit East Pennant regularly, you have to be willing to embrace change. Each trip there is something different to notice, something new to see, something modified. Sometimes, there is even a new project waiting for extra hands to help complete. I confess it gives me childlike delight in discovering all the changes: a new piece of furniture here, a rearranged room there, wall decor swaps, an extra door where there never used to be one. What never changes is what we end up doing in Pennant, and that is nothing. By “nothing”, I really mean that we just do the same things year after year. The house and grounds can change all they want, but we’re still going to laugh, sing, play music, swim, beach comb, try to out-guesstimate each other at Close Counts, eat very yummy food, and lazily sunbathe on the deck.
The “nothing doing” sometimes looks like the following:
At other times, it looks like this:
Every once in a while, the nothing is so improbable you have to see it to believe it.
Kids are funny. Their world is so small, so self-absorbed, so insular that they often can’t see the bigger picture, especially when that picture is shrouded in fog. Thankfully I’ve grown up and have come to appreciate the beauty of Pennant in all its temperaments, be it gloriously sunny or ‘mist’ically foggy. Much like a child, Pennant’s mood swings exactly the way classical music doesn’t. Though the weather roulette often precipitates wardrobe adjustments, it always makes for great photos. Or, it would if you were a professional photographer, but I am just an “okay photographer”, so try to enjoy these unfiltered, unedited, unprofessional pictures of Pennant’s attitude at any given moment. (Challenge: There actually is one filtered photo. See if you can spot it.)
As you can see, Pennant is pretty special. I dare you to find another place that looks as good from all angles, has mermaids, and induces leaps of joy.
That is why we love it this much.
Leave a Reply