It was Grandads last day here before returning to England, so we decided that we'd throw Christmas out with him. I started the day packing most of it away (kept some of the lights), and it felt good. It's so fresh now, and our living room seems so spacious! Then, of course, it was time for our gingerbread pirate castle to crash and burn. The girls took suitable tools (axe and hammer) and smashed it sufficiently for eating at. We all feel a bit sick from eating too much of it, so tomorrow the rest will be fed to the chickens as a treat.
The weather was nice: not too windy, and sunny and mild (you'd think it was mid-April), so we headed out with knives at hand to do some proper crafting up in the forest. Grandad drew upon his childhood archery skills and taught the girls how, Falk did a whole lot of observation and stick-nibbling, and it was lovely, all of it.
What a place we have. Sitting in the field, with the sun directly on us, that wonderful view, and my kids happy with so much freedom and space, it made me feel like the luckiest person alive.
When the bows and arrows were made and tested, the girls headed into the woods to go hunting. They made native American names for themselves: Freja is now known as Flying Sleep, and Ronja is Twinkling Star. I am Waiting Sun. Off they went, but I think Flying Sleep needs to work on her patience a bit, because she came back out of the wood two minutes later in a proper huff, without her bow and arrow (or bangaroo, as the calls it), loudly claiming that hunting was boring and stupid. Nothing wrong with the temper on that one. Luckily, Twinkling Star sorted her out and all was well in the world again.
Then we remembered that we had dug out our kite! Now we know what to do on windy days.
Grandad and Daddy left for the airport, us native Americans stayed home and played/slept/ate, and the rest of the evening has been spent in that nice everyday-ish way.
I feel thankful. And tired. Good night!