Our home has returned to normalcy. Quiet, the absence of giggles, or bare feet slip-sliding across our polished wood floors, or the high pitched voices of two-year old boys testing the vitality of their arguments as parents remind them to share.
Our four grandkids and their parents, transplanted from Florida and California for a Christmas week of fun, have now left the northern windscape for their fragrant sunscapes.
A big hit on our farm was sitting behind the wheel of our tractor as John directed it rumbling around the empty grazing field. Then, discovering a line of snow along the edge of the driveway sparked a frenzied snow battle between siblings and their parents.
Settling down indoors, the two girls ply their artistic skills with colored pencils and markers. Sitting next to the boys and a miniature animal barn, I show the boys how to open the double doors and look for farm animals in the little rooms and shelves. Fertile imaginations then create scenes and stories between horses, cows, chickens, pigs and sheep. To add to the drama, I present little wooden panels to create animal pens.
During a break they all try inserting their hands into an opening of a large border collie puppet. Inserting their fingers into the mouth and jaw, the doggie comes alive.
Now, as I write, my eyes catch sight of the little barn with all the animals safe inside – but gone quiet again.
I’m Connie Seraphine, and that is my January perspective.
