In Memoriam: The Rabbit

Mr. Rabbit died today, at the ripe old age of two. Which, if you stop and think about it, is pretty darn old for a small rubber rabbit you get in an Easter basket. He died under mysterious circumstances, and his head was found in a children's book.

Mr. Rabbit's longsuffering characterized his existence. For more than two years, he was regularly stretched beyond all reasonable measure, often to four times his original length. He was eaten by crocodiles, banged on furniture, tied in knots, thrown to and from great heights, stuffed in pockets... and in all these things, he never let go of that carrot. He was, both literally and figuratively, loved to death. In this terrible time, let us remember Mr. Rabbit, for he persevered, despite all odds.

Strawberries!

MMMMMmmmmm, strawberries.

Deborah took the kids strawberry picking yesterday, along with some friends of ours. There are several pick-your-own patches around here, and they largely work on the honor system — pick it yourself, weigh it yourself, figure $1.35 per pound, leave the money in the milk jug. (The milk jug makes getting change a little difficult.)

With the kids around, Deborah didn't get quite as much as the rest (wonder why?) but it was plenty, about five pounds' worth. I'm told they assume you'll be eating as you pick, too!

Aiden, looking cute in the wagon.

Fiona took Aiden for rides...

...and helped pick, too. And then she very carefully put them in her pockets, and carried them over to the bucket! Deborah had to tell her to just carry them in her hands, instead.

Once everyone was home, washed, and put to bed (as appropriate) we called up Paul to come help us make jam.

Take the stems off...

Moosh it up... cook it up...

Ta-dah! Strawberry Jam!

Visualizing the Imagination

Recent advances in digital imaging technology have made a quantum leap, and we can now, for the first time, show you pictures of the IMAGINATION. Scientists do not yet have a good explanation for why some people can see these objects, while others can't, but the startling new evidence suggests that these objects are real. Normally, these would be at best hazy or indistinct to the naked eye, but our computer tracing technology has been able to superimpose outlines of these images on ordinary photographs, giving the rest of us a glimpse of what some people see so well. Our subject tonight is a young boy, living in Indiana. His name is Aiden, and we've been able to capture these images as they were projected onto a seemingly ordinary stick. Let's take a look, folks.

This was one of the more straightforward projections, a standard fantasy of Olympic glory. We're looking at at about 600 pounds in the clean-and-jerk.

"By the power of Grayskull, I HAVE THE POWER!"
This sample was unusual in that we were also able to pick up an audio signal. We have yet to determine how this young boy could be quoting lines and actions from an 80s animated cartoon. We hypothesize that this may be a projection from the boy's father.

Leaving so soon, son? Hooverville is the other way.

At first, we thought the equipment was malfunctioning, but then, we realized that the metaphor was already complete: the staff, the cat, the pastoral stance of a shepherd. Yes, he's pretending to manage programmers.

"Aaaaaandy, I aaaaam your sooooonnnn..."

How does your garden grow? (part 2)

Since Paul helped us with our garden, we went and helped him with his. The two Pauls wanted to grow vegetables instead of flowers, though, so there was a lot more ground to prepare. Fortunately, our neighbors loaned us a tiller, and that made the work a little easier... or, at least, different. I was pretty sore from lifting that tiller in and out of the trunk!

Paul Hostetter and Deborah work at tilling the soil.

Andy and Paul Hostetter clear out the remaining grass.

Paul plants tomatoes.

We did one afternoon all together, including the kids. They got into it, too, with Fiona digging up the yard...

...and dumping it on Aiden. Aiden normally has sparse blonde hair, not brown.

Deborah had pretty dirty feet afterwards, too — I guess that's why you don't see too many farmers in sandals.

The shot I didn't get

The Amish, because of their beliefs, don't care to be photographed. So I didn't get the shot, even though I had my camera on, and in hand — but it's a picture that will stay in my memory for quite some time.

I had been standing at the side of the road, getting pictures of Shipshewana, when a horse and buggy went by. Most of these carrieages are severe-looking, all-black affairs with only the tiniest of windows, but it was a hot day, and some of the doors were open. As it went past, a little girl, about Fiona's age, in a plain, pink dress and I saw each other, and her curious eyes followed me all the way out the door, looking back so all I saw was the glossy black side of the carriage, interrupted by a head covering, a blonde braid and two little eyes staring back at me.

That was the picture I wanted from this trip. I'll have to be content that I saw it, even if I didn't interrupt it by using a camera to record the moment.

Go fly a kite

While we were wandering around the flea market, we noticed a very colorful booth, looked at each other, and said, "Lets' go over that way," both of us knowing we'd be walking away with a new kite. (Hey, we've been married 10 years now. Some things are obvious!)

"This is a great kite! Here, I'll show you!" This guy insisted on launching our kite for us to show us how easy it was. He got it up, unassisted, on the first toss, from the middle of a crowded aisle in the flea market.

We weren't disappointed. This guy was enthusiastic, and obviously in the business because he loved kites — a fun change from the standard "service with a shrug" that you get in most of Indiana. He found us a good kite, gave us a non-crash course in flying it ("There's no reason to be running with a kite, folks!") and made sure we knew how to put it together.

Thursday turned out to be very windy, plenty for a kite. So we went out on the lawn and flew it for a bit before heading home.

Up and Away!

Kite not flying.

Kite flying!

10 Years

On Wednesday and Thursday, Deborah and I went and celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. We went up to the Farmstead Inn in Shipshewana. (Just the two of us. Paul very kindly stayed home with the kids.)

Nearly everything had an Amish- or farm-based theme, including our hotel. The "barn" here houses the pool and exercise room.

Wanna race?

Shipshewana is primarily known for being Amish. According to the brochures, the population is 516, and they handle over a million visitors a year. They seem to put up with tourists (like us) rather well.

So what did we do? Well, we...

Bought Deborah an anniversary dress...

It seems odd to have found an Indian dress in the middle of an Amish flea market, but no one else seemed to notice any irony about that.

Looked at Amish arts and crafts...

For the prices, you wouldn't dare sleep on it...

Sat around in hot tubs until we looked like prunes...

This is what my hands will look like for our 50th wedding anniversary.

...and sampled the local cuisine.

Yum. Amish peanut butter (in this town, it was just called "peanut butter") is a mix of peanut butter, marshmallow fluff, Karo syrup, maple syrup, and a few other things. That's what our waitress told us, anyway.

My dentist asked me if this meant that "number 3" was on it's way. I told her Deborah wanted twins. :-) (No, that's not an announcement.) We did a few other things as well, but those are musings and photos for a different post on a different day. For anow, it's just weird to think that I've now been married for nearly a third of my life. It's easier to imagine it in two- or three-year chunks, and then put them all together.

Ten years. Ten!

Point of Interest

On the way up to Shipshewana — more on that later — you pass through North Webster, a small, lake-based town. For years, I rode past this sign, and couldn't figure out where the point of interest was.

The only thing I found within half a mile that looked at all out of the usual was this well of sorts. I guess other people wondered about it, too, because they finally put up a sign:

So I feel a little vindicated for figuring out that it was this little thing beside the road, but I've stopped and looked at this thing many times now, and one nagging question remains in my mind.

...What's so interesting about it?