"And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the wind longs to play with your hair."
A long standing tradition of ours that dates back to pre-marriage is to spend an evening on the river. It has taken on different shapes as the years have passed and our family has grown. We no longer plant our butts in the sand with an alcoholic beverage and watch as the sun makes it's journey down the skyline. Instead we chase after little bodies crusted with sand as they dash in and out of the water. We rarely make it to see the sunset these days; we race to beat it home for bedtime. Our river evenings might look a bit different, but they carry the same feelings of carefree indulgence. Some summers we only make it out once, maybe twice, but it's always a highly anticipated occasion.
Last week we finally got out for our first river trip of the year. Flooding caused the river to rise too high for our comfort, plus busy schedules kept our calendar pretty packed. Our late season visit was completely worth it, even when the brewing storm sent us home early.
The kids climbed the gigantic sand mountain and flew down it, over and over. They splashed in the water, allowing the strong current to float them down to their waiting father, who stood guard and directed them back up shore. We stuffed our faces with pizza and breadsticks, our river dish of choice. Then we packed up and returned home, waiting until another occasion arises for us to return.