The Green Bean Truck

We drove down two-lane back roads into Delaware early Saturday morning. Corn was turning yellow in endless fields on either side of the road, and there was a stillness to our travel unbroken by wind or birds or other cars.

Our first view of the Chesapeake Bay in a long time. Flat calm and structural steel on a bridge that is the purest memory of my childhood.

Two hours later, we pulled into our driveway...

...and greeted the newest edition to the tiny house family.

(he was dispatched, along with several of his kinfolk, many of whom had decided that a tiny house was just the right size, although other than each other the pickings were slim.)

There was work to be done, but not for the dog. He got comfy on the porch and watched the world go by. The world, in this case, consisted of a car, some birds, and innumerable bugs. There was a lot of sleeping.

Later, this. A doughnut and a dog and a beach chair. A slash of light from the setting sun.

And later still, coming home from a walk. Blurry, yes, but exactly what we saw through the trees.

In the morning, sleepy babies in the loft...

...a walk to the beach...

...and a critter, trying desperately to make it to the other side of the road.

(Most of his wooly bear friends didn't make it to the other side, so it was hard to use them to predict the winter. We also found a very dead but wholly intact frog, stretched to his full length, a large pile of glass, and more mosquitoes. No snakes, thus far.)

We followed the green bean truck most of the way home.