We traveled the state, learning to spell all the important words and breathing the sea air and feeling the cool dappled forest shade and biking unsteadily along the rivers.
We played in the rain.
We got haircuts.
We spoke the most important words in the world daily, hourly, sometimes more than once a minute: love, you, have, eat, hold, go, kind, wash, sweet, listen, look, yes, gentle.
We learned about cell division, human reproduction, essential vitamins and minerals, volcanoes, colonial encounters, death, weather, sharks, sea lions, shipwrecks, and salmon.
We sat in the sun and laughed with friends.
We celebrated the end of a teaching year, and witnessed the beginning of a marriage.
We played music with our speakers and made music with our voices, our hands, our hearts.
We ate strawberries and asparagus, brie and mustard, chocolate and almonds. We drank hibiscus tea and lemonade and milkshakes and mead and plenty of cold water.
We heard the cicadas.
We told stories late into the night.
We went to the drive-in.
We danced in the car, and on the deck, and in the kitchen, and at the beach, and while pulling weeds, and to music we were hearing for the first time, and to songs we know by heart.
We boiled salt.
We scrubbed socks.
We compared tan lines.
We read books and magazines and blogs and Wikipedia, and we read aloud and read along and laughed and cried and were transported.
We saw a coyote, and a falcon, and a snake, and dozens of butterflies.
We baked bread and we bought bread and we ate bread and we fed bread to the chickens.
We treated our wounds and checked on their progress in healing.
We made popsicles and transplanted seedlings, we smeared ourselves with lemon balm and watched spiders, we fixed things long-broken and made new starts.
In short, we made, we learned, and we lived.
Where have you been these past few weeks?