Chuck and Yolie have hilariously, laboriously, been on The Great Crab Hunt, bringing home several at a time, taking the Bubbas with them, exploring this gorgeous island while Sarah and Preston have allowed Tabby and Nando to swim with Ray and Hazel, while this ole gal, responsible-less, has been walking the beach, reading, and relaxing. It's been wonderful. Yesterday they crabbed fairly near an alligator on the marsh side of the island. CW caught an oyster toadfish, one of the ugliest fish in existence, but a fun, learning experience for my boy.
I've finished three books so far, now on my hero, Will Allen's Growing Food book, a transplanted Southerner who's growing 40 tons of food annually on three acres in Milwaukee, bringing organic produce to the poor neighborhoods and teaching folks how to do the same. Having control of one's food production is infinitely empowering. I've seen him in documentaries and food films, read of him in various periodicals, what a calling he has.
The first night we were here Grandma's Dancing With The Stars season finale was interrupted by tornado warnings farther up the coast, the TV weatherman zeroing in on the affected streets and, I kid you not, one was Hellhole Road. "666 Hellhole Road?' my niece wondered aloud as I cackled alongside her, thinking my own dirt road might've been misnamed as, Lord Have Mercy, have we had some incidents there, or what, over the years.
Now, living with only 12 fairly easy-going teenagers, I just don't know what to do with myself. I'm still automatically, or spastically, twitching in response to loud noises, jumping up outta my seat way too often, now just trying to breathe in unison with the ocean's waves, clearing my mind from decades of super severe stress. It's tough to battle back from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Indeed, 30 year old Sergi'd called me at 8:30 this morning, my first thought was, "Uh-oh," as I knew it was 6:30 his time on a Saturday morning, but ever industriously, as he's always done, he has two jobs and was calling to chat on his way to the other one. "Son, you know I'm proud of you," I stressed, knowing he was beaming.
CW's summer Edisto girlfriend arrives today, she lives 90 miles from our home, yet he drives 250 miles to get here to see her. Go figure. I'm happy if he's happy.
The Fish Fry is $10 a plate, there are 24 of us here. No, thank you. We've all taken turns cooking and eating like kings so we're on to Plan B instead of the fish fry today. A big ole, who cares? Going with the flow.
Preston's broken hand bone was set, but he was left in a soft cast that he can remove so he can swim, the orthopedic doctors wanting him to have a range of motion. He carried Hazel out to battle the waves, his right hand swollen and resembling a club hand. He is in pain, yet stays in the water sunup to sundown.
Michael'd called yesterday, giving me the list of youth group activities for the summer as I'd texted him a question, trying to plan out the month of June for my young'uns, a bunch of fun stuff ahead, even two very cool weekends for me.
Nando came running up to the porch last night yelling in happiness that he'd found a baby possum. Sho' nuff he had. The cutest thing I'd ever seen at the bottom of the outside steps, not at all afraid of 16 loud and excited kids hanging around pointing, oohing and ahhing..
I suggested there was liable to be a bunch more from this litter until Sarah pointed out that large well-fed king snake might've been lurking around here for a reason...