Over the Thanksgiving break, we wandered our way up the salty, steep, winding coast with extra layers, blankets and plenty of fruit, yogurt and peanut butter and jellies to feed a small preschool. We have always loved the peace of a long picturesque drive to think or chat while children stare, chatter and hopefully sleep. Luke was discussing with James how he’d remembered listening to the Jack Johnson song before (“I remembered that one, daddy!”) while I tried to recollect the last time I’d been to the various farms, beaches and trails flying by on either side of the highway.
A farm stand where the squash was at least two feet long. The berry farm with their layered Olallieberry cobbler and velvety strawberry preserves.. And of course, there was the small state park I’d taken the same pictures at a hundred times–the chicken coop, the windswept cypresses, the beautiful white stables and pastures.
While we packed a big picnic today, when we’re less ambitious, we love the creamy, nutty cauliflower soup from Swanton Berry Farm. Or a crispy, melty woodfired pizzas from the Davenport Roadhouse in none other than Davenport; I often opt for the Pesto with roasted Eggplant and Shiitakes.
Today our agenda consisted of cows, horses, and treats.
So that we did.. Luke scampered along the dirt paths with his stuffed up nose and big breaths, while his chunky little fingers pulled his blonde wisps away from his eyes (finally getting a haircut the next morning), James keeping within an adventurous distance. Kate and I trailed along with the stroller as she propelled her little self forward to catch whatever she could of the action.
I love my days with these three.