It was back to Love's Folly post Thanksgiving. I took several nature walks with Nate, trying to teach him the word "tree". I carried Nate around the grounds, by the cove, the dock, the pond, the lonely road that snakes around the property near the neighbors, normally out of site from the house. Nate touched a wide variety of trees and bushes and tall weeds and leaves and branches. I tickled his face with pine needles. Nate craned his neck upward -- to the tops of trees -- when I pointed upwards. He reached for branches when they were presented to him. "Tree," I said again and again in various ways. "Tree." "Look at this. It's a tree." "Look at this tree. Wow. Tree." "Woa, check this tree out. It's a tree. Can you say tree?" "Look at this. It's a... a... a... Tree." Nate never said the word, but he seemed intrigued enough and happy to be outside. Later, after the walk, we sat in the deep grass and hung out outside in the crisp air. Nate played with some leaves. He looked around. He didn't move much. I pointed at the vast collection of tall pine trees near the pond. "Tree," I said. "Those are trees."
We went to the Fagen estate in East Hampton for Deconstructed Turducken, a yearly get together of friends to feast on Turducken. This year the group went all top chef, giving their interpretations to Turducken, rather than fitting a chicken into a duck into a turkey, something the group was loath to do. Nate was less into the food and more into the hang. Here he is playing in his first pile of leaves with Fagen's dog Sachy, riding in Fagen's open-aired jeep with Shana, and taking a morning walk on the deserted beach with his Pop.
