Folly

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."