On Holiday

Friday was Independence Day, and for a change of pace, we took a drive out into the country to our friend's property an hour and a half southwest of Nashville. As you drive down Highway 100, you have to know where you are going, or you will entirely miss the turn-off.

As we turned off onto the chert road, Finley thought we were going to the zoo. Then she asked where the parking lot was. I nearly slapped my forehead in dismay.

After a lunch at the house that is nestled back on the side of a hill among the trees, we peeked at the rotting, three-foot rattlesnake that Mrs. King had killed the other day. Then we took a walk down the drive, disturbing clumps of butterflies that fluttered up around us. When John arrived, Chris cut off the rattler's tail with a pair of loppers, then we headed down to the creek.

The creek bed is made up mainly of small chunks of rock, most of them range in color from beige to reddish-brown and are rounded off by years of running water. The water runs clear and is cool, in spite of mid-summer heat. The creek was 30-40 feet wide at this point, half of that a slow-moving shallow area. John put a water melon in the water along the creek bank to chill, and we carried our aluminum lawn chairs to a shady spot where the water was ankle-deep.

The kids played in the water up to their thighs, picking up, examining, and even licking the rocks before throwing them back into the water. (It is a small miracle that no one was hit by any of these carelessly flung projectiles.) Chris and John skipped rocks and aimed at a log sticking up out of the water. Mrs. King and I just sat with our feet in the water, holding rocks and periwinkle shells for the kids, attempting to identify the sweet smell that would sometimes drift down to us on the breeze, and looking at the life in the water. It was the perfect way for me and my nine-month belly to spend a relaxing afternoon.

I wondered why Mrs. King called the little snails 'periwinkles' until I kept catching glimpses of a brilliant light-blue shining among the rocks in the creek. Upon further inspection, I realized it was the reflection of the sky on the pale interior of the otherwise black shells. We also saw crawdads, minnows, tiny leeches, and other critters.

I don't recall hearing one firework exploding or even a car engine passing by on a nearby road.
After several hours and a belly-full of watermelon, it became clear that Joe was really beginning to feel the effects of his missed nap and that we should hit the road. We returned to Nashville, to the chaos of fireworks and cranky children.

Just as the distant booms from the downtown fireworks show started, I crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep.