When I was little, we lived in the country in Idaho for a while. My parents bought a house with some acreage and we farmed alfalfa while my dad was a computer engineer for HP. I have the mostly hazy memories of a young child, but one of my favorites is of the pheasants. They loved to nest in our field, and our dog Tinker would go out and bring home their eggs. Pheasant eggs are beautiful things, large (maybe the size of duck eggs?) and lovely shades of greenish brown. Tinker could bring home the eggs completely unblemished in her mouth - an impressive feat it always seemed. I brought them to kindergarten at least once to share with the teacher. I wonder know what Mrs Heart must have thought of that. Was she appreciative? Was it a strange act?
We have pheasants here in the Middle as well. I saw many of them last spring while driving back and forth to the SLAC I taught at. They were so beautiful with their white ringed necks and shiny green heads. They must like nesting in the corn and soy fields as well.
I wonder what stories and half formed memories Froglette will have of this time in the Middle? What stories we'll tell seven bajillion times until Froglette can repeat them without having experienced them first hand? I'm sure that stories of Miles will figure prominently. I can tell stories of at least 2 cats that were around before my time as if they are my own memories. And I know stories of my parents' dating and college days, building houses, and traveling on the motorcycle. I love how these stories and memories come floating to the surface unbidden, triggered by random thoughts and associations.
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