Our barn is about a block from the Chester River. Today after school, Alden asked if we could go feed the ducks. We pulled on our sweatshirts, grabbed a stale bagel, and headed to the water.
In addition to the ducks, there are seagulls. The seagulls are rude and grabby. To us, the poor ducks seem like the little kid on the playground that gets picked on all the time. And so we root for them and try our hardest to throw the bits of bagel right to where they are before the seagulls barge in and take it.
For a while, the seagulls didn’t realize we were there.
And then, all of a sudden they swooped in to ruin our fun.
Fortunately, although I’m pretty much harmless in every way, I am pretty good at intimidating seagulls.
We tried to get August in on the duck-feeding action.
But he was confused about who was supposed to be eating the bagel.
To be fair, I’m not sure he understands what a duck is.
And even if he did, why should he share?
Except with his Papa, of course.
After the bagel was gone, the kids scurried over the rocks along the shoreline.
Kato is not as sure-footed as Alden, but he’s getting there. As he reminds me every day, he’s three now.
“Remember when I was two, Papa?” he asks me every day. I assure him that I do remember.
It wasn’t so long ago.
The kids found reeds that the tide had washed up on shore and used them for “fishing” off the town pier. Apparently, Alden caught a lamppost.
August sat on Kato’s trike, taking it all in, puzzling over the mysteries of ducks and seagulls, wishing that the bagel wasn’t gone.
