Aw, we did get away, just a little. Not too far, not too long. My gosh. Birdsong and crickets. Glowing sunrises. Crayfish and minnows. Slugs and eagles. Swedish pancakes (fail) and burgers and brownies (yeah). Cousins and uncle for an afternoon. S'mores and the wind in the trees. Sun on the water. Bananas and coffee (didn't bring enough). Rocks and ducks. Geese flying straight down the river. Too-soft beds and too-hard chairs. Puzzles and yarn. So quiet you could hear the leaves rustling. The frog croaking. The baby talked and talked. I can only get a non-blurry photo of her when she's in one of her seats or sleeping; the rest of the time she is on the move. Everywhere, everywhere, smiling, laughing, talking, blowing bubbles with her lips, crushing leaves, carrying rocks, pounding the table, cracking herself up, crawling as fast as she can that way, crawling as fast as she can this. Waking up to the sound of raindrops. Mornings on the porch. Everything soaked and beautiful. Grapes on the arbor. Bees in the perennial bed. Naps in the hot afternoon. Deer at twilight, racing across the lower lawn in three giant arcs, almost leaping straight over Andy's head in the murky dark. Lazy river. Friendly floaters occasionally drifting by, feet in the water, beer in hand; we charged them a toll — a joke — to pass. Clouds hanging. Swallows swooping in the evening. Bats zipping across in the dark. We're in their world. The river world. No music, no television. Just crickets, and eagle calls, and the baby's delighted voice, carrying across the shallow water.