“There’s one. Grab it.”
My two year old granddaughter bend down to pick up a small twig, adding it to a fistful she would add to the fire pit at our campsite.
As we wandered down the path, past trailers, fifth-wheels, RVs, and a few tents, we happened by a guy sitting on a stump, playing a banjo. Nothing recognizable, but his notes that made us stop and watch and listen for a moment.
He nodded, smiled, and asked, “Is that your daughter or granddaughter?”
I chuckled. “Granddaughter.”
“You never know. My brother’s sixty-three; he and his girl just had a baby.”
I chuckled again. (I’m sixty-three.) I wondered out loud, “Can you imagine starting out at that age?”
This time, he shook his head, smiled and said, “Y’all enjoy.”
“There’s one.” She grabbed it and we headed back to our campsite. Almost time to kindle our fire.