On Monday we went out to the Salmon River, where we saw trout. Just baby ones, though we brought a fishing rod just in case. It was Anaiah's inaugural excursion in the great outdoors, and she was a champ. Slept through most of it, she's good like that. I even got to pull ridiculous stunts like arrange her on giant mossy stumps to get pictures of some more of her handknit gifts (it being cool enough up there to warrant such things; it's catch as catch can for woolens around here during this season).
Baby Surprise jacket from Alex!
And Stay-On Booties from our dear friend Kat:
I even managed a few, ahem, shots of the both of us. Sort of.
My favorite part about those (besides that I finally caught one of her smiling!) is that we could be anywhere, except when you look at the reflections in our eyes you can just about make out our view:
There was a boy there, too, of course, more on that later. The berries part first, though. I had a bit of an incident earlier this year wherein I was a Wasn't Believed about something, which (as those who know me can attest) I can't stand. Namely, about the color of huckleberries. Apparently, most people think of them as a kind of miniature blueberry, with a hue to match, and these do indeed abound. But not in our mountains. The kind that you find merrily lining our trails, ripe for the grazing, are quite a different color altogether and the one that I associate with Oregon and huckleberries:
The Defense rests. Now the boy, and a cracker box, who had to change into his jeans after a thorough and accidental dousing in the fresh mountain runoff that calls itself a river. Such refreshing ablutions call for some soaking in the sun afterwards, and throwing rocks into the water and eating round crackers straight from the box.
And lastly, before I get my sorry behind in bed, where it should have been hours ago, the bug. Don't worry, it's a cute one.
And, of course, my lovely mum. A la prochaine, mes amis!