down home

We left Poppy's on old 35, headed north along the Kanawha River, crossing back into Ohio. Hank slept and the boys watched a Disney movie and while Andy drove I noticed the scenery, the cows and the uncrowded lanes, the sleepy service stations and the above ground pools and the crosses and the ice cream parlors.

When we're in West Virginia, the idea of wild and wonderful feels almost redundant -- not enough soap and too much sugar, skinks and toads, fishing poles and four wheel drive. Plus, fresh peach pie and homemade french fries and the best half-baked pizza around.

When the boys were not eating like kings, they were outside. The landscape feels alluring, almost exotic - to me and to Andy, but also to our city born sons. Studded with lakes and shrouded by conifers there is unclaimed dirt from which to dig treasure, flowers you're allowed to pick, free to anyone with a pair of scissors or a pocket knife, plenty of fresh air and freedom. And grandparents with loose rules about critters in the kitchen and tight hugs when it's time to leave.

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