Two anniversaries in a row. Two birthdays. Two pregnancies! I have GOT to stop this perpetual pregnancy stuff!
Although sober, we managed to celebrate six years of domestic bliss showing off our 8-month-old to a crowd of … what did we call them … oh, yeah, Old White Nerds at the Zoar Harvest Festival in the historic village of Zoar, Ohio.
Zoar. Zoar. Zoar.
We could not get over it. And neither could the inhabitants of Zoar.
Some sort of separatists who lived in a commune. We didn’t quite nail that down.
Anyway, if there’s a fiddle, a brew tent and turkey legs, you can pretty much guarantee I will be there. Things like Ye Olde Blacksmithy demonstrations are the icing on the cake. The whole thing really made me miss the Paul Bunyan Festival. And the fall.
There is a memory carved into my mind involving two young parents, pushing a stroller along the gardens, engaging in a lengthy debate (over hand-cranked ice cream, of course) whether a town TRULY needed a broomsquire, and how low on the rank and file such a position would be in the village of Zoar. This is my relationship with my husband. And for that, I am thankful.
Six years. One-and-a-half kids. A strange assortment of animals and 10 acres later … I could not be more happy to share this wild ride with you, kiddo. I wonder where we’ll be six years from now?! Perhaps we’ll have sent 14 broomsquires back to college to learn a real trade?
Next weekend we’re pawning off the kid and riding bikes up to a yet-to-be-determined Holmes County B&B. Maybe I’ll sneak in a glass of wine for my 28th birthday!
Is there any month better than August? If so, I don’t want to know about it.
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