Our son, Danny, is 10-years-old. Here he is with his first egg. He collected it all by himself, and was very proud. He misses the farm life, but also enjoys grand adventures—but I will let him tell you about those.
He has been blessed with two unordinary households—in fact, he lives in two former hunting camps. His father has an old standing-log style cabin with a miles-long view of a peat bog. Cattails with a few tamaracks sprinkled here and there. Our little cabin is nestled in the woods near a stream with little waterfalls flowing over ledge and lots of room for a kid to roam.
He has had a difficult time with our transition from the farm, to the boat, to a few places we thought were home—then to here in Bradford, where we are both at my desk writing.
Here he is with Lucy, the baby goat he watched come into this world when he was five. He carried her until he couldn’t lift her anymore. As time passed, and she became a mother, Danny learned how to milk her, then to make cheese and soap from the milk.
Now Danny is skilled at edible plant and mushroom foraging, identifying Maine animal tracks, and getting muddy. He loves to bake cookies, and recently made a ceramic mug and apron for me at school. He was the only kid in his class that knew how to operate a sewing machine.
This is how Danny sees the world, from a 10-year-old’s perspective.