Too Good Not To Share.

A perfect hike with mom.

At the Res. and to the top of the top of the spot that Dec reached at Camp this Summer.
The spot he promised to show us. Before the summer ended.

We ate together - gourmet food of sorts from the new local shop down the road.
It was nearing sunset.

On the hike to and fro we laughed, slipped, marveled at buttercup's new "kneesocks", laughed,
listened, did some heavy breathing and loved. Each other.

At the top, mom handed over the pound cake she insists she "finished half of" during the storm.

I take it willingly. I know the recipe well, and recall that the word pound is not figurative.

Especially when it comes to the butter line item.

Yum.

Two proud and exhausted hikers sat in the back of my car as we made our way for home after the hike. They quietly munched on Granny's Cake and passed the luke warm water bottle back and forth between each other.

The open tub of pound cake sat next to me in the passenger seat the whole ride home.
Tempting? But of course.

During the drive home, we all used the same word to describe the evening, the stroll in the woods, the walk with Granny....

Perfect.

It wasn't until we rounded our last turn to home that we slowed.

Flashing lights and large cherry picker trucks were blocking our road.

I took a bite of the pound cake calling my name to the right of me. Darn, that is good stuff.

Then I turned my attention to the traffic delay.

My first thought: I can't believe they are still out here working at dusk - a full one week after IRENE hit

They seemed to be moving on from this post.

Three trucks went roaring past our idling car.

WISCONSIN DEC AND NONIE! DID YOU SEE THAT PLATE?! THEY ARE FROM WISCONSIN.

Without much thought I found myself frantically waving my flabby white arm out my car window just in time to catch the fourth truck.....

WHAT AM I DOING? I KIND OF THOUGHT. Then, my next thought was: I BET HE THINKS I'M GOING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT SOMETHING. Since everyone has been grumpy without power.


The ginormous truck slowed and then grinded to a halt, just in time for our windows to line up perfectly.

I took a glance at the driver.

HE'S YOUNG - A KID! (I THOUGHT).

And this darling young thing with a crew cut and midwestern accent lowered his window as I offered up some pound cake.

DO YOU CARE FOR SOME POUND CAKE (I SHOUTED - OVER THE ROAR OF THE ENGINE)?

Gee, sure I'd love some. THANK YOU! Said the young kid (couldn't have been older than 19) and he grabbed a slice and roared away.

Then came the next, fifth and final, truck.

I put my flabby white arm to work.

MY MOM MADE THIS POUND CAKE. WOULD YOU LIKE A SLICE?

And he said

WOW! SURE! THANKS!!! and he grabbed the tupperware and was off.

(Gran, sorry - but the electrician from Wisonsin has your tupperware. However, I think it was my container anyway. I recognize the lid, which is all I'm left with as I type this post up.)

In every way imaginable....this evening, buttercup's mud stockings, eating really close to a copperhead snakeskin, Gran's pound cake, and offering up all I had at the time (WHICH IS A LESSON MOM HAS ALWAYS TAUGHT ME) the whole day really -

was too good not to share.