Throwing Rocks

One of the things on my dad's list of Brigid activities for our week in Indiana, besides swimming all day and eating Twinkies for breakfast, was throwing rocks into the pond that's on their property. Because, really, it's kind of fun to throw rocks into the water, and where, in our little corner of suburbia, is she going to get the chance to do that? Especially now that we've gotten the drainage issue in our backyard fixed, and there's no longer a river to run through it?

(See, this is why I love going back to Indiana. I'm still kind of a country girl at heart...or at least I can be, for short periods of time. Just don't ask me to mow the yard or pull up pond grass, ok? Because...well, I've done enough of that to last me a lifetime.)

And while it took some time for Brigid to get the hang of getting the rocks into the water, without following them in herself, after two or three nights of playing along with her grandpa, she got kind of attached to the whole thing.

And the last night we were there? After they had finished emptying their cup of rocks into the pond?

Brigid marched right back into the garage, walked up to the bucket of gravel that my dad had been pulling rocks from, and called for her papa to come get some more. Because she was just not quite done, yet, apparently...

 

 

I am going to be really, really sad when my parents sell this place someday.