October 13, 2002 - Sunday
We found the cows today and Harry, an old pro with cows now, wanted to feed them grass right away. I'm not sure whether he remembers feeding the cows this past spring or whether he's thinking of feeding grass to his friend John the Pony." (On the way away from Harry's successful pony ride we realized that the pony was named John and lived with Penelope, the donkey, not more than a mile and a half from our house and Harry wanted to stop there to see and feed them both several times.) I suspect with Harry it's both. He's proven to have a memory that lasts several months, although feeding John the pony and Penelope the donkey would certainly trigger the memory.

This weekend hasn't been all about cows and Harry has had a special treat. I had asked Chris to bring along his battery-powered keyboard on the chance that he or one of the other many pianists in the group might join Uncle Ben and me in the usual songfest. Predictably, that aspect of it the first time around met with mixed results (although adding just a little to the usual guitar-led mix goes a long way and was a delightful change). But, as it was at the beach cottage, Harry had a ball, especially once he learned which buttons activated the percussion stops and the ones that triggered the demo mode. While he also became quite aware of the volume knob, he mercifully acquiesced to keeping the volume low. Either he was happy just to be playing or he inherently understood that too much sound might bring a quicker end to his time at the keyboard. It occurs to me that had it been someone else, an adult especially, fiddling so much at the keyboard that it would have become rather tiresome. But, whether it's a parent just happy to have a child entertained or not, Harry's playing hardly seemed all that oppressive.

Jeremy was fascinated by the keyboard, but barely being able to reach the keys minimized the damage he could do to the serenity of the cabin. He hammered out a few low Cs when he could, but mostly played with the toys on the floor inside by the fireplace or on the railingless porch. Neither of those two places is particularly the safest place for a small boy, but I suppose watching boys and babies was as much a part of the weekend as anything else this year. And, with that as the reality, it's no surprise that the dynamics and attendance of the crowd has changed this year. It's nobody's fault. It's just part of the reality of kids.


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