Spring Break

Quick, someone make school start. I can’t survive this version of a “break.” Tomorrow, Logan will be back at his desk. And I will be at home, recovering from the so-called Spring Break.

It may have been a break for some folks. It was more like work-release for Logan. That’s because he spent the first part of his week with his Nana and Papa down near Marion, at the retirement home they have built.

Papa Decanter rests by working. He may be the “Poor Old Elderly Papa” (his term, not mine) but he works like three strong men half his age. And Logan worked right along with him.

They are so much alike, this somewhat older man and this growing boy. Neither like to be bored. Neither can tolerate sitting around. Both are happier outdoors. Both are the happiest when they have something to do; happier still when that something is outside, working together.

Logan’s young back and willing hands were put to good use down at Haefer, three miles from the middle of nowhere, Arkansas. It’s a peaceful place. We have 12 acres of land that Logan can run or ride free on between us, my parents and my aunt.

Logan shoveled dirt on to a trailer, hauled dirt in a wheelbarrow, picked up wood and other debris, cleared land, filled in holes, did a little mechanical work, did a lot of yard work, and basically fetched, carried, ran, lifted, hauled and did everything else a Nana, Papa, Mom, and Aunt asked him to do.

Mom and I mainly watched. Except Mom cooked. A lot. And then she cooked some more. Logan has started eating all of the time. Every other hour he is hungry again. He is eating everything on the plate and then scraping the glaze off the plate. The kid that we had to beg to eat for 11 years is making up for lost time.

After two days, Logan was bruised, scratched, aching, sunburned, and windblown. He was not hungry, though. He had the time of his life. I brought him home Wednesday, concerned that any more fun would put him at risk for injury. Actually, I was more concerned that any more fun would put our checkbook at risk.

I’ve heard that fresh air, hard work and sunshine are good for you. At the rate Logan is growing, that boy can’t stand too much more of anything that is good for him. He’s bursting out of clothing faster than we can keep up already. Another day or two in the fresh air with Papa and he would have been wearing rags home to Blytheville.

I’m not sure how much of a “break” we got, but we had a great time all the same. Dad got some help and some Papa and Papa’s Pal bonding time; Logan got some exercise with a little work ethic thrown it, and my Mom and I; well, we did our part too.

We rocked on the front porch and swung on the back porch. We read books and watched movies and ate by the fireplace. We handed out back rubs and Tylenol to the wounded warriors and made the appropriate appreciative noises. It was a tough job, but somebody had to do it.