Squash Hunting.

It was a cold, fall day--the first welcoming in the east wind for the season--and my daughter wanted to play outside. 
(Imagine that!)

I consented, figuring it would help her to be more ready when nap-time rolled in. We layered up and opened the door to a world of possibilities and enchantments in Salie's eyes. She got to work right away, kissing all the pumpkins by our door and scaling the yard for special tree-fallen treasures. I sat down to keep an eye on her while snapping pictures here and there, and doing other very important things like pinning hair chalking tutorials and acrobatic breastfeeding photos. Time passed, and soon it was time to go inside to snack on bananas. Turning towards the door, I suddenly realized the squash was missing from our pumpkin/squash porch party. "Where's the squash?" I looked at Salem. She tried to avoid eye contact, like all adorably guilty almost-two-year-olds do. "Salem? Where's the squash?" I tried to used sign for "where" to communicate the importance of the question. Still, nothing. "Salie? Can you show mama?" Instantly, she turned, blankie slung over her shoulder, and headed around the corner of the house (quite Linus van Pelt of her, I must say). Very curious, I followed her to find this...


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