That's my girl

Yesterday, Ella and I were picking up somewhere in the neighborhood of 10,000 pine cones off our front lawn and driveway. We were working away when I caught sight of her, stripped shirt, black velvet ruffle skirt, multi-colored striped tights and patent leather shoes that clicked formally when she walked on the pavement. She was back to, clicking away, head held high and hair swept back into a ponytail.

It hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks: that is my daughter. This was me as a little girl, the eccentricity, the dressing up, the fashion (a major exception being that I held shows for audiences on a platform in my back yard whereas Ella still won't speak to our super nice neighbor.) Yes, indeed, Ella's self-expression flows freely.

Later in the afternoon we went to pick up a ton of corn (for those who aren't familiar with our approach to heat, it is to be warm and work very hard for it running a corn stove, pellet stove and a wood stove.) Ella sighed from the back seat, "Why are we always going to get pellets or corn?" As if it effects her at all.

Last night I brought it all in, hopefully the last major lifting for a while. But I love to go into the basement and survey- 2 cord of wood, 2 tons of pellets and 1 ton of corn. We will be toasty when the snow comes.