Today we headed to one of our favorite parks - the one that doesn't cost four dollars to get into and wouldn't be overrun with sixty-year old rollerblading French Canadians today. It's not that I think sixty year olds shouldn't be rollerblading. More power to 'em. But the orange tans, the lithe old bodies stuffed into nylon short shorts, and the idle chatter in Canadian French whizzing by at 15mph while I'm trying to be one with nature is mildly disconcerting.
There's a riverbed at the park that is filled with Fiddler Crabs - they dart in and out of holes, but will all hide at the slightest sound. As you near them, they sound like dry leaves, blowing across the ground. The Kid is usually in full-blown song by the time we reach them, so I never actually get to see them. The sun was blazing today, so I parked the stroller, walked a little, then sent the Kid back for it... and I crept up on a bunch of crabs, who were being fiddly and enjoying the sun. Finally.
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