you know, it's probably time for me to quit schlepping my giant camera out to the fields to snap pics of the fam picking raspberries. it's not new. it's not exciting. it's never really much different each year than it was the year before.
but it's just one of those things.
it's one of those touchstones.
it's one of those photographic gauges of the relentless marching on of time.
of our time.
the raspberries stay the same. the dry dirt and the bushes and the crates and the boxes and the buckets. even the pnw sky is usually its cloudy, shady, angry, stormy summer self.
but the kids, man, those kids just won't stop changing.
summer girl, pictured here finally as tall as her mother.
(not pictured here: me giving her bunny ears. which immature shenanigans she did not care for at all.)
the first trip with all four kids here.
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