Holding Hands in the Country

As I was looking through the pictures from our visit to South Georgia, it struck me how many special things--and people--our hands held in only a few short days.

Our hands held fresh wildflowers each morning. The boys sought out the rare oranges and purples. The whites, yellows, and lavenders were everywhere.Our hands held family heirlooms. I was able to spend some time with Papa's grandmother, looking through her quilts-in-progress, and some finished ones as well. Her hands have lovingly stitched quilts for almost every marriage and baby to come through her family (six children, thirteen grandchildren, sixteen great-grandchildren plus one on the way, and one great-great-granddaughter).
Our hands held fresh vegetables from Grandma's garden. The boys seemed to understand how rare and special a treat it was to pop vine-plump green beans into our mouths like candy.
Our hands held lessons. Papa's hands guided Big B's in the fine arts of gear-shifting, trail-riding, and gopher tortoise seeking. (Little b's hands just wanted to be wherever Papa's and Big B's were.)
Our hands held creatures, big and small.
Our hands held the joys of being children, in the country, with huge imaginations.