We are staying a few days more in Tallahassee. We drove around today visiting friends, and Woody's mind flooded with memories faster than he could get them out of his mouth. The museum, the springs, the Chinese restaurant, the lake. He wanted to do it all. I told him it would take a few days. "I would like that," he said.
And, truth be told, I would like that, too. My evening talks with Daddy Honey are growing wistful and I am feeling pulled to see the maple buds opening on Ozark trees, but it feels as if this, our first trip back, is not quite finished, that we have a few Florida adventures yet to take in before we come home.
This is the house we lived in when Woody was born, though it didn't quite look like this at that time. It was white with green trim and a little rough around the edges, as rentals often are. We called it the bamboo house because of the thick stand of it that grew down the right side of the property. The landlords put it on the market soon after we moved in, so when our lease ended we moved out and paid our last check to the new owner. I planted sage and chives out front, and hung Woody's tiny tie-dyed shirts on a makeshift clothesline in the backyard. We laid for hours on the bed in the back bedroom painted a pale aquamarine, looking out the huge windows. I remember especially the hummingbirds visiting the red and purple flowers that hung low off the big banana trees. The moon coming through that window would be so bright some nights that it would wake me up.