The primitive call of the cranes, the cackle of the pheasant, the trill of the red-winged blackbirds. We stop in our tracks, hold our breath, and listen. Every time.
My morning tea made with maple sap instead of water. Heck, yeah.
Enjoying meals outside because it's a balmy 44 F. Even if we have to sit on the ground because the picnic table isn't out yet.
And digging. Just because we can.