Gram and Gramps’ house is on the island in the middle of farm and bush land. I had my fill of lazy mornings on the crisp porch with thick blankies and steaming cups of coffee. Padding on paths around a little island in the midst of their property, while breaking through wispy webs and enjoying family comradery was grand. Little man (my son) was very particular about everything except the weather (He loves the rain)—who was allowed to feed him, what ball he would use and which socks he wore. My Dad is a hippie under his sweatshirt and jeans, and Gram is a free and wild bird. The hippie inside me stirred too. Lots of tears for that girl as she feels lost sometimes. Perhaps if she’d made different choices. But love is where it all comes together.