A game of catch, a game of life
As you can see, my son has a bit to learn yet about baseball. Like how to throw a ball.

At first glance, it is just a boy who needs to learn to throw a baseball. But there is so much more to this picture about family. About community. About "the way things oughtta be, but so often aren't, even in our own lives.

It was a pleasant evening, cool and breezy and the sun lingered in the sky to make time for the children to get a few games of catch in with their dad. The neighbor, who you can sort of make out near his shed, stopped his gardening just to watch. He and his wife (who are about the age of my grandparents) were greeted by enthusiastic shouts and hugs the moment they stepped onto the field.

At the edge of the field is a pole with a box on it. It is a bluebird house our neighbor made. They are all around the field and thanks to him, we can watch the bluebirds flit through the field catching insects on the wing. Thanks to him, my children know the difference between a sparrow's egg and a bluebird's egg. Thanks to him, they know a little about monitoring bluebird trails and protecting the nests of a native bird whose populations have suffered due to competition with nonnative species.

They also know that he used to plow his father's field...with a horse. Because the potatoes were his responsibility right down to throwing out the rotten ones midwinter.

And then there's the mitt he is using. Here is a slightly better picture.

He loves that mitt. It is a special mitt--a mitt with a story--a mitt with history. See, my dad bought it for five dollars when he was a little boy. Now my son is playing catch with his dad with the same mitt over fifty years later.

A bit of history, the present and the future all in a game of catch.