When We Take Our Books Outside. . .

"I think they listen to us," Mum tells me.

It's been a sunny week here in the Willamette Valley. Blue skies, sunburns, and garden hats have been the order of the last five days. And every day, as the thermometer lead shoots upward, we grab our books or writing projects or Latin flashcards and head for the back yard.

"They do?"

"They come outside to do yard work. And when they hear me reading, they stop. They get really quiet. I think they listen."

"They" is the couple next door, the ones who live in the oldest house in town, a beautiful home with spacious wrap-around porches, and fresh blue and white paint. Ladybird spends hours outside talking to the husband. This week he gave her a bottle--"One hundred years old!"--that he found at the Coast.

"Well, I finished the book today."

"Oh? They'll miss it, I'm sure." Everyone loves The Secret Garden. Well, almost everyone. And if our next door neighbors didn't, I bet they do now. They might even be believers in fresh air by this time.

On Thursday I take the felt blanket and a backpack full of books to the park. I find a bench beside the river, in the sunshine. Later, SisterBlogger joins me. We go through the study questions in our Instructor's Guide together. Outloud. The clumps of joggers and bikers and walkers who drift across the bridge downstream from us turn toward us, curious. Do you think they like to hear us argue over the merits of North's economic analysis of the Parable of the Talents and the Federal Reserve System, or do they prefer to hear our comments on Carson's history of the Leviathan Government? I'm sure they find our thoughts on "The Gold Bug" fascinating.

Later, after we've finished with the questions, we sprawl on the grassy hillside. A young boy (perhaps four?) runs between us, and then, regarding us quizzically, asks,

"What'reyadoin'?"

"Reading."

"Oh. Wanna watch me throw this stick?"

"Sure."

"Ok." He throws the stick over the retaining wall below us and into the river. "Wanna watch me throw this one?"

"Go ahead."

He throws his second stick, it falls short and lands on the bank. He's disappointed, but bears it well, and trots off with his dad. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, if you come to this park," he assures us.

"Bye."

We return to our books.

At work, SisterBlogger reads on her breaks. She's progressing steadily through Ben Hur; she says ten minutes is just enough to get her through one chapter.

"You read on your breaks?" Co-worker wants to know.

"Yes."

"Wow! That's great!"

SisterBlogger finishes her chapter. Mum finishes her book. I finish my reading assignment.

Then we start it all over again.

Wash.Rinse.Repeat.

Read.Think.Learn.

Live.

And maybe, along the way, some of our passion for literature will rub off on the joggers, the bikers, the walkers, the boys with their sticks, the coworkers, the neighbors next door. . .

One never knows.