The oak at the far side of the pond is our summer table. It has a root that works as a bench and a patch of shade that works as a ceiling.
We pack bread, fruit, cheese, and a jar of water with mint. Someone always brings a book. Someone always falls asleep for ten minutes and denies it later.
Ants are invited whether we like it or not. We still come back.
Picnics remind us that homestead living is not only chores. It is also the art of sitting down before the work is finished.
