It was SO special to get to go help during and after the birth of our older daughter Susannah’s third child. My first time further west than Colorado, I flew into Spokane and spent almost two weeks in NW Idaho. Snowtopped mountains, rivers, lakes, plains, pastures almost always supplied with two or three good-looking horses, roads with names like Hoo-Doo Loop and Tweedie Lane—fun! Dandelions twice the size of any I’ve seen, multiple kiosks serving coffee even in small towns like Priest River, fawns and moose calves in people’s back yards . . . I was blessed to get to know our daughter’s in-laws as more than passing acquaintances. We discovered common ground in our life approaches that undoubtedly laid the foundation for their son and our daughter to connect as best friends leading to marriage. Now, six-plus years later as corona virus refugees forced to abandon their home and livelihood overseas, they are facing nearly overwhelming challenges with grace and faith. At so many points I was touched by people’s kindness, including: -- the library lady who selected books for our grandchildren to check out during the library shutdown, the local father and daughter who welcomed us to come meet their horses and even gave our little ones rides, the Dollar Tree employee who looked twice trying to find hair detangler for our granddaughter after someone bought out their entire stock for unknown reasons. I’m wondering, can you make hand sanitizer or drugs from detangler? Or use it to make toilet paper? “It’s so nice to actually be together,” enthused four-year-old Ella. “You can’t hug on video.” Words of wisdom I wish many would take to heart. Ella seemed to find me fascinating, whether threading a needle to mend clothes, reading books, or telling stories. We read through most of the Narnia book The Horse and His Boy, acting out the storyline with model horses playing Bree and Hwin and a series of dolls, action figures, and Paw Patrol dogs the rest of the characters. She listened to accounts of horseback riding in the Colorado mountains when I was her age, and of a family and friends trail ride which included her mother as a three-year-old (riding in front of a friend on steady old Skippy), Uncle Marc at age five being ponied (led behind another horse) on the small mule Rachel, and Uncle MD at age seven riding our miniature horse Blaze all by himself. Someday I want to ride mountain trail rides with Ella. I will miss her enthusiasm and concentration, her little brother JW’s sweetly infectious smiles, and her baby brother who was just beginning to spend some alert happy awake time when it came time for me to leave. After a grueling series of flights spanning most of the continent yesterday, it was a joy to see DJ and Marc waiting for me outside the Arrivals elevator at the airport. We spent the night with our son at his apartment. I was tired and wobbly and delighted to fall asleep on the couch. This morning, though, awake before everyone else, I enjoyed some quiet moments on his back patio. Although he lives in the middle of Birmingham, his apartment is in the back corner of the complex. As I sat on his wooden rocker next to his (chained) grill, basically I could see only a screen of trees and underbrush screening a small lake. His birdfeeder, stocked with black oil sunflower seeds, attracted a fascinating array of birdlife, from tiny nuthatches and chickadees to a cardinal and several varieties beyond my ability to identify. Squirrels and a chipmunk explored the ground beneath the feeder for dropped treasure, kept from a closer approach by Marc’s latest strategies in squirrel deterrence. Paintings of outdoor and farm scenes grace his walls. Wood figures largely in his décor, his furnishings carefully pieced together from cast-offs, yard sale finds, gifts, and home-built items. Eventually, I’m sure he’ll graduate to a house in the country, but meanwhile, he’s managed to create a touch of rural life there in the city. He cooked us a delicious breakfast of scrambled farm fresh eggs DJ had brought. We watched his church’s service together before he left for his small group’s first in-person meeting since mid-March . . . if you can legitimately term as “in-person” an outdoor meeting with people in masks within waving distance. I have nearly reached the point of screaming when I hear the oft-repeated phrases “social distancing’, “new normal” or “safer at home”, especially as the fallacies of logic in most of the rules and policies become more glaringly obvious with each passing day. On the way home, we stopped for lunch at the restaurant where our younger son, affectionately known as NRG, works. Today is the first Sunday their dining room has been open since the shutdowns weeks ago. Rules require families or friends of more than six to split into different groups further separated by empty tables. Taped arrows mark directions, including ins and outs at the restroom doors. As the doors aren’t nearly six feet wide, and people don’t normally have the leverage to push open doors while clinging to the side near the hinges, as practical guides the arrows serve only to amuse or befuddle guests. However, service was great (LOL, our son is the best!) and the lunch so good that we ended up ordering another round to take home as a surprise for our younger daughter’s family. While away, I had spent multiple video calls chatting with our younger granddaughter, Sara, who couldn’t understand why “GG” wasn’t home, nor why she was apparently living in a phone now. When her mom told her I was returning “tomorrow” she wanted to run to the gate to watch for me right then. As soon as she understood it was me at the door, she scrambled down from her seat and ran to nestle in my arms. We hugged and kissed, and hugged and kissed again as she repeated, “My GG’s home, my GG’s home.” Next, with Sara as my shadow, I walked to the barn to greet first our horses, then the goats. Shorty nickered and left his spot at the hay to come mouth “join-up” at me. Isabel and Mary Marie, Jeremy and Honeysuckle came over towards the fence to bleat at us. It looks like Honeysuckle’s milk is bagging up; I wonder if she will kid soon. After their evening graze, I’ll put her in an individual stall just in case. We checked and found five new “boo” eggs in the bluebird house. It’s good to be home