Dear Sweet Timothy,
You look so sweet sleeping in your little basket, vintage and handwoven. It was the same basket that your uncle Tad slept in, the one that when you met him and he rocked you to sleep, branch on a tree style, you cooed so loudly we could hear it over the music.
The material was made by your great-grandmother and preserved ever so lovingly and cared for by your grandmother and then given to me before you were born to continue the cycle. And here you are now sleeping on the deck in the middle of sweet summer in the girliest green ever.
But what can I say, I may dress you in floral gardens sometimes and put you in girly green baskets with ruffles, but you’re mine, so who can be surprised?
This basket has traveled all around. From Washington to California back to Washington and then to Montana. And it’ll probably travel again. You’re the first Montana baby in the family…I’d better get some pictures of you with some horses and cows!
“There are no gloomy skies
When seen through the eyes
Of those who are blessed with love”
-Steiner Max / Discant Mack
Xoxox,
