First up is proof of Hurricane's inherited feelings about feet.
He? Absolutely against them. Except, perhaps, for his own which, he has informed me and I concur, taste quite yummy.
One of the Lime Kilns at Lime Kiln Point. There was a point to this picture but I'm not entirely sure it's interesting anymore. Maybe because I don't remember the whole story. I do remember that this is just north of Dead Man's Bay, so named because well..... duh. Lime, in it's powdered form, it does not like the water. Workers would load this powdered lime onto the boats but because that area of the coast is so rocky, it would frequently get wet and burn up the entire ship.
Pretty. This is a favored point for whale watching. It's my favorite spot on the island. The lavendar fields. Really great place to go, take a deep breath and relax, if you like the smell of lavendar. I do not. 3 seconds after taking this picture and seeing the long expanse of lavendar planted before me (which was about 5 seconds after getting out of the van), I returned to the van and attempted to not throw up.
I almost succeeded.
While he desperately hates feet, he is hopelessly in love with frogs. He would not leave this damn guy alone. The guy would move on to greet another kid and there was my son, tugging at his leg in awe breathily bleating 'rrriimmiihhhttt?'
Meet Spot. Spot does not Baaaa as a normal sheep would. Spot burps. Loudly. Spot burped every time Hurricane turned his back. Hurricane was utterly confused by this noise because he was certain it came from this animal but it didn't even blink when he looked at it. Finally, he stood with his back turned slightly and caught it mid-burp.
Hurricane burped back and laughed.
They burped back and forth at eachother for 10 minutes before Hurricane's father rolled his eyes and carried him away.
This trip also began Hurricane's obsession with Dance Dance Revolution. I am certain this will lead to a fulfilling life touring the country in order to dance in competitions. Oh, you didn't know people did that? Well, yes. They do.
Then there were the chickens. Chickens my children felt the need to chase, much to the amusement of our friends, the owners of said chickens.
Girl would run after them, her arms flailing at her sides, yelling "Chicken nuggets, fried chicken, buffalo wings, chicken soup! MMMM!!" Proving only that she is my child, demented and lovely.
Hurricane simply bent over, his arms behind his back and "bawk, bawk bawk". Smiling as though he knew exactly what it was he was saying to them.