life is a cobbler with layers of sweet and sour all jumbled together

There is smoke in the air today. Over 20,000 acres of North Carolina’s northeast Outer Banks have burned in a wildfire, and you can see the haze in the air even here, three or four hours drive west. I spent a lot of my growing up on the Outer Banks and my sister and mother live just an hour from the coast. It’s the place in the world I feel most myself. I hope the destruction of this fire isn’t permanent. The area could probably recover from such a fire, if it were allowed to, but I fear it will never get the chance. People cut down trees over there as fast as they can. When I was kid there were huge stretches of beach island with only a row of cottages, then forest, then sound (that’s the side of a skinny island that faces away from the breaking ocean). Now, in most places, it’s cottages all the way across. I love something, the Outer Banks, that, in some ways, isn’t there any more.

On the flip side of that coin, we’re making strawberry cobblers. That’s right, cobblerS. We picked 15 pounds of strawberries the other day (see last year’s strawberry post for pictures of our favorite picking field) and, in between eating handfuls of fresh berries, we have been making a cobbler a day, with the scientific intent of perfecting our recipe. It’s a quest. A sacred duty, if you will. I’ll let you know how it goes.

One thing I can report on immediately, however, is the power of cobbler to solve disputes. The following is an actual, overheard coversation between Sophie, 7, and Luc, 5.

Sophie: That shirt is mine, you can’t wear it.

Luc: Nuh-nuh. This is my shirt. I’ve had it for years, since I was four.

Sophie: No you didn’t. Grandma Bonnie gave that to me for Christmas. It’s my shirt.

Luc: No she didn’t. I picked it out at a yard sale with Paul. You weren’t even there.

Sophie: No you didn’t. I’ve had that shirt so long, it was mine before you were born.

Luc: Oh yeah? Well that shirt was mine when there were just dinosaurs!

Sophie: Oh yeah? That shirt was mine when there was just a stack of turtles!

Luc: Oh, yeah? Well that shirt was mine when there was just whiteness everywhere!

Sophie: [rolls eyes] That shirt didn’t even exist when there was just whiteness everywhere, how could it exist if there was just whiteness everywhere? There’s just whiteness. No shirts.

Luc: I don’t know. [ponders] Did we exist then?

Sophie: [shrugs] Yeah, we just hung around in the whiteness.

Luc: [still pondering, then shrugs] Let’s get some cobbler.

Sophie: Yeah! [runs off, shirt forgotten]

Fin.

See? They should have cobbler at the United Nations.

Anyway, in the midst of great destruction by fire, there are still small happinesses, deep discussions, and enjoyable desserts. It’s all a big jumbled mess. So, here, have some cobbler. Have some ice cream on top.