We ate out- a lot. I love to have any excuse to eat out. I like to cook, but I hate to cook. I hate to clean-up and I hate to do dishes with a deep, dark hatred that I need to pray through sometimes. The Tates of two years ago were adventure eaters, and everything tasted different. The food I made at home tasted strange, and there were so many unusual flavor combinations and restaurant names. I had never been to a sit-down restaurant almost entirely devoted to fried things. I have now. I never knew how many kinds of beans there were in the world, and how many of them taste like Lima beans.
We drove down roads that our GPS did not acknowledge, got lost on sand tracks that could not be meant for actual travel, and found beautiful places hidden all over. North Florida is gorgeous, full of lakes and water, and I would express concern about some place or another, only to be told, "It's not the gators you need to worry about, it's the snakes."
We went to Lake Palestine- in the pictures below- and let the chickens play in the tea-brown water- it was certainly still warm enough to do that. They loved it, and it was other-worldly, but when I told a lady from church about it, she looked shocked and said, "You shouldn't go in there! There's gators!"
I'm trying to see the Tates of two years ago, though, oblivious- nervous, maybe, but ignorant of what really lay under the water. It was our honeymoon period- loving the sweetness and strangeness of our new home, even while we pushed aside our homesickness.
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