Barefoot Wednesdays

Evelyn on top of the water feature.

Ramsey sees a tadpole! 

Evelyn likes her picture taken. . . alot!

A big hollowed out Cypress tree.

Cypress Creek

Boys being boys. . .

 We made a big picnic in the quintessential brown picnic basket and off we went!  First stop, a rest stop that I had seen on the side of RR 12.  It looked like it had been constructed in the 70's and not used much.  So we all got out and it smelled like urine, then we saw a big turd (looked human) next to the concrete picnic tables.  I said, "kids we are out of here!"   I had my straw hat on, we were ready for a beautiful picnic.  But where to go?  Wimberley is such a great town, and I love it, but the river is privatized to the max!  You have to live on it, or rent a cabin or have friends invite you over to get next to it!  Geez. . .  There is one place though, that we went to when we were first getting to know this little town, and you get to it by going under the bridge near the square. So we parked, walked the path, this time from the opposite side, so, the kids and I crossed the fresh running water,. My dare devil Logan did not want to go, unless Ramsey held his hand (maybe b/c at Easter he had a near drowning incident at Krause Springs.)  Anyhoo~  we crossed the river, it got thigh deep on the kids, but we made it to the bridge and the dirt, where we heard the bats, smelled the guano, and saw a big crane.  Now shoes wet, when we got to the big rock picnic place, they were off!  Turkey sandwhiches, watermelon and lays potato chips, swallowed down with blue kool-aid, we were ready for more adventures!! 

So, the kids tantalized the fish, and then we finally made it down the old trail to our playground.  I say "our" because Mason and I would take the kids here when they were 18 mos old.  Logan slid down the slide here for his first time ever.  

Needless to say, by the time we made it home we were hot and sticky, and Mama needed a quiet time.  But it was definitely worth it.  I think we will do it again!  Next time with fishing poles. . .