Inya's yard has a passel of adorable children (she, her eldest daughter and the neighbors all look out for each-others' kids. I keep losing track of whose is whose.) Inya's also got the cutest tick-riddled puppy, and the occasional herd of just-passing-through goats.
And she's got a barrel.
When we're waiting for our next assignment from MT and his stone-faced assistant, Thebeyame, we turn over the barrel and hop on. Sam, our youngest team member, spent a summer at clown camp, and can walk on the barrel backwards while juggling. Showoff. The little kids took to it really quickly, too. Showoffs.
My sisters and I used to barrel-walk at our grandparents' house in Tupelo. In fact, we would barrel-race. That was in the 70s. But unlike riding a bike, barrel-walking does not come right back to you.
Which explains most of the bruises.