for us to enjoy.
Troy was the one who selected a sun-dappled
little mound under one of the most beautiful beech
trees I'd ever seen. Not so far away was a gurgling
stream of water, and birds darted between the gently
swaying branches above. The wonderful feel of the
summer day put songs in my heart and joy in my
every movement, as Troy knelt to spread the red-andwhite checkered tablecloth on the grass. Our two
horses were tethered not far away and contentedly
munched on whatever they could eat. I heard the hum
of honey bees, smelled the scent of clover, brushed tiny gnats from my face as I busied myself emptying the picnic basket. The sweetness of the day, the prettiness of the setting, lit up my eyes whenever I glanced at Troy, who couldn't move his fascinated gaze from whatever trivial move I made. I felt selfconscious as I shifted plates and plastic flatware around, and three times I moved the potato salad, the
fried chicken, the sandwiches.
When finally I had everything prettily arranged,
I sat back on my heels and smiled his way. "There,
doesn't it look pretty? But don't dig in until I say
grace, just like my granny used to say whenever Pa
wasn't at home." I felt so happy today that I just had to
thank someone.
He seemed bewitched. Dazed-looking, he
nodded, then inclined his head slightly while I said the
familiar words.
"Dear Lord, we thank you for the food before
us. We thank you for the caring hands that prepared
our bounty. We thank you for our many blessings and
all the joys this day and all our tomorrows will bring
&
nbsp; us. Amen."
I lowered my hands, raised my bowed head,
looked up, and found Troy staring at me in the most
quizzical way. "Your granny's grace?"