Pockets Full of Acorns

Crickets sing all night. My kids are asking about apple picking and discussing Halloween costumes. Pumpkin everything hasn’t shown up on my Pinterest feed yet but it is coming. It’s definitely August.

Around here, August also means acorns. Acorns everywhere.

It also means a dozen stops on just about every one of our walks to collect these acorns.

Whether they end up in handfuls, buckets or pockets, there are three little girls in my house who can’t help themselves.

They are collectors. Resistance is futile.

Usually, this works out ok. We grow lemon trees. Someone starts a collection of cicada exoskeletons in the garage. We draw pictures of and identify rocks. Someone curates a leaf museum in the playhouse. We make Christmas decorations out of pinecones. A little pile of treasures collects on top of the dryer when I’m emptying pockets before throwing muddy clothing into the washer.

(I would rather not talk about the time I missed a pocket full of asphalt pieces in my eldest’s zipped up jacket pocket until I was taking it out of the dryer.)

One evening this week, as I impatiently waited while my three year old stopped under yet another oak tree for yet another handful of acorns (that she had nowhere to put), it struck me.

This is childhood: aimlessly, yet purposefully, filling pockets with acorns. No care in the world for time or destination.

And as long as they don’t end up in my washing machine, I’m ok with that.