Easy and Free

On encountering young men with name tags

At the neighborhood park, just around the bend from the marina and across a vast expanse of green grass that seems to span endlessly for little toddler legs, two of my children and I settled our things on a metal table underneath the shade of a shimmering maple tree. The sun was warm, the breeze kissed with salt air, and laughter from children doing what they do at parks was easy and free.

I had spent part of my morning preparing for this: a welcome date with a dear friend and her little boy. Into my large basket, I packed plates, forks, and sweet little napkins with birdies on them. I included prosciutto wrapped mozzarella sticks, hawthorn-rose kombucha (really, jun, as it’s made with honey and not sugar), and a fresh baked cake of rhubarb that included roses from my garden and mulberries from the local farm. I gently tucked in vanilla creme fraiche for a topping. It was going to be perfect.

And it was. We had a lovely conversation ranging from plans for supper to race relations to fr…