Thirteen

Today, my first-born turns thirteen years old.

Those of you who have been reading here for a (very) long time will probably find this as improbable as I do, but I assure you, that tiny Cubby is indeed now a teenager.

Per his request, I no longer post photos of him, but I do have one of the knife he up and made yesterday:

He just . . . woke up and decided to make a knife. So he found a piece of scrap metal, cut it to shape, filed it, punched holes, and there's a blade.

Next he'll fire it in the forge he made with his dad last summer, then carve a walnut handle for it.

Because he can do all of those things. Along with hunting, baking, writing, gardening, training horses, splitting wood . . .

He is incredibly skilled at thirteen years of age. Certainly much more so than either of his parents were at that age. I can't wait to see what else he learns and does as he gets older.

Happiest of birthdays to Cubby, a truly remarkable boy.