Laure Joliet took this photo at her family’s house in Provence where, she says “we always eat outside together, in ‘the tunnel.'” Isn’t it magical!
The funny thing is that, upon seeing it, I wasn’t transported to France so much as I was to a memory of riding my bike with Hudson. He sits in front and tells me about all the things he sees along the way, in his own little language. He tells me that all the white vans are ambulances (sounds like apple), that ‘those’ are choo-choo tracks, and he yells at anyone running “run, run.” One day we rode under an arbor of trees that crossed the path—just for a split second, really—and he made this little staccato yell: “Hah!” “Hah!” I realized it was the same sound he makes when we cross under the railroad tracks, through a short tunnel. The arbor was a tunnel, he was telling me. And since then I’ve heard him do it in other tunnels—like when we drove to the island of Alameda recently. But it was sort of remarkable to me, seeing something familiar put in this other way. A tunnel of trees.
The other day, a similar but more comical example occurred: He says “dit, dit” for sweepers or brooms. Who knows why? We rode past a vision-impaired person, walking with a white and red cane, and Hudson called out “dit, dit!”
By the way, I don’t recall sharing with him that my family yells in tunnels (we do). Maybe I did? Maybe the yelling comes from some instinct about echoes. So interesting!
Did you have a ritual in tunnels? Aron’s family held their breath.
[Photo by Laure Joliet]
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