Jackson is now officially Corse

Welcome back to our blog. This entry has a few more scenic pictures than the past few. So for those of you who are tired of the tight framing around Jackson's mug, you may enjoy some of these shots of mother Corsica and Venice and Florence. But for the grandmas among you, fear not. Jackson still looms quite large in most of the below (as does his father who has managed to blend into the Corsican crowd--giving the anthropologist in the family the ability to do some of her field research right at home).

It took the lad (Jackson, that is) about 2 months, but he has now been fully accepted into Corsican society. He is recognized all over town, gets and gives the bissou (on both cheeks), speaks French with a Corsican accent, says "lait" when he wants milk and l'eau when he wants water...drinks his coffee black and sweet, etc.
There are also more subtle markers: he has seen a wild boar, he yells "bah" at the sheep, he feeds the donkeys, he has learned to walk on rocky trails and up the steep incline leading to our home without holding on to his parents (we are--in case one particular grandmother is worried-- holding onto him, though he doesn't know it).

And, in perhaps the most telling sign both of his acclimation and his maturation, Jackson knows how to identify cow crap and how to steer way clear of it.

So this is a post of mountains and moons and boats and big doors and foreign menus and foreign sheep and canyons and rivers and pig festivals and beaches and chesnut forests and, ofcourse, a transvestite dressed in a white feathered body suit.