Happy Birthday Gibson!

Some traditions just need a river, a fishing pole, and your favorite person in the whole world. For me, that person is Gibson—and this is our story.

It started when he was just a toddler. A wobbly-legged little cowboy in rubber boots, clutching a plastic pole that hardly reached the water. Back then, I had to carry him across the shallow bends, and he would splash and giggle. But even then, I knew—we were building something. Something bigger than fish or casts or catching anything at all.

We were building a tradition.

Every year since, just him and I have returned to the same stretch of river. No crowds, no chaos. Just the two of us and the sound of water slipping over stone. It’s where we talk about life—or don’t talk at all. Where we laugh when the fish outsmart us which is usually the case.  Where he tests his independence and I secretly treasure the moments he still needs me.

This week, he turns 14.

He’s taller now. His stride matches mine, his cast is stronger, and that little boy grin has braces on it. But even with the years passing like water under the bridge, when we wade into that river, time slows down. It’s still just Momma and Gibson. And somehow, that feels like enough to keep the world turning.

I know one day the seasons will shift, and he’ll have his own traditions—his own people and plans. But I pray that no matter how tall he grows or how far he wanders, this river will always call him home. And when it does, I’ll be right there, waiting with a net, a snack, and the kind of love that doesn’t wear out.

Because I sure love him more than anything.

Happy Birthday my darling boy. 

I  love you forever, -k-

Love, Momma