Peaches, age 2

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n exchange for helping a grown-up friend with her teaching homework (‘sup, Dawn?), Peaches received an abundance of art supplies.

“I’ve already used the box they came in,” she told me at bedtime on the day she brought them home. “I made it into an elevator for my animals. I can pull them up to my bed from the floor with it. Next I need to remember some things to do with the popsicle sticks.”

The box to which she was referring was really a purple, plastic basket with handles, a tote that easily lent itself to being run through with string and set in motion, pulley-style.

I don’t know why I was surprised that the container that held the paper and pipe cleaners is what was repurposed first; most likely it is because patterns take awhile to coalesce into something that makes sense to me.

Since she was small, Peaches has been revealing parts of herself and the way she sees the world through vessels. Cardboard boxes, baskets, buckets, paper turned into containers for stuffed animals and for taking along on pretend adventures—this is where her imagination would appear to be most content: in the securing and secreting of treasures.

She is packing and unpacking herself in these projects, hidden away for a time only to emerge changed in different ways, but she always seems just a little bit bigger.