Bumps, scrapes, and scratches — part of growing up. We tell ourselves, “It’s going to happen. She’s going to hit her head hard and a knot will rise on the spot, or she’ll slip and skin her knee,” and we think we’re prepared.

Yet when it actually happens, it’s something entirely different. For the first second.

In the grass field where everyone parks before catching the bus up to the chimney part of Chimney Rock Park, L was walking, then running, then falling and — it all flashed before everyone’s eyes — stumbling, falling, and planting her face squarely on a patch of dusty ground.

The results were predictable: instant hysterics, jerky motions, and panic — and that was mom. L was in a state of screaming that we’ve never heard.

“Water! Water! Put some water on that rag and give it to me! Quickly!” In Polish, from a panicked mother.

The tears passed quickly enough, but the consequences will hang around for a few days:

Once the girl stopped crying and everyone calmed down, K said, “Don’t worry, L. It’s just your first scraped nose.” Dziadek and I added, almost simultaneously, “And it won’t be your last.”