I turn to find the elderly couple from the nearby RV approaching with cheerful waves. The woman's dressed like she's out for a hike, with a huge, floppy hat on her head. The man's wearing overalls splattered in oil and paint. Both of them walk with a spryness belying their apparent age; judging by their wrinkles and the whiteness of their hair, they're pushing seventy.
Then again, I've never been great at guessing age. Once I thought someone was forty, and it turned out they were in their twenties. Another time I thought someone was sixty, and he was seventy-three.
Don't get me started on kids. I'm notoriously bad at guessing them. I've already been guessing Bun at two and Jer at about eight, Sara around ten, and Ron at fifteen. I should probably ask them. As their de facto guardian of the moment, I should definitely know how old these kids are.
