MommyCoddle

deceptive little berries

I pulled over to a little farmhouse yesterday to buy some blackberries that were being sold at the end of the lane. Two dollars a box–such a deal. As I walked up to the table to drop my money in the honor system plastic container, a little old man came up to set more berries on the table.

Covered with a faded green beach umbrella, we both huddled over the table while I gave him my money and he emptied my berries into a bag. We stood almost uncomfortably close as we both bent over to carry on our business under the umbrella. He talked a lot, mostly mumbling and called me "hon". He told me how a car had just pulled up before me. The people had gotten out, taken his "BLACKBERRIES" sign and pulled away. "You never know with people these days, hon".

I told him how sorry I was that someone took his sign and how silly I thought it was and then I got in the car, grinning at the prospect of these plump little black berries coming home with me. I couldn't wait to taste the sweetness, to feel the little bulbs of juice squirt into my mouth. I had big plans for them. Simple plans. It involved vanilla ice cream.

I was already figuring out how to coordinate another stop there again the next day.

I told my kids no tasting them in the car. I could just picture it–blackberries being passed from front seat to middle seat to back seat. "I dropped my black berry! It rolled onto the floor!" … "Elizabeth just grabbed the black berry out of my hands and she's squishing it up in her fist!" … "Emma threw a black berry at me!!!!"

When I got home, I gave them a light washing in a colander and then decided that maybe I should sneak in just one or two before I put them in the fridge for later. I popped the plump little fruit into my mouth and was immediately overcome with a face-distorting sourness. I figured I must have grabbed a bad one. I tried another and another each just as sour, or more so, than the first. I kept eating them until my fingers were purple, figuring it must be some fluke. I must have just grabbed the worst twenty in the box. The ones underneath must be better.

But no. Sour blackberries. All of them. All three boxes.

So instead, these got sugared. Very sugared. And left to get juicy and soft. I packed them into a bag and tucked them away into the freezer until some brisk cold day in January when I needed a little taste of (sour) summer.

I did manage to save a few of the mascerated berries for myself. I snuck away after the kids went to bed and tried them over some ice cream. Still sour, but definitely good. Maybe even just the perfect amount of sour for that mouthfull of sweet….

I was already figuring out how to coordinate another stop there again the next day.

But no. Sour blackberries. All of them. All three boxes.

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the fair report and other new business

The 4-H meetings that I remember from my younger days don't look any different from the ones that I've been attending with Emma the past few months. Now, officially a "clover" (a young 4-Her) I'm getting to relive my 4-H days with her. And who knows, maybe she'll follow in her mother (and aunt's) royal footsteps and some day wear the county fair queen's crown. ha.

Every meeting begins with the 4-H pledge, which I still remember thank you very much, and then we move on to the old and new business. So in the spirit of a good 4-H meeting, shall we begin?

I pledge my head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to larger service and my health to better living. For my club, my community, my country and my world.

Is there any old business?
Why, yes. Yes there is. Last Thursday sweet Emma rode in her first horse show. It was hot, there was lots of waiting and entertaining of an antsy toddler, but it was worth every drip of sweat trickling down my cleavage to see my little girl decked out in her fanciest of riding apparel, parading a Paint pony around the ring. There's nothing like watching your little girl in her first horse show to make you feel like she's growing up too fast. My goodness.

Aside from coming home with three shiny green rosettes, a bucket full of treats, brushes and teeshirts from our local feed store, one of the best parts of the day(for me) was watching Emma push herself and experience success.

She was nervous about the first showmanship class and kept coming to me with her pleading, "Mommy, I don't want to do this. I'm trying to be brave and not cry in front of all these people, but I really don't want to do this" eyes. But I knew, we all knew, that she could do it. It wouldn't be anything more than she could handle and the whole thing would be a good experience. If she'd just get in there and try.

Sensing her hesitation, the lady who trailered the horses to the show swooped Emma up, gave her a pep talk and sent her into the ring–with a tactic that would have been much different from my own. She did it all with kindness and Emma's best interests in mind–but her approach was different.

As I walked behind her and Emma and listened to them talk, my nurturing side wanted to rescue her from the situation. I didn't want her to have to do something she didn't feel comfortable with or that she thought would be too hard. But I kept it to myself.

Dan was walking beside me and must have been sensing my unspoken desire to come in and rescue her: "This is good for her." he said.� "It's good for her to learn from another person besides you" And then he said something else profound about the key to confidence is to conquer something you're afraid of, or nervous about. That man. I need to get a moleskine for his back pocket, too.

But everything he said was true. I didn't come to the rescue. I didn't jump in and save her from a slightly uncomfortable situation. I stood back and watched–for I had more confidence in her, than she had in herself, at the moment.

And did she fail? Absolutely not. The girl set her jaw, marched into the ring and showed her heart out. She emerged from it all, beaming, proud, ready for more and of course, sporting a large green rosette.

And I think the first words out of her mouth: "When do I go in again?"

Success.

…..I"ll save the new business for tomorrow.

New Bushel and a Peck posts here and here, if you please.

A ridiculous amount of pictures in the whole Farm Fair set, here. As well as some amazing diving dogs, the chicken lady, my favorite cow, and Emma's ethusiastic head cheerleader.

Every meeting begins with the 4-H pledge, which I still remember thank you very much, and then we move on to the old and new business. So in the spirit of a good 4-H meeting, shall we begin?

I pledge my head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to larger service and my health to better living. For my club, my community, my country and my world.

And I think the first words out of her mouth: "When do I go in again?"

Success.

…..I"ll save the new business for tomorrow.

New Bushel and a Peck posts here and here, if you please.

A ridiculous amount of pictures in the whole Farm Fair set, here. As well as some amazing diving dogs, the chicken lady, my favorite cow, and Emma's ethusiastic head cheerleader.

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animal kingdom / babyhood / DAILY FARM LIFE / LIVING WELL / MOTHERHOOD / out and about

looking forward, looking back

Just popping in to share some pictures from this morning. I took Emma over to the barn to get a little practice in before tomorrow–her first horse show. She is showing at the county 4-H Fair in lead line classes. My little sister will be bringing her pony and taking Emma through the events. Emma is excited and admittedly nervous. But the prospect of show clothes and ribbons has her grinning from ear to ear.

Mary, of course, got a ride in as well–always dressed for the occasion in her pink cowgirl boots and ruffled skirt. It’s also ninety-plus degrees and humidity is hanging in the air like a damp towel–but she’s in a long-sleeved, long underwear top. I’ve given up my fight with this child. The long sleeves were a compromise. I talked her down from jeans and a fleece zip-up hoodie. I just have to let her sweat it out, until she agrees to take off one of her many layers.

My littlest sidekick learned the joy of climbing gates and finding a comfortable seat. And she became best pals with a persistent little farm dog–rolling a gritty brown tennis ball back and forth until she tired of the game.

On the way home she fell asleep in the car.

The road to the farm is one of my favorites around here–the majority of it is not paved and it winds along a beautiful, clear creek. When Elizabeth was a little babe and I needed to get out of the house for a break, the girls and I would often pile in the car and drive this road so I could catch my breath in the world of mother-to-three. The vibration of the stones under our tires, the flickering of sun and shade through her window, always seemed to lull her to sleep.

I watched her in my rear view mirror today while I drove. Her eyes were always out her side window, looking up into the treetops. When I looked back the last time, she was sound asleep. My sweet little babe.

On the way home she fell asleep in the car.

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