We Be Jammin'!

We picked strawberries this past weekend at our local u-pick strawberry farm. Such a highlight of the year! I always make enough strawberry freezer jam to last us all winter and pretty much every time we get out a new jar we have a conversation about how good the jam is and how when it is June, we'll go pick more together. I am part squirrel, I swear, there's a manic little rodent thing in my soul that is mad for storing away goods. I love to pick and dry and can and freeze and all the other things one can do to fruits and nuts and berries and mushrooms. One of the hardest things about our annual strawberry pick for me is stopping. There are so many berries and I could pick for hours...days maybe, I've never tested my resolve.

When I was a little girl, I always rallied all my younger sisters (all four of them) and marched them down the road with baskets in hand to the top of a meadow on a two-track where wild strawberries grew. We'd pick every last wild strawberry we could find, and then I'd come home with my greedy little hoard of tiny berries and I'd make wild berry jam. My siblings were incredibly tolerant of my driving really, that's love. I hope I didn't injure any of their psyches too deeply, I still think gratefully about their faithful support of my obsession every year when we go picking big, abundant domestic berries.

It was important to the little girl me to be out there in the field on my hands and knees every summer, with all my sisters around me, rolling those tiny red bits into our baskets. I looked forward to it every year, it made me feel frugal and special and I felt really loved by my little sisters for their dedicated picking, even though it wasn't their personal dream. I don't think I could have made wild strawberry jam by myself, but many hands made light enough work that we could pull it off. And I felt like I had rubies in my pantry after I'd jarred up a glittering jar or two, all full of our tiny, hard earned prizes.

 Delicious, and mommy-friendly level of work recipe for the strawberry pie I made with the "leftovers," can be found right here!

I was lucky to marry a man who loves fresh fruit and u-picking almost as much as I do. He's absorbed my foraging love and eats my canned goods with gusto. (I love you A!) He marks strawberry season and cherry season and peach picking in his calendar and makes sure that we schedule each picking event. And my little boys have now the joined the team, energetic pickers, even little Nib plucking berries and saying smilingly "Hep! Hep!" ( Baby-speak for "I help, Mommy!") And my squirrel-mommy heart swells. Such a good life.

Poetry Friday: An Apiary Poem

Today an older poem that I wrote piece-meal over a few years, all about my first encounter with an actual beekeeper, after having fallen madly in love with the idea of owning my own humming hive. I was with a youth group when the beekeeper's wife impulsively invited us to all feel free to peek in if we liked and see her husband using the centrifuge machine to spin the year's honey out of the combs from his bee hives.

I will never forget the feeling in that room. So wonderfully warm and sweet and golden high. Someday that will be me. Hopefully, this coming fall.

I plan to order my first hive this winter.

The Bee Man

He was a wrinkled elder with optimist eyebrows floating over timid glasses

Drifting amiably out of the sanctuary in rangy steps

He had faith (they all say) in young men,

That made them turn out alright in spite of themselves

But I was turning myself out

And besides,

I was a girl

All flaxen hair and laughing ambition.

We were picking in his orchard, a boisterous group

Impulsively allowed to see him spin his yearly gold

Each stuck a head inside the door and winced appreciatively

Escaping quickly from the nausea of sugar + insects

I opened the wooden portal and saw

The sweetly toasting inner sanctum

A gleaming frame held to the window,

A white suit, sunshine radiant,

His grin, a modest veil of bees

And curl of smoky, honey fumes.

My small feet creaked in on his floor

---And the room paused---

I swear to you, the bees hung still in jealous silence

There was a shuffling of sticky tools

A shy ducking of the head,

A small wave of his hand

And I was dismissed

The only females under his wing industriously buzzed his honey into hexagonal gold,

And then hummed protectively around him in the glow of that October afternoon.

You can find more Poetry Friday participants entries at Alphabet Soup, the host blog for this week's edition.

The Real Estate Blues...

Have to chuckle about this cute blues man and am sending my sympathies out to you folks on "the other side" tonight because at this house, we're digging these blues and shimmying down to them, we're buyers not sellers and these blues aren't ours. I like the sound of the this guy and of the current market both, pretty musical if you ask me.

Tonight we put in an offer on that half-timbered Tudor we have been eying up and now we wait to see if they wanna sing the same tune or not.

What Geeks Say In Their Sleep

Dear A...sweet, geeky man who is occasionally more machine now than man. Your coding work, I fear, has stolen some piece of your brain that may be irreplaceable. At least your technology riddled inner self is amiable, even in sleep. 

Just had to share this experience I had last night around 3 A.M.

So, its pitch black and I'm sleeping and then I wake up to that oh-so-familiar pit pat pit pat pit pat sound of small feet coming down the hall in the dark. And I hear Ru pad up to A's side of the bed and say quietly but insistently, "Daddy?"
There is no real response and I think about intervening but, I note that he's looking for A and decide not to meddle so I lie there quietly in the dark and listen instead.
"Daddy???"
*finally, grunt-style acknowledgment from A*
(Good enough...Ru forges ahead) "
Mommy was making a typing noise, typing on her computer in the rocking chair in my room but her is not there now." (hmmm clearly he's been dreaming...there is no way I was up typing at 3, heh) I wait to see what A will say to soothe him back to sleep.
*There is a slight pause from A and the air hangs still for a bit.* Then:
"Well." (Brightly) *another small pause while Ru and I wait for the rest*
(A continuing)
"What you should do is make a draft of the document using your template and then transfer the template over."
*And here I suddenly have to burrow deeply into my pillow to keep from laughing uproariously and ruining the whole serious scene and wait to see what Ru will do with that*
There is a long pause...and I peek over A's shoulder and see Ru's eyes, saucer-wide peeking over the edge of the bed. And then he finally says:
"Daddy? What are those?"

And then...yes, I did intervene. I explained that nobody was typing in his room and that I was right there and he didn't need to worry about templates or drafts tonight and did he want a kiss on his way back to bed? So he scampered off and A never even grunted again, the rest of the night.

He might have been sleeping deeply last night but his brain was on, full power...at least full power work mode. Heh.