Dirty Work

I am the oldest of my siblings. When I was young, I usually got my way when things went sour between us, I got to ride in the front seat (back when riding in the front seat was safe), I was the banker for Monopoly, did everything first and I made all the rules when we played together. I also had more chores and stuff, too, so it was fair. But quite often I played at my Grandma Gleaves' house without my siblings and with my cousins Mark and Sarah. I loved playing there for many reasons, most especially because I was the youngest. Mark and Sarah are 2 and 4 years older than I and always did the coolest things. Unfortunately, that meant I didn't get to be banker, or make up all the play rules when I visited. They were in charge. There was a particular cherry tree that we used to climb together and Sarah (the oldest) got the highest branch, Mark the next and I wasn't even allowed (according to their rules) to really climb it until I was older like them. Every summer, the required age limit increased and every summer I sat on the lowest limb while they climbed to the highest peak. Inevitably when happened, I would pout and run to my dear grandmother for comfort. Her usual response was to bring me inside with her and make me a slice of toast with homemade strawberry jam. Somehow, I always felt better after that.

I grew up making jam with my mother. Every June, we scrambled to get the freshest fruit and spent hour after hour washing, slicing and cooking berries. It was heavenly. I have carried on this tradition and every summer we do the same. And when I say "we", I mean ME. I'm the captain here. I'm living that story ... The Little Red Hen. I'm the Hen. (sort of)

Noah, Emma and I took on berry picking together this week. They were thrilled to go to the berry farm. I explained what kind of berries we were looking for - nice red ones, not green, not black, no bugs, etc. We each got a bucket and got to work. Sort of. Emma couldn't "find" any. Noah literally asked me about every single berry he came upon. "Is this a good one?" "Is this one OK?" "What about this one?" Then we had to take a potty break (thank goodness for the on-site restroom.) Next we explored the farm house and jumped on the buckets and looked at the spiders. At this point, Emma had 4 strawberries, Noah had 16 and I was insane! Pretty soon they gave up the pretense of berry picking altogether and found a small patch of dirt to play in. While I picked berries they rolled around like pigs and covered themselves head to toe. The farm hands were stunned at their skills. Noah was just like a truck rolling down an old dirt road kicking up dust. A dirt cloud followed him wherever he ran. And when the work was done, they proudly loaded up the berries and took most of the credit.

Even though I'm doing all the work, I realize they are enjoying this tradition, too. Just in a different way than I did.

My favorite shot of the day.

"The jelly - the jam and the marmalade,
And the cherry-and quince-"preserves" she made!
And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear,
With cinnamon in 'em, and all things rare! -
And the more we ate was the more to spare,
Out to old Aunt Mary's! Ah!" ~ James Whitcomb Riley, American Poet