Mike has gone back to work. Nick is in school. Nick's teacher said he won't need many volunteers during the year. Our friends left, yesterday, to go back to the East coast. Summer is over and so is my vacation. Yet, I looked forward to getting my hair cut and having the rest of the day to relax and start my fall routine. I was actually going to cook a meal for my family instead of scrounging. I was thinking about putting together a couple of new notebooks. I might even take some time to do some quilting. Imagine that! I have time to listen to my audiobook and play.
I'm listening to the third book in the Raven's Gate series by Anthony Horowitz. This one is called 'Nightrise' and it isn't disappointing. It may be a book for kids, but I'm drawn in and whenever it's on Nick and Adrian get involved in listening. I wonder what listening to a book does for you compared to actually reading it. I'm sure there's some study that says the effects of listening to a book are almost nil and another that has concluded that the benefits go beyond reading with your eyes. Just in case, Nick alternated between audiobooks and regular ones this summer.
The question I have now is what I should do with all of my new-found time. Today, I was really busy, but I decided that a trip to Bybee Farm was a good idea. I was hoping I hadn't missed the blueberries because of all of our vacationing. I hadn't. As I drove past Snoqualmie Falls, I saw the sign, still out, just before the bridge. I enjoyed the drive along the river with the gnarly rows of sycamores on either side. I slowed down for the river-runs-through-it view of a sand bar, usually with a fly fisherman standing knee deep in the current.
Then suddenly, I had a small bucket in my hands and I was weaving my way through an overgrown row of blueberry bushes. I love the overgrown rows. There's more shade and luscious berries hide from the less intrepid pickers. Or maybe it's just the memories of the last couple of years, Nick and Mike wrestling to get into the tight spaces and competing for the biggest berries.
I put the bucket's rope around my neck so I could do two-handed picking since I only had an hour and a half to spare. I love the sounds of other people picking. It's like listening to a campsite wake up from inside your tent. Some talking is distant and muffled. Other people are in the next row, gossiping about a coworker. I listened to these two, hearing about a trip to Taiwan and a travel journal that had stayed on a bedside table. I heard complaining about a husband who didn't understand all the berry picking, but got irritated when the pies ended. Eavesdropping is almost better among the blueberry bushes than at Tully's where people can see if you're listening. Isn't that funny that eavesdropping has a visual element at a coffee shop? My least favorite thing about listening in at Tully's is when people want you to listen. It's mortifying when you get caught by those people.
I wasn't hiding as I eavesdropped in the blueberry bushes, but it was a more private way to listen, my head buried in the tall bushes, lifting branches to find the fat berries. I imagine that people there realize that if they can hear me, I can also hear them. I heard babies crying, parents calling out for their children sounding like a Marco Polo game at the pool.
My favorite conversation was between a mom and her young daughter. They were having a sweet time together, though the girl emptied her bucket of berries more than once. I pictured her with blueberry stains on her jumper and I gathered that there weren't many blueberries in her bucket by the time she'd eaten her fill. Then, the little girl sang 'Happy Birthday' to herself a couple of times and again to her mom. The whole thing reminded me of the first time we brought Nick to the blueberry fields.
It was a cool breezy day and Mt Si loomed over us. It was good to look up to the cliffs to see if there were any mountain goats whenever my near vision got tired. Mike carried the year old Nick in the backpack. We were amazed when Nick started picking and eating berries over Mike's head. He even learned to pick the blue ones instead of the red or white ones and he happily chatted away when he wasn't eating. We had a wonderful time that afternoon, filling our buckets to the brim and having blueberries in the freezer well into spring.
The years after that were more challenging. Small kids have a limit that is clear to anyone willing to listen to them. The first twenty minutes of berry picking is fun for a three-year-old, but after they've eaten the handful of berries in their bucket and come for yours, which is much more interesting, they start to get bored. You can stretch it out by letting them play games in the rows, but I always worried about how many berries got crushed during that part. If it's hot, you have half the time, maybe a half an hour if you're lucky. As each year has passed, we've gotten good at picking quickly and letting Nickie run through the rows eating as many as he's willing to pick and then challenging him to keep some in his bucket for the end.
On Monday, Nick, Adrian, and I only had an hour to spend picking and then we went over to the courts to play a little magic-spell tennis. This is a game the boys invented that involves thinking of a spell to cast which will hit the person who doesn't get the ball over the net. My favorite spell was 'slug bath,' but the spell hit me and imagining that was gruesome. I think the boys have come up with a great way to learn the skills of tennis without actually following the rules. Rules are for dweebs and adults anyway.
Today, I heard the gossip ladies say that there was still a week left of blueberry picking, but I'd bet that was optimistic. I think that Saturday might be the last of it, but at least I got to hide from the sun in the bushes, I looked for mountain goats on the cliffs, and I have a flat of beautiful blue berries, They are ready to go into the blueberry kuchen that I only make once a year in August or twice if power goes out in the winter and I have defrosted blueberries to use up.
There was a book I used to read to Nickie when he was little, 'May Belle and the Ogre,' by Bethany Roberts. He loved that book. Maybelle sings a little song in the book and somehow I always sang that song the same way, the one about blueberry pie. So as I'm walking back up the lane with my filled bucket, that song starts going through my head from all of those days of renewing that library book.
'... bake it, bake it, me oh my. Blueberry pie.'
Thank you for listening, jb
I'm listening to the third book in the Raven's Gate series by Anthony Horowitz. This one is called 'Nightrise' and it isn't disappointing. It may be a book for kids, but I'm drawn in and whenever it's on Nick and Adrian get involved in listening. I wonder what listening to a book does for you compared to actually reading it. I'm sure there's some study that says the effects of listening to a book are almost nil and another that has concluded that the benefits go beyond reading with your eyes. Just in case, Nick alternated between audiobooks and regular ones this summer.
The question I have now is what I should do with all of my new-found time. Today, I was really busy, but I decided that a trip to Bybee Farm was a good idea. I was hoping I hadn't missed the blueberries because of all of our vacationing. I hadn't. As I drove past Snoqualmie Falls, I saw the sign, still out, just before the bridge. I enjoyed the drive along the river with the gnarly rows of sycamores on either side. I slowed down for the river-runs-through-it view of a sand bar, usually with a fly fisherman standing knee deep in the current.
Then suddenly, I had a small bucket in my hands and I was weaving my way through an overgrown row of blueberry bushes. I love the overgrown rows. There's more shade and luscious berries hide from the less intrepid pickers. Or maybe it's just the memories of the last couple of years, Nick and Mike wrestling to get into the tight spaces and competing for the biggest berries.
I put the bucket's rope around my neck so I could do two-handed picking since I only had an hour and a half to spare. I love the sounds of other people picking. It's like listening to a campsite wake up from inside your tent. Some talking is distant and muffled. Other people are in the next row, gossiping about a coworker. I listened to these two, hearing about a trip to Taiwan and a travel journal that had stayed on a bedside table. I heard complaining about a husband who didn't understand all the berry picking, but got irritated when the pies ended. Eavesdropping is almost better among the blueberry bushes than at Tully's where people can see if you're listening. Isn't that funny that eavesdropping has a visual element at a coffee shop? My least favorite thing about listening in at Tully's is when people want you to listen. It's mortifying when you get caught by those people.
I wasn't hiding as I eavesdropped in the blueberry bushes, but it was a more private way to listen, my head buried in the tall bushes, lifting branches to find the fat berries. I imagine that people there realize that if they can hear me, I can also hear them. I heard babies crying, parents calling out for their children sounding like a Marco Polo game at the pool.
My favorite conversation was between a mom and her young daughter. They were having a sweet time together, though the girl emptied her bucket of berries more than once. I pictured her with blueberry stains on her jumper and I gathered that there weren't many blueberries in her bucket by the time she'd eaten her fill. Then, the little girl sang 'Happy Birthday' to herself a couple of times and again to her mom. The whole thing reminded me of the first time we brought Nick to the blueberry fields.
It was a cool breezy day and Mt Si loomed over us. It was good to look up to the cliffs to see if there were any mountain goats whenever my near vision got tired. Mike carried the year old Nick in the backpack. We were amazed when Nick started picking and eating berries over Mike's head. He even learned to pick the blue ones instead of the red or white ones and he happily chatted away when he wasn't eating. We had a wonderful time that afternoon, filling our buckets to the brim and having blueberries in the freezer well into spring.
The years after that were more challenging. Small kids have a limit that is clear to anyone willing to listen to them. The first twenty minutes of berry picking is fun for a three-year-old, but after they've eaten the handful of berries in their bucket and come for yours, which is much more interesting, they start to get bored. You can stretch it out by letting them play games in the rows, but I always worried about how many berries got crushed during that part. If it's hot, you have half the time, maybe a half an hour if you're lucky. As each year has passed, we've gotten good at picking quickly and letting Nickie run through the rows eating as many as he's willing to pick and then challenging him to keep some in his bucket for the end.
On Monday, Nick, Adrian, and I only had an hour to spend picking and then we went over to the courts to play a little magic-spell tennis. This is a game the boys invented that involves thinking of a spell to cast which will hit the person who doesn't get the ball over the net. My favorite spell was 'slug bath,' but the spell hit me and imagining that was gruesome. I think the boys have come up with a great way to learn the skills of tennis without actually following the rules. Rules are for dweebs and adults anyway.
Today, I heard the gossip ladies say that there was still a week left of blueberry picking, but I'd bet that was optimistic. I think that Saturday might be the last of it, but at least I got to hide from the sun in the bushes, I looked for mountain goats on the cliffs, and I have a flat of beautiful blue berries, They are ready to go into the blueberry kuchen that I only make once a year in August or twice if power goes out in the winter and I have defrosted blueberries to use up.
There was a book I used to read to Nickie when he was little, 'May Belle and the Ogre,' by Bethany Roberts. He loved that book. Maybelle sings a little song in the book and somehow I always sang that song the same way, the one about blueberry pie. So as I'm walking back up the lane with my filled bucket, that song starts going through my head from all of those days of renewing that library book.
'... bake it, bake it, me oh my. Blueberry pie.'
Thank you for listening, jb
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