MORE Beans?

If the apron hooks are empty,

and all little feet are shod with ballerina slippers,

it's easy to see that I interrupted something Extremely Fun to make them cut beans.

 

 

I did let them take a snack break.

 



   

Here's a snapshot of the pumpkins conquering the backyard, especially for Molly.

What's an appropriate way to end this incoherent post?  How about with a shot of bean cuttings the girls left for me to find on the counter?


?


?

Knave of Hearts

When one can't find a six dollar box of peaches to can, one settles for a five dollar box of pluots.

 

What are pluots, you ask?  I didn't know, either, but it turns out that they're a juicy blend of plums and apricots, which, though homely, are nothing short of delicious.

 

 

We juiced them and froze them and diced them and ate them whole, and when I'd made enough pluot jam, we turned them into summertime tarts.

 

 

I miss fresh fruit.

 

Can't Escape the Genes

We made gallons of salsa over the summer but ate most of it fresh.

 

The girls took dozens of pictures of each other with their lunch, which is kind of weird. (Notice the small pile of "hearts,"  which were included, obviously, because yellow woodsorrel is a necessary part of any well-balanced lunch.)

 

 

 

But it's still not as weird as taking pictures of fresh salsa.  Seriously, why do I do this?

 

Hourglasses are Unnecessary

During harvest and canning season, which always seems to stretch interminably long by the time October rolls around, I often measure the hours in a day by the jars lined up at day's end. This particular day lasted over FIFTY quarts-- I mean hours-- long. Now you know why I was so exhausted by the time we finally started school.




And just because they're so pretty, here are some jars of pluot jam cooling upside-down on the counter.

 

(What a weirdo.)

 

Why Bother

Here's yet another post to interest no one. Canning tomatoes. How exciting!

It actually was exciting, considering all 65 plants I'd begun from seed and nurtured to 5-foot plants were struck by blight and died within a matter of weeks. My cousin's wife generously loaded boxes and boxes of tomatoes on us, and my mom pitched in a few, too, so we were able to can enough for our winter sauces, stews, and soups. Hurrah!


Onward, ho.  Canning tomatoes.  There always has to be a girl or two on the table in order to can things properly.



 

Here are a few pictures of my helper-elves.


Pip worked best while wearing a funny face. 

Luci worked best wearing the classy apron-and-not-much-else combo.

And this odd duck worked best with Marge eyes and my apron.

Squeeze Them Out Like Sponges

One of the most anticipated parts of summer are those days of warm, torrential rain.


 

If you've ever been bone-soaked by the same, you don't need me to explain how wonderful it is.

 

If you've never had the pleasure, these snapshots do a fair job of explaining it by themselves.

 

 

 

 

There were only two nay-sayers:

John Wayne avoided the shrieking crowds, 

 

and Luci ventured forth only when the rain slowed to a minor mist.

 

Small Sorrows

Every time one dies, I'm thankful the current griefs are so small.  To the paragon of all roosterhood: R.I.P. Big Guy.  We loved you well.





And to you, Jack Red, an apology.  I'm sorry you were such an ill-tempered, surly beast, and I trust the coyotes of the Big Woods gave you a swift end.

Early Morning with Striped Socks

It Had to Be Done

Like father, like son.

After 34 years, Fleegle's a little worse for the wear, but at least the baby is new.

Go to Bed

Sleepyhead.

 

The Taming

Sometimes delinquent blogging is like sorting through the basement.  "Heeeey, I'd forgotten I owned these shoes!"

Or

"Hey, I'd forgotten about this Shakespeare play!"

 I did forget about both.

John sent the bigger girls, Debbie, and I off one night for a free performance of Shakespeare in the Park while he stayed home with a (very little) Zeke-baby.  I was worried that Zeke would get hungry and waste away to nothing while we were gone, but he remained plump, and we had fun.  Culture is fun, ya'll.

The evening began with free carousel rides (thank you, George F. Johnson, ol' buddy, ol' pal)

 

and continued with the performance itself.

 

 

The first half:

 

 

 

 

Intermission: 

 

The second half:

 

 

Now you can say you've been to a Shakespeare play, too!

 

 

  Ugh.  Kissy faces.  That Willy Shakespeare...