Blue Yonder

It's Hot and There's Bugs!

My oldest was just over a year old when we first took him to Sweet Berry Farm. We have been every year since, and every year it's the same... red fingers and faces, sweaty brows and grubby legs, sore backs and thighs, mental notes of things to remember next year (note to self: sun screen, bottled water, a cooler for the berries' long ride home, cold wet rags for cooling necks and faces), and the same refrain, "It's hot, and there's bugs!"

My children (with gobs full of berries, mind you) like to make it known how miserable they are, how cruel I am to make them work so hard, how much they despise farm life.

Ryder told me, in the field, that this was his "worst day ever!" He promptly took off his camouflage crocks and hurled them across rows of berries - his version of a labor strike. It took five people FOREVER to find one of those shoes. (Another note to self: never buy camo shoes again, red, or blue, but not camo!). Nana even resorted to offering up a cash prize to the boy who found Ryder's shoe. Unfortunately for them, she was the one who found it.

When we filled all our berry buckets, and I suggested we do something new and exciting - dig potatoes - they all moaned and groaned and followed me down the row as though I were leading them to certain death.

But they dug, and they were earnestly impressed with real live produce under the dirt - for a few seconds they were impressed, before the bellyaching began anew. "You're going to wash them before we eat them, right? Do we HAVE to eat them?"

For all that complaining though, after we got home, and cooled off, drank a gallon a piece of water, peeled off sweaty clothes and stood under cool showers for far too long, do you know what I heard?

"When will the blackberries be ready for picking Mama?"

"Yeah Mama, and when will the peaches and blueberries be ready?"

They can't wait to go back.

They talk endlessly over the dinner table about how "we dug those potatoes Daddy! Right out of the dirt! They're really good, huh?"

They've been playing "farmer", discussing just what they would plant and who would do the picking. Both of these things are under ongoing negotiation, but one fact is clear - the chickens are relegated to "bug patrol".

When my guys, in all their farm planning, need a snack, they run in and out of the kitchen for handfuls of berries to carry outside, hollering as they run off "Aren't these the sweetest berries ever?"

And it's true, they are. We bought a basket of California berries at the store today, just to do a taste test, and while those were bigger and prettier than ours, our little berries packed WAY more taste.

That's kind of the moral of the story I guess - you have to endure a little ugly, to get to the sweet.

Yes, My Hands Are Full

I stood at the sink yesterday, washing and hulling a million strawberries.

I was listening to the Prairie Home Companion on the radio, and giving each berry the quick 1, 2 - one cut in, another out, to make a little v shape indentation where the green top had been. 1,2 - 1,2 - 1,2 - 1,2 over and over, as green tops fell to the bowl and an army of newly recruited berries dropped on the pan to be frozen for the smoothies and pies of another day.

As I cut, I noticed how the quick motions of my hand reminded me so much of similar motions my mom's hands made as she brushed my hair. Or maybe it was my grandmother, as she washed cups, rinsed and passed them to the drainer. It could have been my great grandmother, with her nimble bobbing in and out quilting needle.

We are, all of us, handmade by mothers, are we not?

We are all the product of hands that have patted, rocked, wiped tears, kneaded bread, tied shoes, buttoned shirts, signed report cards, sewed dresses, bandaged knees, packed a zillion lunches, folded towels, made beds, brushed teeth, planted seeds, turned pages, buckled seat belts, felt foreheads for fever, held our hands as we crossed the street, and folded in prayer over us. Mother's hands, whether gentle and kind or stern or industrious, they have shaped who we are.

So it's kind of funny, I think, when people hear that I have three boys, or see us in the aisles of the grocery store and say, "you sure have your hands full, don't you?"

Yes, I guess I do. My hands are busy at a craft that I've learned from a line of amazing, strong and selfless women - my hands are mothering. And yes, they are so full, full of all the blessing, richness, and joyful mess that I can hold.

I hope your Mother's Day was full of love as well.

Hoe Down

So, I ought to be working... there's all kinds of chores to be done today, mopping, cleaning bathrooms (think for a minute what it's like in there... three little boys, one bathroom, lordy), strawberries to hull and wash and freeze, winter clothes that should have been stored ages ago, blah blah blah.

Instead I've been playing with my new Facebook thingy. Does that make me cool and hip and with it to have a Facebook thingy? Why yes, I think it does. Come, be cool and hip and with it too!!!! We can be friends! Just click on the little link button up on the top corner over there to the right.

I don't know what we'll do after we're friends, but it's gotta be better than scrubbing floors, right?

Happy Weekending!

Growing Pains

Today was the last day of kindergarten for my middle boy, my James.

He goes to school one day a week, and it has been SUCH a wonderful, nurturing experience for him. His teacher was everything you could ever hope for - smart, patient, cheerful and with a passion for little ones. Our boy was happy to go to school every single Thursday and was always bubbling over with stories of his day when I picked him up.

So, as exciting as the big "graduation day" was, it was also bittersweet for my guy.

We heard his class sing their songs and watched them each get their diplomas and throw their hats in the air.

We visited his classroom and peeled his art off the walls to stuff into an overladen, now frayed, broken-zippered backpack.

Afterward we went swimming and horsed around.

Then, together, we made his favorite dinner (homemade pizza), toasting the end of his first year in school.

Over the course of the evening though, something happened to my guy.

He got surly and teary. He fought with his brothers and mouthed off to his mama and papa, swung from laughing to slamming doors and then back again.

I was ready to pull out all of my hair, and a few handfuls of his too!

But then, at bedtime, he opted to sleep in his own room. This is something he has not done in months and months. He ALWAYS sleeps in his brother's top bunk.

He cried and cried, but remained firm that he needed to sleep in his room. And then it dawned on me. He is crossing a line.

My boy saw today as something monumental, a move along the path to manhood. I don't know if he'll continue to sleep in his own room or not, but it was clearly very important for him to do it on THIS night, of all nights.

I went into his bedroom and lay in his bed with him. I held him and told him how proud of him I am, what a treasure he is, how smart and how kind, and how he is everything I ever hoped I'd have in a little boy. He sobbed - body-shaking, lip quivering sobs, but he did not know why. He said, "I just feel sad."

Poor guy. It is so hard to grow up. It is so hard to WANT to grow up, but at the same time to know that what is lost can never be had again. Even if he couldn't say it, it was apparent that he is, in some small way, understanding that childhood is passing by.

Kindergarten is done.

Before he nodded off though, we talked about how "His mercies are new every morning," how tomorrow is a new day, full of adventure. We talked about all the fun to come in first grade (he will still go to his one day a week school), and about all our plans for the summer. His little shoulders relaxed. I rubbed his forehead until the lines smoothed away and his breathing slowed. He giggled and we hugged, and he went to sleep smiling.

It was a big, big day for a big, BIG boy.

But not too big.

Not yet.

The Great Breakfast Dilemma

This is my child, who knows that his mother is just this side of comatose in the mornings.

He says, "I want jelly toast and popcorn for breakfast!"

I say, "Sure, why not?"

It is not until I'm placing the plate before him that I think, in all my glorious morning mama wisdom, "Wait! What am I doing? The most important meal of the day should not be popcorn and toast!"

I gave it to him anyway. It's better than sugar cereal, right?

I took a picture so that when he's 14 and tells me that I never let him do anything, I can say "Well how many mothers do you know who give their kids popcorn for breakfast?"

I'm sure this will help. Surely he'll back down and say "you're right mom, I don't need to pierce my elbows or spend Spring Break in Rio, not with a cool mom like you! How about I do some laundry and mow the lawn instead?"

Or something like that.

I had to draw the line though when he asked for cookies. Of course he had eaten three before he asked, so really the drawing of the line was kind of pointless. Peanut butter has protein in it, right?

So, when I came across this I started to feel a wee bit guilty. Lots of people are struggling to feed their kids. Lots of people have really few options in the way of fresh, healthy foods for their little students. Me, I;m just not a morning person, and that's a lame excuse for not offering anything more creative and healthy for breakfast than toast and the occasional muffin or waffle (in my defense, I do make a pretty darn good waffle, in an iron and everything).

But what's a girl to do? They don't eat eggs in the morning, only at night and covered in ketchup. Go ahead make the face.

They do like french toast, so that's something - something whose health benefits seem somewhat negated by the lake of syrup in which it sits.

I thought maybe it would help if I planned ahead instead of trying to come up with a stellar breakfast in my pre-caffeinated morning state. So, tonight I made some breakfast cookies (a la Erin Baker's), and at this very moment we have some homemade yogurt incubating (which sounds kind of scary if you ask me) in the oven. Hopefully that will go into smoothies tomorrow morning.

I'll run it all by my kitchen testers tomorrow and let you know how that goes.

What do you feed your kids for breakfast?

Sweet as Pie

Well well well! Your mamas sure had a lot to say, now didn't they?
I have gotten such a kick out of all the responses to our little contest. Keep 'em coming!

I wanted to share something with y'all, that I just know you're going to love.

Last week a sweet blog friend, Collins, sent me a recipe for a pie that I knew I had to try right away.

I did, and sure enough it's every bit as good as it sounds and THEN some.

It goes like this:

Vidalia Onion Pie

1 1/4 cups ritz cracker crumbs
2 cups thinly sliced vidalia onions
2 eggs
3/4 cup milk (full fat, of course)
3/4 t. salt
dash of pepper
1/4 - 1/2 cup grated sharp cheddar cheese
Mix together cracker crumbs and 1/2 stick of melted butter. Press into a 8" pie plate. Chill. Saute onions in 2 T. butter until soft. Spoon into crust. Mix lightly beaten eggs with milk, salt, and pepper and pour over onions. Sprinkle with cheese. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Serves 4-6.

Of course, Collins is a Georgia girl, so when she thinks "sweet onion" she thinks Vidalia. Being a Texas gal myself though, I was hoping to use 1015s or Noondays, but found neither. I settled for something called a Texas Dandy, and was really pleasantly surprised. The result was a very mild, yummy savory pie.

We ate it with steak and salad for dinner, and then all by itself for lunch the next day. Heaven. Pure D.

So, in honor of all things pie, and in the hopes that more of you will dig out your pie recipes and share them, I've created the new Blue Yonder Pie List over on the side bar.

Got a pie you love? Post it on your blog, then leave a comment here or over on the pie list, and I'll add you to the list!

If you don't have a blog, but you DO have a wonderful pie, email the recipe to me here: blueyondergirl (at) mac (dot com). We'll try it out and post it up!

Now, get out those recipe boxes!

Like Mama Always Said - May's Blue Yonder First Monday Contest

Well hey y'all, and happy new week to you!

It's been a busy busy weekend here at Blue Yonder, and I am plumb wore out. I'd sleep for three days if certain little so and sos would let me. But no... There is no rest for the weary.

And that little adage leads me to May's Blue Yonder First Monday Contest.

Since it is May, the month in which we celebrate the mamas in our lives, I thought I'd make this contest about moms and the wisdom that they impart.

All you have to do to enter is finish this sentence, "Just like my Mama (grandmother, great grandmother, great aunt - any older woman who fed you a steady diet of fresh baked cookies and insightful axioms) always said, ..."

Maybe you grew up hearing that "If you lie down with the dogs, you wake up with the fleas" like I did, or how "every Mama crow thinks her baby is the blackest," or that, "anything worth doing is worth doing right" - proverbial wisdom that summed up life in a snappy little well turned phrase.

Or maybe it's more practical words that still ring in your ears ... about planting potatoes on Valentine's day, or how the ring around the moon means it will rain soon, or that a penny saved is a penny earned.

Whatever it is, let's share all that Mama good sense, shall we?

The loosely assembled rules are as follows:

You can enter as many times as you like between now and May 31st, midnight, Central time. The winner will be announced June 1st, right here at Blue Yonder.

To enter, just leave a comment (or 10) on this post that begins, "Just like mama always said..." You can tell me more about it after that, but start with that, please, so I know exactly what it is that came out of mama's mouth.

Each entry must contain a different bit of wisdom. In other words, you can't tell me 20 times that Mama told you that your eyes would stick like that if you didn't knock it off.

There will be 3 winners this month.

1. The sweetest Mama saying will receive a vintage apron and several of my very favorite pie recipes. Sweets for sweet mama! (I haven't photographed the apron yet, but I will today, and I'll post it here then. Sorry - as I said, plumb wore out...)

2. The spunkiest mama saying will win a jar of my very favorite spunky snack food, Miss Ruby's Ya Ya Peppers!

Ms. Ruby herself sent me a BIGGO box full of the peppers after I went in to buy some, and she was out. She took down my address and had SIX jars sent to me, just out of the kindness of her heart. You'll never meet a sweeter soul than that, and you'll never eat a better pepper either! You can stuff 'em into meat with some herbed goat cheese before grilling, or just eat 'em on top of cream cheese and crackers. Truly though, there's no need to stand on ceremony, you can just eat 'em straight out of the jar with a fork. I have never been a pepper eater in all my life until Ms. Ruby made me a believer.

Along with your peppers, you will receive a copy of Haiku Mama, cuz it's spunky, and funny and written by an Austin gal, which makes it even better.

3. The most hilarious entry will receive a bookmark, handmade by me (along the lines of these) and a copy of my latest read, Barbara Kingsolver's The Bean Trees. I've read it before, several times, and it never fails to touch me, make me laugh, and by gosh it is written just. SO. well!

So, all month, when you hear that Mama voice in the back of your mind, telling you that watched pots don't boil and men don't buy the cow when they can get the milk for free, drop in and let us hear from Mama too!

April's Contest Winner Is...

Well the moment has arrived...

Time to announce a winner of the very first, Blue Yonder First Monday Contest.

It was a tough call. You people are so talented, so resourceful, so crafty!

You know, back in the day, as Deb so perfectly said, people had to "use it up, wear it out, make do or do without." So, I have to say that now that we find ourselves in a pretty affluent, single serving, take and toss society, it is heartening to me to see people reusing, repurposing and reinventing not because they have to, but because they choose to.

They do it because it's good for the earth, and also because it's good for the pocketbook. They do it as a creative outlet, and they do it because they are hungry for lives that have more soul, more meaning, more purpose than one can find on a discount store shelf.

From the incredibly prolific to the incredibly talented, from grilling to gardening, from things you wear to things that warm your babes, things for carrying books, things for storing (books, clothes, sewing bits and wood too!), things to inspire and things to remember, and things that are just plain cool , you have all just floored me with your creativity and resourcefulness.

So really, I'm not trying to feign graciousness or anything like that, I'm serious - it was REALLY hard to decide on a winner. It was SO hard, in fact, that I'm going to have to go with two winners:

First, hats off to an incredible little family of repurposers. Mama Miguette gives sweet new life to forgotton things. She's full of soul and spunk and it flows out into the the lovely things that she makes. It was her husband though that put me over the edge with
this. Their sweet dog , Ripper, died and of course, left a hole in the family. So Miguette's husband, Peter, made wrist cuffs for himself and their son Colby out of Ripper's collar. I think it's pretty fantastic, this idea of having a little bit of a a beloved pal to carry with you.

Colby is learning to ride a two wheeler now, and I noticed in the photos that he has his cuff on. I imagine that if Ripper were still with them, he'd be chasing behind Colby, worrying over him. It makes me glad to think that in that little strap of leather on his arm, there still remains the love of a faithful friend.

Miguette, send me your address, and I'll get your goodies shipped off!

My other favorite repurpose was
this one from Elissa (which I do think counts, because it was her idea - only, Elissa, I might have to insist that you share your goodies with your folks :-). The idea was this: a pew from the church she grew up in, the very same that her father attended as a boy, became a lovely bed for her and her husband. I love this so much because a) it was born of necessity and b) because its a little piece of her family's history given new life.

I imagine her dad swinging his legs in that pew as a boy, then her, as a little girl, sitting there, with her hands in her lap and her head bowed. I think about her parents sawing and hammering, sanding and staining and all the while thinking of their little girl, and wishing her well in her new married life. I think about little feet running down the hall to jump in that bed with mama and daddy... new prayers of thanksgiving being offered up from that pew. I think it is really such a perfect testimony to the power and richness of family history.

Elissa email me all your info, and I'll send out a prize package containing I don't know what, but most certainly something good to read, something old to love, and something yummy to eat.

For everyone else who played along, I want you to know that reading all of your entries has been so wholly inspiring. Thank you, truly.

And now on to MAY!!!

I know that I said I would give you all the details of the new contest, but... well, it occurred to me that it is not Monday, and this is the Blue Yonder First MONDAY Contest. So, I'm gonna hold off until, you guessed it, Monday!

Until then, I'm going to steal the wonderful closing words of Garrison Keillor:

"Be well, do good work, keep in touch."

Serenade

You know, some folks swear that a little chit chat goes a long way with a plant. They will testify that ongoing discourse with say, a Scabiosa (an actual plant, not an ingredient in a Hogwarts herbology course), will actually cause the plant to grow faster.

Well I don't know about all that, but I do know this: these chickens are growing awfully fast, freakishly fast, and I'm thinking that it COULD, potentially, I mean just maybe, have something to do with their exposure to fiddle music.

He's so pleased with himself, having mastered Mary Had a Little Lamb and moved on to the real live fiddle classic, Boil 'Em Cabbage Down, that he felt the pull to serenade his girls.

They were duly impressed.

You know, according to the findings of some other young chicken lovers, rock music causes chickens to lay at an increased rate, but stresses them out. Classical music is optimal, increasing production but relaxing the birds at the same time. Apparently Reggae music causes a drop in production.

All I have to say to that is, "Well, duh!" We all know what reggae music leads to! I just want to know if there was an increase in feed consumption when they listened to Bob Marley. Do you think chickens get the munchies? I'm just sayin'....

Night Songs

I hear an owl calling "who?", outside my window tonight, for the first time since,
I don't know, a very long time... since I was walking the floor, months ago with a sleepless toddler.

Where has he been, this owl? Did he fly south for the winter? Or has he been here all the while, as that toddler grew into a boy? Was he standing still and silent, composing his night aria, waiting for the flowering time, the moment for singing?

Does he feel now a fluttering in his chest, a new spring upon him? Did he feel the time had come? Or does he sing only to let me know that this square of land is his, his mother's before him, and hers before that?

I hear a train too. Far off, but not so far. Some call this a lonely sound, but it does not seem so to me, more like a mother come swiftly to kiss a brow, damp with unkind dreams, and whisper, "I'm here. I'm here."

But then, I suppose that sound has carried too many loves too far from home, the whispers changing - "You're gone. You're gone."

Lonely. Yes, I hear it now.

I hear a creaking metal bed down the hall. A little one, turning in his sleep and pulling the covers more tightly around him, he cares not where the train goes or why the owl sings, but only what tomorrow brings.

And I hear prayers lifted up, my own,

"Train don't take him too far.

Owl sing him into many springs.

Little boy, may your sleep always be so peaceful as it is this night."