A baker's dozen children, some cane poles, a can full of worms and a good fishin' hole is really all it takes to spend a pleasant summer afternoon. The men took all the children over to the Dye house in the afternoon with the promise that we would cook whatever they caught. We really would have. . . but we weren't too distressed over the idea.
Children and men spent a pleasant afternoon. There were a few little blue gill caught and released. Everybody had a lovely time. They all came back tired and content-- just in time for supper: Chicken supree, ham, all kinds of summer vegetables, sweet potato pie and blackberry cobbler.
As much as children love water, I have to wonder sometimes why they are always so dirty. As grubby as they can be, from head to stockings, we usually find them under all the caked dirt when we bathe them head to toe in the big wash tub.
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
Growth Charts
It occurred to me last night while I was picking blackberries, that I can age my daughter by her role in the blackberry picking. Some people have growth charts hanging on their wall. That'd just be too easy.
The summer Anna was two, she was fearless and ferocious in her quest for the purple fruits. Briars were no match for Miss Anna. She dove in head first. She ate most of the berries she picked and about one third of the ones I put in the bucket. She giggled and bounced like Tigger during the blackberry adventures.
When Anna was three, she was more of a pointer. "There's one, mama." Older and wiser, she left the scratches and pricks and the bramble bites to me. She understood well what became of anyone who got too close to the limbs of the blackberry bush. Mind you, she still managed to return to the house with a purple ring around her mouth.
This year Anna is four. She picks a few berries and then talks a lot. She eats a few berries and then she talks a lot. She points out a few berries and then she talks a lot. She is four now, and, oh so good at it. She only dumped the berries on the ground twice. And, yes, she came back in the house sporting a lovely blackberry juice moustache. She claims that she only eats the berries that she picks.
Eventually, she'll figure out like her brother and sister, that you can shirk the blackberry picking and still get to eat cobbler. That's okay. I imagine picking blackberries quietly might be a nice change.
The summer Anna was two, she was fearless and ferocious in her quest for the purple fruits. Briars were no match for Miss Anna. She dove in head first. She ate most of the berries she picked and about one third of the ones I put in the bucket. She giggled and bounced like Tigger during the blackberry adventures.
When Anna was three, she was more of a pointer. "There's one, mama." Older and wiser, she left the scratches and pricks and the bramble bites to me. She understood well what became of anyone who got too close to the limbs of the blackberry bush. Mind you, she still managed to return to the house with a purple ring around her mouth.
This year Anna is four. She picks a few berries and then talks a lot. She eats a few berries and then she talks a lot. She points out a few berries and then she talks a lot. She is four now, and, oh so good at it. She only dumped the berries on the ground twice. And, yes, she came back in the house sporting a lovely blackberry juice moustache. She claims that she only eats the berries that she picks.
Eventually, she'll figure out like her brother and sister, that you can shirk the blackberry picking and still get to eat cobbler. That's okay. I imagine picking blackberries quietly might be a nice change.
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