June means berries

With June finally here it feels like SUMMER.

We've had our first four-day heat wave already, and it actually made me happy.

Just thinking about our snowy winter makes temperatures in the 90s seem like a gift.

School is still in session but the pool is OPEN.  Come swim!

(My allergies have kicked in--drippy nose, itchy throat; thank goodness for Claritin.)

We're winding up the Spring sports schedule and looking forward to some lazy, hazy days of freedom.

The garden is in.  The watering and weeding have begun.

This morning I received a text from my no-nonsense brother.  It said:

"Time to pick berries like a migrant farm worker"

my reply:

"Are you going today?"

his:

"So are you"

He has a way with words.

I accepted his invitation, put on my best migrant farm worker berry-picking clothes and drove windows-gloriously-open to Tougas Farm in Northboro.  I found Rachael and Aaron just down the field from where I was picking, quickly filling flats with plump red berries.

We picked for just over an hour in a 65 degree sunny breeze.

It was PERFECT.

The kitchen smells like fresh strawberries.

There are 27.5 pounds of berries on the counter waiting to be washed and hulled.  It's exciting to replenish our supply of jam and freezer berries.  Next winter we'll open a jar of jam to spread on rolls, and it'll be June all over again.

full disclosure Thursday: there's a little rebel in me

Our life is no Mutiny on the Bounty, but there's some excitement and adventure in our past.

Mr. Dub and I went to Sanibel Island in Florida on our honeymoon.  We stayed at a resort hotel and I felt like a movie star: fancy fruity drinks at the pool and room service.  Just like the movies.  

There wasn't much down time--I'm married to a man who likes to get out there and get busy as soon as the sun gets up (and most of the time BEFORE the sun gets up).  There was a lot to see and do along the gulf coast of Florida, and we did most of it.  Except lie on the beach.  I recall about 15 minutes of sitting on a towel and digging my toes in the sand.  That was all my new husband could tolerate.  There would be no bronzing for us.  We were off exploring the everglades, spotting dolphins in the ocean, renting bicycles and being invited to join an archaeological dig.  There was tennis and a nature preserve, riding in an elevator with Barry Manilow, spotting manatees and a day at Busch Gardens.  

I remember early in the week touring the property of somebody famous.  (Some of the more important details escape me.)  It was late in the afternoon, and we were lucky enough to score tickets on the last tour. The UN-lucky part was that the gardens were already closed.  You could see the beautiful flowers and landscaping from the patio where we were standing, but there was a now forbidden path blocked by some rope barriers.  I felt slighted.  We paid for tickets and the yard portion of the property was clearly an attraction worth seeing.  I told Dub we could just hop the barrier and go see the garden on our own.  We didn't need a tour!  

I think my spontaneous, brazen approach took him a little by surprise, because he followed my lead.  I took him by the hand and we high-stepped it over the ropes.  The part I hadn't considered was that there might be security guards roaming the paths to keep rule-breakers like us from venturing where we were not wanted.  They turned us around pretty quickly and I was disappointed.  And a little mad. 

Dub?  He was ashamed like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  He didn't like it.  Not one little bit.  It was like his true self finally caught up with his newly-in-love self and he actually scolded me.  On our honeymoon!  

I forgave him a LONG time ago.  (On the law-side of the gardens)  As much as I like to think of myself as a straight shooter, Mr. Dub still keeps me from doing things like jumping over rope barriers when my inner pirate peeks out.

vegging out

So there we were: a large group of family gathered on the deck at my parents' house.  The food was gone and the conversations were waning.  Aunt Becky the party gal stepped up to the plate and taught us how to play

THE VEGETABLE GAME.

Here are the rules:

Pick a VEGETABLE.

say 'broccoli!' or 'peas!'

or 'squash!'

Say the name of the veggie

(feel free to use 'rutabaga' here)

with your teeth covered and 

your mouth open.

No smiling.

 NO laughing.

GOOD LUCK.

 seriously.

You say yours and then pass the turn along by naming someone else's vegetable.

The game goes on until everyone's out or until your facial muscles have had ENOUGH.

This was FUN!

Really, we're just a bunch of fruits and NUTS.

Traditionally, this means SUMMER

Memorial Day has come and gone.

Let's break out our whites and frolic in the summer sun!

Most of the country has waved their last good-bye to the school bus and are already working on their lists of things to do when boredom sets in.

Not here.

In Massachusetts, most of us HEARTY New England-ers will be waiting for the bus until sometime during the week of June 24th.  While a majority of U.S. K-12 kids are getting a good start on their poolside manners, ours will be fidgeting behind their desks for FOUR MORE WEEKS.

This is why I am grateful for the efforts of my brother, who labored to make sure the pool was open for yesterday's Memorial Day festivities.

The water was balmy (if you're part penguin) but kids don't care when it's the first plunge of the season.

Hooray for swimming!

and HOORAY! for summer barbecues.

 We still have our afternoons and evenings.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day has always been a favorite holiday--a day off from the routine to reflect on those men and women who have given their lives so we can enjoy the freedom of ours.  Mr. Dub is excellent at helping us to appreciate our veterans in the best way that we can: a stop at the Old South Burying Ground in Bolton introduced our kids and a niece and nephew to some of our ancestors who fought and fell in the Revolutionary War.  When we were first married, we lived in Bolton.  We became members of the Historical Society there, and then got involved in an effort to memorialize soldiers from Bolton who fought in the Revolutionary War.   I believe it was the fall of 1991 when Dub helped install the markers.  He asked two full-time missionaries serving in the area to help as well.  Everyone was so happy that the war veterans would be officially and appropriately recognized.  I remember the last visit we made to this cemetery was an October weekend in 2006 just before Rooney's baptism.  I was glad we could go back today--it was a beautiful day to reflect and remember.

weekend of the garden

The garden's going in today.

Courtesy of our BEST rototiller-er (is that a word?).

at the ballet

Last night we attended the end-of-year ballet recital.

It's truly a pleasure to watch these two dance. Especially together.  For so many years I dressed them in their leotards and tights, escorted them to ballet classes and helped them get ready for recitals.  Now I just show up for the final performance.

 (What happened to those sweet toddler girls in tutus?)

 The production was The Little Mermaid.

 Mesquite and Rooney were the daughters of Triton.

 They have some impressive moves and worked hard.

 It's clear that they enjoy dancing

 I love that they love it together.