Apples
We had simple leftovers for lunch today
and then we drove to an orchard, about 25 minutes from our house, and picked up
six bushels of apples (some for us, and some to share) returning to a less
commercialized orchard where we had shopped last year. We like those "mom and pop" venues
where the folks doing the selling actually have some dirt under their finger
nails, and where we can put our money in the hands of the smaller businesses.
At first, we couldn't remember the name
of the orchard or exactly where it was located. Mike did a little research
and remembered that it was called “Mousey’s”.
We laughed and wondered about the name. Today when we pulled in to the
orchard, there was an older gentleman that Mike immediately recognized as being the man we had seen on the tractor last year in a field close to
the orchard. We surmised that he must be
dad to the two women we met last year who sold us apples. We later found out
that our hunch was correct when visitors stopped in and asked him about them. This man was quite advanced in years, very small in stature, with
what could be described as a somewhat squeaky voice, as well as a little turned
up face that reminds one of a little mouse. It wasn't difficult to figure
out that the Orchard was named for this man who embraced his nickname. His
friends and neighbors called out to him “Hi Mousey. How are you doing today?” Treating us as good as someone he had known
all his life, Mousey quoted us a fair price for the apples and insisted that we
fill the boxes up to the top. He said we
wanted us to be satisfied when we left there.
As we talked, Mousey reported that all
his Pink Lady apples were destroyed by the rains and wind that Hurricane
Michael dumped on us recently. He also said the last of his potatoes rotted in
the ground. This information was relayed with little emotion, just simply as
fact. He was a seasoned farmer, his face
weathered, and his body bent by the work of many years. Mike told him that we had bought from him
last year and that we would return again next year to buy apples. He thanked us and I hoped that he would be
there next year when we returned.
It’s
a hard life, tending to the land, and more and more folks patronize the
establishments with the gift shops, corn maze, games, rides and the winery for
the adults making the whole experience more upscale and appealing to a greater
audience. I don’t know the
history or the future of Mousey’s orchard, but I know establishments like his
are falling by the wayside with each passing year as faithful patrons age and
the younger generations seek out the venues with activities to keep them
entertained. One can’t blame an
establishment for changing with the times. It just makes sense
to be current and find ways to remake the old farms, ranches and orchards into
a viable business in today’s market. For
the few of us still clinging to a way of life that is fading, a no-frills
orchard like Mousey’s makes us feel a little more connected both to the earth
and to the man who has faithfully tended it for many years.
Houseplants
The preacher said the essence of Christianity does not lie
in our strength, but rather in our vulnerability. He read from Isaiah 53, explaining how the
chapter on suffering described the nation of Israel at the time when the book
was written as well as being prophetic about the suffering of Jesus. The preacher spoke of the grace that is applied
to the suffering and I thought about houseplants.
I guess the plants are on my mind this week with the cold
weather that forced itself upon us rather suddenly after Hurricane Michael’s
remnants blew through our area. I spent
a morning this past week transplanting some of the larger, overgrown herbs into
smaller containers to bring inside for the winter. I also moved some houseplants back inside,
marveling at how much one particular plant had expanded and become full and
beautiful. It had been almost ugly when
I took it outside this spring. Long,
spindly, with small, nondescript leaves that looked like they were struggling
to survive, I didn’t have much hope for the plant. I cut it back to almost nothing, put it in a
different pot with some fresh soil, and stuck it down underneath my herbs on
the bottom part of an old crate I used as a shelf. I watered it when it needed moisture and
occasionally gave it a bit of fertilizer, but mostly I paid little attention to
it. When I pulled the plant out to bring
it inside before the impending frost, I was amazed at how lovely it looked with
large, full leaves and bright colors.
Obviously, cutting it back to almost nothing and then giving it the
right environment to thrive was best. The transformation was amazing.
I feel a little bit like that scraggly houseplant right now,
cutting back what is familiar and making necessary changes in my life. I feel a whole lot of that vulnerability
about which the preacher mentioned. That
plant sitting in my window enjoying the morning sun and protected from the
elements would not be as lovely had it not experienced some pruning. It hurts to be pruned and it’s not fun
feeling vulnerable, but grace can take the ugliness that life deals out and
transform it into something beautiful.
Changes
I have been committed to journaling for over a year now and
posting my writing to my blog making it public.
I don’t see my life as something that appeals to mass readership (and
the stats of my blog are proof). Public
approval or accolades was never my goal when I began this project. I simply wanted to be able to put down my
thoughts and share my stories in a place where they would hopefully not get
lost so that my children and grandchildren would some day have access to them
when I am gone. I think the sharing of
stories, even the most mundane things, is engrained in me. I was encouraged to read memoirs, biographies
and autobiographies as a child and teenager.
My maternal grandmother, who had such a strong influence on my life wrote
down the simplest stories and facts so that they would not be forgotten or lost
over time. When I began writing my
journals and posting them online, I would print them out and mail them to her. I
think this type of journaling is being lost now that we have social media and
the ability to share stories immediately with a large audience. Logging the basic information of daily life is
not something new. People have been
doing it since the beginning of time.
Having the ability to post that information immediately so that anyone
in the world can see it and read it is a relatively new phenomenon
however. Besides wanting my family,
should they ever desire, to be able to have an unadulterated account of some of
the events of my life, I also wanted to discipline myself to writing every day
in an attempt to improve my writing abilities as well as find my own unique
writing style and improve upon that style.
Journaling online has given me that opportunity and has also allowed me
to receive feed back from others which has in turn helped me to work on being a
better writer. Most likely, I will never
be a professional writer but I have the heart of a writer and it is important to
me to be able to create using the written word.
It matters not to me what the subject, as long as I have opportunity to
write. So, to those who have taken the
time to read the things I have written over the last year and a half in this
experiment of online journaling, I thank you for being so supportive and giving
me this opportunity.
I will still be here on Mondays, posting a few short stories
and I welcome your feedback and constructive criticism as I continue to
write. We will see where this takes me
and what kinds of stories I find to share.
For me, as long as I’m writing, I’m content.