The Season of Apples

When my boys were little, we lived in California. Every autumn, we'd drive to a local farm. A hay ride would take us to a barn heated by a huge wood stove, where we'd listen to stories of Johnny Appleseed while sipping fresh cider. The van would be heavy with boxes on the drive home, the smell of fresh apples promising deserts to come. For the next few days, our kitchen would be warm with the scent of pies, sauce, butter...all of the trappings of fall.

Over the years, I've scaled back a bit, but we still celebrate the change of season with a trip to our local apple farm. The farmer sends me a postcard of harvest predictions which I post on the refrigerator and we debate which type of apple we want for pies. This year, autumn was upon me before I noticed the post card was missing.

Taking my daughter, I drove up to Mount Vernon last week, visions of apple brownies dancing in my head. The familiar big red barn greeted us and we bounded through the door to a cold emptiness. The displays that usually held mounds of apples were empty, shoved back into a corner of the room. Had I missed apple season? I was sure I'd seen apples on the neighbor's tree this morning. The honor system box was still there, accompanied by the low hum of two ancient refrigerators displaying jugs of cider. A note from the owners explained that they were retiring but that their sons would continue to make and sell their cider...which I can buy at my local grocery store. I put money in the box and took a jug for old-times sake...and then spent the next 15 minutes explaining to my daughter why the apples were all "bye-bye."

As we drove away, my brain registered what I'd missed on the way in...a huge tract of recently cleared land, sporting large piles of up-rooted apple trees.

Revenge of the Blog - Julie Weathers

I have been featured and mentioned a couple of times lately in the blog of my (hopefully still after this) dear friend Julie Weathers. I've known this wonderful lady through my on-line writers' group for...a long time, and I've only ever found one thing wrong with her: she could use a bit more self-confidence. So, after she posted a chunk of Dominion with such glowing comments, I promised a revenge blog.

Then I started thinking -- this was hard! What bit would I choose? Aside from being a wonderful writer, she's also a delightful poet and a wit to boot. There is this one scene where some enchanted jars fly around and annoy the wizard's wife while spouting poetry...I wanted to use that one. But then I thought, naaa...she's using that as one of her Surrey entries and it would be just a shame if anyone read it on the internet first. So, I decided not.

Another one of my favorites is a scene where her heroine takes a wrong turn and winds up in a crypt. Now, that's my kind of scene. I'm not sure she fully intended it to be that funny, but it brings to mind all of the times I've gotten lost. But then, I thought...taking that chunk out of context...no, it would lose something magical.

Hm. This was harder than I thought it would be. Not because I don't love so many things she writes, but because I was going to take just a snippet, take it out of context and try to show the world what a fabulous writer this woman is...and then I found a piece she doesn't feel is done. In fact, when I said I might snag bits of it, she seemed shocked and horrified and wanted more time to edit it. <evil grin> Perfect.

I am a big believer in copyrights, so I'm only going to give you a taste of this woman's writing.

Excerpt from "Jeffrey" ©2008 Julie Weathers

"Mother, how was your trip?" she asked as she reverted her attention to the old woman. "You must be exhausted. Come up on the veranda and sit down."

"It was marvelous. You know how I love the mountains in the spring time. The does are just now introducing their bashful babies to the world. I watched one who was perched on a high ledge above the cut. He laid ever so quietly just watching the train pass as he pretended he was invisible to the world of mortals and I dare say he probably was to most of those ninnies. The air is so crisp and clean and the sunshine smells so good."

She helped the aging queen up the stairs just as the coachman followed Elizabeth through the front door.

"Granny," Elizabeth corrected in her most irritating proper manner, "no one can smell the sun." She turned to her mother, "We put Granny's cases in her room."

"Thank you both," the queen nodded regally. "And you most certainly can smell the sun, my dear. In the spring it is a light pleasant smell with just a hint of sweetness and rain. In the summer the lightness turns to rich molten honey squeezing into every pore of the darkened earth."

"What does the sun smell like in the fall?" Jeffrey asked excitedly.

"Ah, I think autumn sunshine smells the best of all. It is the summer honey with just a hint of the deep winter sun. It's spicy and pungent with just an occasional bite here and there to remind us of the approaching blue sun of winter."

Now, can't you just taste the richness of her prose? After I read that, I went out back and lay on the lawn. The cats came and practiced stalking me. I lay there, smelling the sun and letting the warmth ooze into my pores. I forget that there is such richness in the world, but Julie never seems to. Her writing is filled with asides that remind me of the beauty and power of the world. My friend Veronica brought me a jar of honey from her bees yesterday. Reading this snippet again, I suddenly have an irresistible urge to open that jar.

Surrey International Writers' Conference

I'm going to Surrey! The confirmation has been received: I'm a registered Trade Show vendor at the 16th Annual Surrey International Writers' Conference. Table decorations and gifts are on order.

This is an exciting opportunity for me, because I love working with my fellow writers. Let's face it: content is the most important part of any website, and writers know how to generate content. The trick is learning what to do with that content, handling the marketing, and creating a site that is as unique as the person it represents.

If you're going to be at the conference, stop by my booth and play with the toys I'm bringing. I've got lots of goodies to give away.

Kittens -- part 2

The mother cat and one of the kittens have returned to our porch. We have no idea what happened to the female kitten I called "Rose", but are happy to see the others again.
Since we no longer have any responsibility towards them -- our neighbor having declared them to be his cats -- we can just enjoy their visits.
The male kitten, Trapeze, cuddled up to me when he first saw me and purred with great gusto. I'd never heard him purr before. Mark had named him Trapeze because of the high likelihood of him becoming a "flying young man" due to his tendency to bite. We don't know what has happened to them in the time they've been gone, but he no longer wants to bite, seeming content to play and cuddle. My daughter carried him around for a while today, and he was content.
I enjoy these furry companions and find myself sitting outside and watching them play. There is something soothing about having a cat curled up in my lap, the purring hypnotizing me into resting for a few moments out of these hectic days.

Another update: Rose now resides down the street with a loving family. Trapeze and Tigress were cornered by a gang of raccoons at 2AM the other day. I beat of the evil things with a 2 by 4, several large flower pots, and much yelling. I swear, one of the beasts actually stood up and laughed at me. Nevertheless, I rescued the kitties and have returned them to their rightful owner -- again. We all know they'll be back. There is much discussion around our household about the size and strength of the local raccoon population, as my husband informed me the next day that they were more than capable of overwhelming me. I pointed out that might be so, provided children or cats were not involved.

Kittens

The neighborhood cats all know I'm a sucker for a mother and kittens. This latest brood moved in under our front steps a few weeks ago. The mother cat was starving. I already have enough cats, thanks, but here was this pitiful creature and her two adorable kittens. Of course, I made the classic mistake: I fed her.

And so, now we have kittens. I spend much of the day obsessing over those cats. Should I feed them more? My Love points out that if I do that, they won't hunt. If they don't hunt, they'll be dependent upon me. Since they aren't really my cats, that would be bad.

There are also reproductive issues to consider. It is bad enough having 3 cats on my front door-step. I'd hate to see that number multiply. Tribbles are cute, but there is a limit. I've found a place that can do the deed for me, and now I just have to get up the courage to put the little darlings in a kitty carrier and take them to the surgeon.

Maybe there's a reason my cats all hate me.

(Sad update: the kittens vanished on 8/27/08. The Momma cat is very upset.)

Update #2: the Momma cat was taken on 8/28/08. My kids saw the folks get her, so I was pretty sure it was the same folks who had the kittens.

After a rough day, and the kids upset, I decided to walk around the neighborhood. I'd seen the folks head up the street after they saw me, so I was pretty sure they lived up there, and there wasn't too far to go. It only took about 10 minutes for me to find Momma cat, scratching at a garage and to hear frantic mewing from inside. I looked around and someone drove up. I approached the man and said that the Momma cat was upset because his family had taken her babies and put them in the garage.

He became a bit annoyed and said, "That's my cat."

I pointed out that she'd been living at my house for several weeks, and that his kids had taken the kittens off my porch yesterday. I said that it was fine, they might even be his cats, but that I just wanted to make sure they weren't going to the pound or to be euthanized. "No, we got her from the pound and then she got pregnant."

I realized later this probably wasn't true because our local shelters won't release an un-fixed animal, but I wasn't there to argue, just to make sure they would be cared for. At this point, a little girl came up and said, "Daddy, is that the kitty's owner?" He told her to shut up. I said that I would not have complained if they wanted them, just that I would like to know before someone comes onto my property.

He asked where I lived and at that point I got a bit testy. I told him and said, "If you can't find it, ask your children where they got the cats from. Believe me, they know." Then I asked him to put Momma in with the kittens because she was still nursing. He said, "She's been with them."

At this point I did get angry with the lying. "No, she wasn't. She cried for them all night long last night -- on my doorstep."

I took a deep breath and just asked him to take care of them.

They probably ARE his cats. Part of me is glad they have a home, and the little girl looked like she'd be good with kittens. Knowing that the neighbors are watching, maybe he'll take better care of them. I do miss their companionship, though.

Mechanical Abilities

My precious daughter has just proven that she has an advanced mechanical aptitude. In other words: she can now defeat any and all child-safety devices--at 3 years of age.

Life has reached a new and more terrifying level of adventure. Her brothers are shocked and horrified, as if the universe has become more dangerous and their fragile baby sister doesn't stand a chance. My husband shrugged and pointed out that they survived.

I didn't remind him of the many trips to the ER, or the time the middle child decided to drink citronella oil. He climbed a tiki lamp to get the oil out. He is still part monkey.

The boys started on computers at 9 months old. The girl decided she'd rather smash the computer (which she did spectacularly) than play on it, and has only recently become addicted to webkinz, so I'd hoped for a little more time before entering this phase.

I now have one starting community college, one in his junior year in high school...and a preschooler. Today I spent a good chunk of the day with them, buying shoes for males, and was reminded of one very important thing: I am among the most blessed of women.

As a homeschool Mom, I do a lot of talking about educational styles, learning difficulties, and behavioral issues. I have to admit that I find myself judging other Moms occasionally...thinking, "well, I wouldn't do it that way." However, I've come to one conclusion when it comes to kids: God knows what He's doing. He seems to give the right kids to the right parents.

Some will surely point out that genetics plays a part, but I've known a good number of adopted children as well...and I firmly believe that each and every one is with the right parents. (Yes, I know there are abusive parents out there...there's a verse in the Bible about a millstone being tied around the neck of someone who hurts a child and then the offender being thrown into the sea. I'm ignoring the evil ones.)

I've watched strong-willed parents teach strong-willed children how to survive without being beaten up by the universe. I've watched sensitive parents teach fragile flowers to thrive. Switch the children and all would be lost...and yet, somehow, the right kids get with the right parents.

And so, the mechanically minded males in the family will no-doubt devise some new and insidious baby securing device to keep the little rug-rat out of the rat poison. This, I am sure, will only serve to encourage her to further develop her mechanical abilities.

Maybe she'll decide to be an engineer.

Thoughts on Fear

It's high time I started writing something for my blog.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about fear and faith. I've always thought that the two were mutually exclusive. I thought if I had more faith in...God, myself, etc., I wouldn't have as much fear in my life. This weekend, I learned exactly how wrong that kind of thinking was.

You see, I am afraid of heights. Any time I am above the ground, I get uncomfortable. I can get dizzy on a 2 foot high ladder. So, of course, my husband happens to be a pilot and he loves flying. This weekend, he offered me a chance to see a friend I hadn't seen in almost 15 years. All I had to do was go along on the 3 hour flight over the Cascade mountains. I have flown with him on many occasions, and I love flying over picturesque scenery...the Cascades being one of my favorites. The weekend looked perfect.

We loaded up the 3 year old princess, and made the uneventful trip. Had a great time and stayed every moment we could. The weather began to move in, and it was time for the return trip. Right after take off, we discovered that we had a great tail wind. Beautiful day, happy daughter, lots of laughter, everything was right with the world...and then bam. Or rather, sputter. The engine coughed. Just a tiny cough...could have had many causes. Except that our electrical system showed the alternator was no longer charging. With 2 1/2 hours left in our trip and a mountain range ahead of us, we had only the juice that was already in the battery.

My love immediately went into professional mode, diagnosing the problem, reviewing options. He had mapped out several alternative airports, but knew two very important details: we would most likely need parts, and most of the airports on our route wouldn't have them. With the weather moving in, wherever we stopped, we'd stay. Ideally, we would have turned around, but now that tail wind wasn't so much of a blessing. We'd be fighting it going back, and if something WAS wrong with the engine, we'd be in trouble.

He explained that we were fine, but he was going to have to turn off the radio to conserve power.

Thus began 2 1/2 hours of sheer terror for me. Since I tend to talk to God even on a good day, it seemed like having a 2 hour conversation with Him at that point was appropriate, and He seemed amenable. Even more so, He seemed eager to have me listen.

"You've been wanting to learn about fear."
"Not like this, I haven't! I've been wanting to conquer my fear."
"So, what do you do when you're afraid?"

I thought about that for quite a while. In my normal life, when I'm in a frightening situation, I tend to try and control everything. That plane, however, is not something I can control. I knew my husband has a reputation of being an exceptional pilot and very rational, so anything I suggested would probably not help the situation. In fact, I realized that the best thing I could do -- was to do nothing.

And that was when I finally started to understand faith. Faith didn't make my fear go away. Faith just helped me control the panic. All I had to do was to stay in the plane, keep quiet, not panic, and in 2 1/2 hours I would be sitting safely on the ground at our home airport.

Minor turbulence accompanied our entire flight. I sat with a death-grip on the overhead handle, much of the time with my eyes closed. I was reminded of something I read recently that life is like a railroad track -- one track is good things and one is bad things -- and both tracks are there all of the time. We can get stuck on one or the other. I was definitely stuck on a bad track at that moment.

As we climbed over the Cascades, I was reminded of how much I love to look at the mountains. In particular there was a lake I'd wanted to see again from the air, and I knew we had to be close. I pried open my eyes, determined to try to get some good out of the experience. There below me was the beautiful lake that I'd wanted to see, complete with tiny island in the middle. I glanced around. The scenery was breathtaking. Since enjoying the scenery wouldn't make any difference in whether I died in the next five minutes, I decided I might as well look around.

I didn't stop being afraid. I didn't stop watching the minute hand on the clock crawl forward, and I didn't stop having my very serious discussion with God...but I did start enjoying the journey.

That precious small voice in my head whispered, "Now. What else have you been letting fear keep you from?"

Once we were on the ground, I slowly began to recover. I asked my husband how I could ever get over my fear. He startled me by saying that he didn't think I ever would...but that fear was normal. "What you have done is master your fear. I watched you do it." He went on to tell me of people he knows who have fears...people like firemen.

Somehow, I'd always thought that other people didn't face the same paralyzing fears that I do. I wanted to enjoy the ride the way my daughter did -- laughing, staring out the window, and crying "weeee!" whenever we hit turbulence.

I asked a dear friend about fear. She wrote back: "Fear and Courage are inseparable."

What else is fear keeping me from?

Photo © Robert F. W. Whitlock