Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Harvest Time

As the summer slowly slips into fall and all the breezes have chilly whiskers on them, we retreat to the farms and gardens to see Mother Nature's final breaths before her quiet winter sleep.

Eva at BelleWood Acres

Eva, Mommy, and Corn at Hovander Park

A crowd of dahlias

A dahlia ready to pop

Black-eyed Susan

Skeptical turkeys at Hovander Park

The barn at Hovander Park

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


Just a quick post to express my gratitude that Eva loves blackberries. There are so few foods that she really LOVES and meal and snack times have always been challenging. So hooray for blackberries!

Today, Eva and I took a "stroller walk" to the grocery store for a few things and she spotted blackberries along the trail. They are quite abundant in our part of the country and the bushes are heavy with berries this time of year. I love the smell of blackberries in the air when out for a late summer stroll. How lucky we are to live here. I parked the stroller and started gingerly plucking blackberries while Eva reminded me "no red ones, mama. Just black". I put a small handful in her lap, maybe 8 or so and went back to picking some for myself. By the time I'd picked 2 or 3, she was chirping behind me, "More, mama? Can I have please more blackberries?" I swear, the longest sentences she puts together are for asking for blackberries. So I put another pile in the hem of her dress, like a little basket for berries. Two or three berries into my picking and she's asking again for more, purple juice smeared down her chin, her fingers dyed purple. She doesn't eat anything with such gusto! Hooray for blackberries! (Though I should add it was the same earlier with raspberries and blueberries. Off the bush and into the mouth).

She ate probably a pint or more on our stroll today. I picked another couple cups and took them home. Later this evening, she came to me at the other end of the house and put a blackberry in my mouth. Presuming (correctly) that she must have dragged her stool to the kitchen counter to reach the bowl of blackberries, I went to check that there weren't blackberries squished into the carpet. Nothing in the carpet (that I saw anyway. I'll probably find that next week when the berry starts to mold and the stain is good and set). There were, however, purple fingerprints on the counter near the bowl and down the front of the dishwasher--and all over her face and fingers and some on her jammie pants. When I asked her if they were good she just giggled and held her fingers up for me to wash: "blackberries! Yummy!"

Indeed, my sweet girl.