Late Summer

My $2 Old Navy flip flops make a sticky, sucky noise on my kitchen floor. Time to mop. Tonight’s batch of Golden Raspberry Peach Fruit Spread took 5 tries to thicken to my satisfaction. I guess I didn’t write down the recipe very accurately from last year. During the canning process, a huge clump of jam leapt onto my bare arm and made a pink spot (and I yelled a rather loud expletive before I licked the offending fruit off my arm). It’s almost 10pm and I still have 2 batches to can. It’s hot and I’m sticky and tired. And I’m happy.

Golden Raspberry Peach

My little house, aptly named Rose Cottage, is sweet and friendly. My nieces and nephews are safe. Schools started so my sister Heather gets a little rest. Labor day weekend is coming up soon. I plan to nap. A lot. And, let’s be honest, make more jam. I love my job. This time of year, my brain is tired. My hands are tired from clicking a mouse. Ironically, I’m typing more after work. My eyes are fuzzy from looking at tiny excel spreadsheets to finish annual financial statements for the non profit I work for. I sit all day but feel like I’m stretched thin trying to keep all the balls in the air. And I’m happy.

My bank account is a little lean. But my freezer is FULL of fruit for the fall, winter and spring season. My old fashioned kitchen will warm my house during the cold, rainy Portland evenings coming very soon. And my library card if free. Thank you for season 3 of Downton Abbey and the latest book in the series by Laurie King about Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell. (P.S. You can’t go wrong with a book series that’s a combo of Flavia DeLuce by Alan Bradbury and Sherlock on PBS. Ever wondered why I say I’m a nerd, look no more.) And I’m happy.

The Tualatin Farmers’ Market season comes to a close this Friday. I’ve learned a lot, a lot. I’ve sold a lot of jam. I’ve given out countless samples. I’ve spoiled many children. I love to give extras to the kids who look at me with hopeful eyes, knowing intuitively that I spoil. One small boy started to walk over for a third sample and I heard his mom say “No!”. I saw his face, laughed and smiled at her. Then I gave him two extra cookies. I put a tiny blond girl’s hair in pigtails. I handed her dad a pony holder, but he looked at it helplessly. I’m not Aunt Becky for no reason! This season, I’ve met lots of foodies and bakers and quilt-lovers and other creative vendors.  And I’m happy.

 

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