This is from last summer, when our boys were younger, our lady bug wasn’t here yet, but the lesson is still so applicable. Like last week applicable…

I have a couple neighbors that have amazing gardens, and fruit trees, and bottle all summer to be able to preserve the literal fruits of their labors. I remember hot summers and an even hotter kitchen when my mom would bottle peaches, tomatoes, spaghetti sauce, grape juice, apple sauces and pie filling. It was one of the reasons I dreaded the hot days of August. And they were HOT. Although I loved peaches in December and pear jam on toast in February I decided, nay, vowed I would not, no never, intentionally heat up my house in the in the middle of the hottest part of the year.

And then I moved out.

I got married and moved out and I didn’t have all the applesauce, peaches, pears, jam, spaghetti sauce, salsa, and many other beautiful bottles of yumminess that I could eat to my heart’s content, so conveniently located in my basement.

Total. Bummer.

A few years ago I was determined to bottle some fruit. I bought peaches and tried my hand at bottling. Well, no. That’s not quite accurate. I went and supported my mom (meaning we talked and I washed dishes) while she bottled the peaches. Thanks Mom! Last year I wanted to be real about it and figure this thing out. But apparently you must pick the fruit while it’s blisteringly hot outside. If you wait until is just cools down there won’t be much fruit left. Found out the hard way.

Again. Bummer.

This year we have a neighbor whose apricot tree was weighed so heavily with fruit that it needed to come off. So I decided it would be a great “experience” for my children and me to go and pick fruit, fill buckets, process the fruit and enjoy the reward of hard work. I was a bit way too optimistic and brought three 5-gallon buckets, you know, for the three of us to fill. I thought it would be a way to avoid the inevitable crying that would come from not having their own bucket. Because that would be the only reason to cry. Right? Ha! Apparently I was mistaken. I had great intentions, and a beautiful vision of us walking happily through the backyard orchard, holding hands, smiling, giggling at the joy of eating fruit off and tree, teaching work ethic and reward. Ah, intentions and visions. We had something that vaguely resembled my vision, and I’m talking a-15-year-old’s-vision-of-a-clean-room kind of vague resemblance like that lasted a maybe 5 minutes. We didn’t need three buckets. That was the least of our concerns.

In the beginning Mister was thrilled to be there. He got to climb the ladder, find plump little balls of delicious apricot goodness. He’d then exercise his three year old strength, wrenching one off the tree, and drop it into his own bucket. How can life get any better? Except for a three year old that wonder only lasts so long. He was bored. He wanted to get down from the ladder. Why couldn’t he go down their slide? Why couldn’t mom help him down the slide, or push him on their swing? He didn’t want to pick any more icky apricots!

Yup. Awesome.

Tudders didn’t even make it to the tree. A ball is to him as a mouse is to a hawk. Except without the aerial view. They are usually about eye level, ‘tis the nature of being 20 months old. A ball distracted Tudders and led him away from the tree. I convinced myself it was better anyway because he just would have ended up in a mess and been upset that his hands were sticky. Oh, except that happened anyway. After he figured out a way to carry two balls he found in his arms, he waddled over to show me his loot. In doing so he stepped on one of the many apricots that had dropped to the ground and it squished under his feet. Because he was wearing sandals the squish and juice touched his skin. The thus the beginning of the end.

From the shoe squish, to the foot fiasco, of course came dropping of the balls – which is reason by itself to burst into tears – then slipping and falling in the apricots, having apricot mush on shorts and legs, which led to sticky hands and then naturally sticky face and hair. And then a total meltdown. The kind where all you can do is stand and cry-slash-scream. That kind of meltdown. I mean why wouldn’t it.

I tried to keep my composure. I tried to pacify my children with promises of leaving as soon as I figured out how to carry three buckets full of apricots and two traumatized children. I tried to do it without drawing too much attention from the neighbors who were kind enough to let us pick from their tree. I tried. But we ended up making a couple trips from the tree to the gate (first with crying children, then with buckets), and then the gate to the car (again with the criers then the culprit fruit), to be followed by a non-ceremonious stripping of clothes and a wipe down with a trusty wet wipe (one bonus to having a child in diapers: you always have wet wipes, and when you don’t – well, that’s another story)!

I guess the lesson and experience from this summer wasn’t so much for my children. I realize they are a bit too young to enjoy the nostalgia and joy of picking and bottling your own fruit. They will enjoy the smoothies, bowls of apricots and jam on their sandwiches in the middle of winter. The lesson was for me. And it didn’t even have anything to do with bottling or preserving food. I learned (again) that I will try and I will fail. And it’s okay. There will be days of meltdowns. There will be times of clothes covered in mush. There will be moments when I wonder why I ever thought I should try something. And all of that is okay. Having those moments only keeps me grounded in reality. Life is challenging and anything new, and sometimes something that have been long established, comes with bumps and thumps along the way. As long as I have someone with whom I can share it (thanks for letting me share!), as long as I can (eventually) laugh about it, as long as I remember to breathe through it, and realize that it’s only a moment, it’ll all be okay. We’ll recover. Most things look better after a bath, a load of laundry, and some kind of treat. Good thing I have some delicious apricots to use as a treat all winter long, because I’m sure I’ll have some “great idea” about building a snowman or making snow angels. It’s inevitable, we’re gonna need some winter treats!

Neighbors apricots…, Cordelia Naumann at flickr.com; Some rights reserved, see license for more information; Any text or size editing has been done by averagejosie.com. Use of this image does not indicate the artist has any affiliation with or participates in the promotion of this site or its contents.