People love their peaches. For some, peaches are a cult, especially those white peach hunters. They are all over sixty and dedicated. It's tough being the Keeper of the Peaches, particularly this year when the crop is low and this golden babies are rare and precious. My boss figures they're worth $100 each...or more. Gee, that makes my job even more important and, um, dangerous. But raised in the backwoods of Tyaskin, I know how to defend myself and, more importantly, my produce. So rest assured, Public, no cane-carrying, plaid shirt-sporting villain will best me -- at least not this season.

Today, while I was working in...err...at the Garden of Eden, a severe thunderstorm swept in. I could see the clouds accumulating over Tyaskin and headed my way. In my mind, I could perfectly see the storm rolling across the Nanticoke River from Cambridge, as most storms do here. One lone blueberry picker managed to stay in the fields just until my heart was beginning to race as I thought about Mr. Freed's instructions to get in my car if there was lightning. At last, she came running out of the field laughing. I calmly flung her change at her and headed for my car. In moments, the overbearing humidity and unrelenting sun of the morning gave way to a crazed atmosphere of flying water, cracking sounds, and surprising light bursts.

Happily, I sat bundled in my car listening to Rush while trying to get some air to circulate. Like a thermos, my car had stored the morning heat as an untimely reminder of the earlier mugginess. I rolled the windows up and down trying to get a breeze but at the same time avoid frying my electric window panels (something that has happened in my house before, ehem, Rachel). Finally, a cool, watery air seeped in and relieved the hot house conditions. I cleaned while I waited -- old map quest directions, candy wrappers from negligent passengers, scraps of paper, a National Guard flier (I thought about it once). Best of all, I discovered this CD called Classic Divas which features such lovelies as Etta James, Judy Garland, and Dinah Washington. I almost purchased -- last night!-- one of the songs by Etta that is on the CD. Crazy. I've never seen the CD before, either. Crazier.

A storm can be compared to a cup of tea -- it could be compared to anything really, you could make it fit. But, let's say to a cup of tea, I'll try to be plausible. A storm brews like tea and then it steeps with all its entity concentrated in one spot and then, when it goes away, like the tea being taken out, what is left is perfection. I love tea and I love storms. Both remind me of England, hmmm.

After the rain stopped, I surveyed the tidy rows of blueberry bushes, stretching out behind and to the side of the stand where I work. They hung heavy with water and looked as fresh and robust as any English greenery. Not many customers came immediately after the rain, so I grabbed a bucket and shooshed amidst the berry-dripping, water-drenched bushes and picked and picked. My soul filled with thankfulness and music as I thought of God's great provision of rain, powerful thunderstorms, rest after the storm, and fresh berries! Selah.

I've been remiss. Désolé. The lazy, semi-hazy days of summer have claimed me. It's not that I've been too busy to blog, no, not that excuse, I've merely been too unfettered. When I don't have a tight schedule suddenly accomplishing one whole task in a day seems an impossibility, and two? Monstrous! Such as writing a letter. I've set several different DAYS aside to write this letter that I need to write and it's still unwritten. I was also meant to paint a window frame and...well...alas. But summer is no time for layers of guilt to build in greasy, clinging layers on my soul! I'll save that for harsher weather. So, here is what I actually have been doing:

I've been blueberry picking half a dozen or more times at the Garden of Eden. Fresh blueberries and peaches speak of summertime in the country to me. I tried my hand at making Blueberry Conserves. I'd never had conserves before. Warning: Hayley is prone to attempting things she has no experience in or former knowledge of -- rarely does she go with the tried and true (I'm working on this). Anyway, it tastes yummy but it is also extremely spoon-able. Blueberry soup. Tomorrow I am trying peach jam...from the Certo box.


My mom is oober obsessed about freezing lots of bags of berries for the winter months. Rachel is just as oober obsessed about eating frozen blueberries before the winter months arrive. The contradicting forces of nature healthily rage in our house.

I recently enjoyed my first "college reunion." Sweet sorrow! No, not really, it was merely tons of fun. Until this past weekend, I had been at my house since coming home in May. Let's say I was more than a little house bound. I miss living close to my friends and/or in a vibrant, noisy city with lots of PEOPLE. My stone tower in Tyaskin is becoming a bit stifling for this princess. I am anticipating my move to Charlottesville. But what a boon to spend time with my family. One of my favorite activities is dinnertime -- we eat out on our back porch facing the water and enjoy great conversation and yummy food.


Bonfire on a beach in the woods by a creek with Mess & Co

I've watched creatures die and wrestled with my emotions about this. I think my dad and I handled it pretty well, although I, tempered by my mom's practical side, a little better. Childhood books such as Mrs. Huggins and her hen Hannah and The Ox-Cart Man were miserably bemoaned in a joking way as we tried to rationalize our deed (though my hands were clean). Next time, I'll be fine. My dad...um...he's not Rambo.



In other news, one of my big goals of the summer was to read CLASSIC literature, mostly political writings, actually. So far, we, the Rubicons, have read Common Sense by Thomas Paine (phenominal and a must-read before the election), The Rights of Man by Paine (long and boring), Gulliver's Travels by Jonathon Swift (interesting for its historical aspect), and now we are on to (a part of) The Republic by Plato. It's a novelty to realize that one can read such writings. I was tired of hearing about them without knowing about them.

I am also reading a slew of books for my upcoming Fellowship. I just finished Engaging God's World, a must-read for anyone thinking about higher education, and I am now reading Generation ME: Why Today's Young Americans Are More Confident, Assertive, Entitled -- and More Miserable Than Ever Before. This book is outstanding and brutal at the same time. Jean Twenge, Ph.D, logically and scientifically exams generational trends from the 50s to now. She labels my generation Gen ME (Millenial Edition) or iGen (internet) which encapsulates the modern era of technology but also the individualistic focus of my generation. It's a fascinating and excrutiating read as much light is being shed on questions I've had about life and on notions that I didn't even realize were in my head because of generational trends/messages (such as "you can be whatever you want to be" and "a job should be fulfilling" and asking children their preferences on everything "red or blue dress?"). Pick up this book!

One of the most illuminating passages was about self-esteem. Since the 1970s, self-esteem programs in schools and messages from the pop culture and media have inundated modern thinking, claims Twenge. The problem is that children are constantly encouraged to have good self-esteem regardless of whether they have done something worthwhile. This is compared to previous practices of encouraging hard work, self-control, and persistence whereby self-esteem was the result of these things, i.e. good grades produce good self-esteem not the other way around. AND, poignantly, Twenge argues that all these self-esteem programs and confidence boosters have tended toward making young people narcissistic. Ouch. But she approaches it all with balance and reason by looking at the good and the bad of it all.

click to enlarge

'Till next time, please won't you be my neighbor?