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Ah, sweet summer-time. August, especially. Lots of memories from those days on the farm. For us, August was all about dealing with the garden, with some time carved out for morning and evening horseback rides; just too bloomin' hot during the day. August was about canning and preserving vegetables, and going to the orchards to pick cherries. We'd leave at 0-dark-thirty (about 4 AM), arrive at the orchard about 6 AM, ascend ladders and pick like it was going out of style, battling wasps, and sneaking the occasional lush, juicy cherry before it could land in the bucket. Ahh, bliss. Nothing like fresh fruit, is there? The orchard was just a bit north of Davenport, Washington, across the Columbia River, outside of a little town called Hunters. This was just a tiny little town, and in those days (1970s), there was still a hitching rail in front of the little grocery store. I thought this was the coolest thing, and envisioned the outlying farmers, and hunters, showing up on horseback to pick up a few provisions before loading their saddlebags and departing. I do confess to still wondering who was responsible for any horse biscuits left out front? I suppose we have to assume that the owners of the animals dealt with this issue. One can hope so, anyway! After we'd accummulated the required amount of fruit for that year's canning and freezing, we'd load up and cross back across the river, turn into the campground and have lunch at one of the warped, weathered picnic tables, mindful of splinters waiting to snag clothing. The river flowed close at hand, and the scent of the pine trees was intoxicating to us dry-landers. We were just far enough from the trees to really appreciate them; our farm was sagebrush and scabrock, and the only trees were those planted in the yard, and those growing along the creek bed. Back home by 4 PM or so, we'd start the canning process, finally falling into bed in a state of exhaustion at midnight or so. Then, the corn.....pulling thick ears from the rustling stalks, husking until it felt like we'd be doing it for the rest of our natural lives, then the blanching, then cooling the ears outside in metal tubs of cold water filled with the garden hose.....I loved this part of it; it was kinda-sorta like going swimming, and I remember how good it felt to immerse my arms in that cool water. Pulling the stalks, throwing them in the pickup, then driving out to the cow pasture and emptying them onto the ground. The cows would come running as if they knew they were about to receive a special treat. Plenty of milling around, kicking up dust, head-butting each other out of the way....an object lesson in poor manners, in my young mind. Continuing to clean up the garden through the weeks that followed; digging carrots and spuds and placing them in boxes of dirt in the cellar for winter storage. Bringing in the last of the cantaloupe, dropping a big scoop of vanilla ice cream into the cavity, and knowing that this was the last time for the summer.... Taking that last skinny-dip in the creek, soaking up the afternoon heat and filled with varying degrees of anticipation and dread of the upcoming school year. August. Days of sweet memories, and days of sweet peaches, cherries and raspberries, and perfect, fragrant tomatoes ripe on the vine. Days made all the more special knowing that they are fleeting and that autumn, and soon winter, will be upon us. I'd dearly love to have a couple of tomatoes off the vine this summer, but I'm not holding my breath. We've had cool temperatures and lots of rain this year, and the tomatoes are about the size of crab-apples and as green as gourds. Maybe if we have a couple of weeks of good sunshine, they'll surprise me. I hope so. One thing for sure--we won't be pawning them off on the neighbors this year! "As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night wiill never cease." Gen. 8:22
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