It Happened Like This.
I had it planned in my head and a little bit on my planner. I’d written “Pages and Project post” in black ink on my planner page on the column for Wednesday morning. I have a couple of books that are a bit overdue for review. Not really, except for in my very own mind.
But I did want to get them posted and I do enjoy my Pages and Projects posts, though in the lateliest of days the posts have been much more abut pages than projects. At least as far as my pictures! There’ve been plenty of projects, I just haven’t taken pictures of them like I do when it is knitting or a pom-pom wreath or some sort of paper craft! And is “there’ve” EVEN a word? It’s not, I’m sure, but it seems exactly what I want to use there!Β And I do a Google search and it leaves me still unsure if it is correct or incorrect. But then, I sort of like to make up words now and then and I very much use the word “terrifical” made up by Ramona Quimby in the Ramona and Beezus movie. And bonus, there’ve is a contraction! π Ahem. Don’t tell my son. I’ve been harassing him recently for some of his incorrect English usage.
Anyhow, I rabbit trail. As normal.
Now, I don’t know if you know this, but words and plans written in a planner don’t automatically mean they will happen or get carried out without a hitch. {Wouldn’t that be nice?!} {Just think how much time and detail we would write into our planners if it DID work that way! Ha!} {That’s all we’d do and how boring would that be after a while, plus who REALLY wants to micromanage every single, little, teeny-tiny thing?}
Since plans have a way of changing midstride or veering into another direction, around here, Wednesday morning found me sending a few texts and jotting down a few groceries and headed to Wal-Mart instead ofΒ opening my laptop lid.
Now, let’s back up a bit. Here’s some information you need if you aren’t aware of this. Any Kansas wheat farmer worth his seed, loves a beautiful waving wheat field. Not only does he love a beautiful, waving wheat field, he especially loves one that’s clean of weeds and rye and contains full heads of golden wheat.
But as long as the earth remaineth, seed time and harvest, summer and winter, annoying weeds and rye pulling. Or something like that. π
My farmer man is greatly aggravated by rye heads waving atop his wheat crop. So, we found ourselves contacting a few of our teenager’s friends to see if any of them would like a job of pulling rye for a couple of evenings. Several responded in the affirmative and then this one told another friend and that one mentioned it to a friend and they asked my farmer guy if he need any more help and our numbers added up until we had about fifteen teens ready and willing to walk, work and weed out that rye!
They were to assemble at our house at 5 p.m. and we’d said we’d feed them some food afterward.
Which in turn found me heading out the door for Wal-Mart. I’m generally in charge of the grub around this farm and while there was food in the house and freezer and refrigerator, there wasn’t food either. Not quite the right fit of ingredients to my way of thinking anyway,Β to feed a group of hungry, rye-pulling teenagers.
I needed to go to the bank and the library anyway and I had mail to drop off at my sister-in-law’s too.
My laptop didn’t offer one word of complaint from upstairs as I broke my date with it and found my flowered skirt and pulled a white polo shirt off the hanger and reached for my comfortable, white sandals.
I thought a bit and calculated what all needed my time and attention and then sent a text to my sister-in-law. Since I needed to stop there anyhow and I didn’t have a big list and my nieces like to shop,Β perhaps this was an opportunity to take them along.
I gathered my bag and my water and headed toward the door of my garage. I can never manage to leave when I think I’m going to, it seems. My farmer man pulled in and I needed to chat at him a bit and I also realized my Yukon’s gas tank was becoming quite dry and thirsty.
I did my chatting and my son filled my Yukon and I managed to settle myself in my vehicle and head down the lane, stopping to stick a few letters in the mailbox.
My nieces were anxiously waiting and Miss S. was eager to join me on my jaunt to town. Miss A. hadn’t been feeling well and was still rather tired and opted to stay with Mama this time.
We wrestled the carseat from one backseat to another, which anyone who has ever moved or buckled one in knows as no small feat!
Miss S climbed aboard, happy smile shining.
The bank drive-thru was our first stop and an orange and white lollipop for Miss S. brought us both smiles! And afforded a great photo opp and a picture for me to text to my farmer man.
Library next! Dvds dropped into the book drop and we were on our way again!
Next stop, Wal-Mart. Always Wal-Mart, you know.
We looked quickly through the garden center and then took an extended stroll through the toy aisle. We found a few cute dollies, a squishy-squashy ball to squeeze and admired a Lego friends car.
Wal-Mart is in a general mix-up right now as they’ve started a remodel. We roll our cart by a couple of aisles and turn by the Gatorade. Gatorade and water bottles are on the list. We want to keep these rye-pullers well hydrated. It’s been getting quite warm the last few days.
We grab Lemon-Lime and Cool Blue and some 2 Liters.Β We spy mini cans of Dr. Pepper and a package of them must go in our cart to go home with Miss S! She tells me she likes Dr. Pepper and her words roll together and it takes me a bit to understand what she’s telling me.
What else is on the list? Paper plates. The large package please and more red cups while we’re at it. Summer IS coming.
Oatmeal for Baked Candy Bars and buns for hot ham and cheese sandwiches. Provolone cheese slices, also for the sandwiches, and a package of butter. What else must we get?
We wend through the aisles and arrive at the checkout.
Arriving home, I wrangle the groceries inside and then, sit for a bit.
I make corn pudding and assemble sandwiches. Foil packets pile high on the countertop.
Grapes and carrots are ready in the refrigerator and buckets of ice cream sit silent in the freezer.
Five p.m. approaches and my kids grab gloves and boots and we fill coolers with ice and Gatorade and water bottles.
The teens arrive and then my farmer man. The kids pile into the back of the pickup along with the coolers. Standing room only left!!
Off they go and silence rests around my farmhouse. I finish touches to my food and calculate in my head what time my casserole and sandwiches need to enter the oven to warm.
I head outside to water thirsty flowerpots and set up camp chairs. I love peaceful summer evenings outdoors.
Dark clouds have rolled in around us and I cast one eye to the sky. It looks like the clouds are going north of us, but this Kansas sky and rain are fickle and you never know what they will do.
I text my farmer and ask him to tell me if the rain comes their way and chases them home early, so I can bump up my supper prep.
This is the story of farming and plans and meals. You simply never know!
The sky keeps changing and soon it looks as if the rain is going to back up on us. Matthew calls and says, “You may want to go ahead a little early.” Thing is it’s already too late for a little early, ’cause we’re already at the time for me to load the oven.
Fifteen minutes later, my phone plays my farmer’s ringtone. I say “Hello” and he says, “You might want to get some towels ready. I’m headed your way very shortly with fifteen soaked-to-the-skin teens.”
Oh, Kansas. One never knows! π
I pile towels on a chair by the basement door and edge up the temperature on the oven.
Soon, I hear laughter and voices and people pour into the basement. Poured-on people for sure! Some wet through to the skin. Mud and dirt and boots pile up on the rugs and smiles and shivers and sounds abound.
The pile of towels shrinks and we pull shirts from all of our closets and pass around to help with a semblance of dryness.
A couple of the girls brave my dirty bathroom and use the hair dryer. I make hot chocolate and start the coffee maker.
The oven bakes steadily away and bursts of laughter float up the basement stairs. Ping-pong and pool games commence. Hot chocolate is sipped and blankets wrapped around a few.Β One teen curls on theΒ couch cushions, nose in a book. My farmer is crashed in one corner of the couch, head back, eyes closed. It’s been a busy week already.
I keep laughing to myself. Plans and weather can both be fickle. And little, did I OR my laptop imagine this morning, that evening would fill our basement with cloudburst soaked teens.Β
Β We have people everywhere and like in the children’s book, The Relatives Came, there’s lots of breathing.
My sandwiches are ready and we look outside, but my farmer decides the campfire isn’t fit to light and it’s just damp enough out there that we push chairs all around the ping-pong table instead and fill them with teen people. We pass the grapes and the pretzels and the sandwiches around and around. Our friends and fellow farmer neighbors help us fill red cups with ice and Pepsi and Sprite and Mountain Dew. We forget to pass the watermelon and we gobble Peanut Butter Rice Krispy treats.
LikeΒ my grandmother and mother before me, I must make sure everyone eats their fill and I pass the bowls and offer hot drinks once more.
Bellies full, the teens begin to pick up pool cues again and pull a boardgame or two from the cupboard.
Someone realizes the skies have cleared and they all pour out the door and play tag under the pole light. A few gather blankets around them and cozy onto the outside bench to watch the game.
I slip out the front screen door later on and step around the corner onto the darkened backporch and I quietly watch the young people as they LIVE.
It brings a smile to my mouth and a little surge of joy to my soul. Memories of “Kick the Can” and “No Bears Out Tonight” and “Three Times Around the House” tiptoe from my childhood. What fun my siblings and my cousins and I had! I love watching my teens run and frolic with friends.
The night grows later and the runners grow tired and as always happens, it’s time to leave. The rug once again is full of people sorting out boots and gloves and shoes and wet shirts. We stuff Wal-Mart bags full of still-damp shirts and among the general mayhem and last minute grabbing of sunglasses and calling of good-byes and thank-yous, the teens depart.Β
I head for my shower and hot water that I’m so grateful for and I muse back over the day with a sweet fondness and a faint smile.
Because that’s how my day went from blogging and book reviews to bags of groceries and babies in the toy aisle. That’s how I now know how many people you can squeeze around a ping-pong table for a meal. That’s how my catalog of memories now contains funny mental images of teenage boys moving around our basement wearing my farmer man’s too-big-for-them shirts and carrying pool cues.Β That’s how my basement was filled with laughter and sand and wet gloves and teens and sandwiches and a pile of dirty towels and a rye-pulling-evening memory that won’t be soon forgotten.
It Happened Like That.
What a beautiful post! I felt like I was there with you!!! What a great day – even if it wasn’t the one you had planned.
Thank-you, Beth! It really created good memories! π