Happy News!!!

Bonus Dad will be here tomorrow!!! 

Not Signing Up for This Crazy

I received a group text on Wednesday. It was from... well, I don't know. Nor do I know why I was included in the text thread. 

The gist was someone who went to the Catholic church died. Would those of us on the group text be available to bring appetizers and cake for the sixty folks who would be attending the funeral? 

I have zero idea how my name got included in this thread. Two of the people on the thread were in my phone--one from the Master Gardening group and another from the Ladies Auxiliary. The other five, are just phone numbers and apparently they know each other because I now have 37 text messages. 

Not really wishing to have anything to do with ANYONE in the ladies auxiliary, I just muted the text. 

A (Surreal) Morning In The Life

Wednesday morning, my pal Cindy called. She invited me to ride along to DeQueen Arkansas (an hour away) because she was buying a case of peaches. She is trading me peach preserves for a jar of blueberry jam. Unfortunately, I was already obligated. 

So, after the Chickens and Gardening talk I attended, I drove to the liquor store on the Arkansas side to buy vodka. Thanks to the Bowie County blue laws, only beer and wine is sold at the grocery stores. There is an exception. In Wake Village, beer and wine can be sold at one of the two gas stations within the city limits. 

I needed the vodka because I'm getting a bumper-crop of tomatoes. While at the liquor store, I discussed with the 20-something cashier the best vodka for the job--which in this case was the cheapest stored in a glass bottle. He and I talked extensively about how vodka in a plastic bottle could take on other flavors based upon where it was stored. Our discussion turned to canning, where he agreed vodka adds a nice flavor to homemade tomato sauce. 

Once home, the entire tomato sauce process was put on hold because a sudden and torrential storm which moved into the area. Polly and I secured the garage with our new inflatable dams (which did not inflate but the garage did not flood, so there's that). We made sure our phones were fully charged and Polly eyed the radar, looking for tornado or microburst warnings. 

Blueberry Picking

The picture was taken from the road.

That circle represents the first of 5 rows of
blueberry bushes.

Friday afternoon, I swung by and picked up Deb and we made the trek out to "North Fouke" Arkansas to Leah's latest bit o'land. Recently purchased, Leah discovered it had more than 100 blueberry bushes on it. And for some crazy reason, nobody had thought to harvest the blueberries. 

Deb, who is always prepared, loaded us up on mosquito and chigger repellant. I donned a pair of gloves and a long-sleeved shirt, in hopes of keeping the poison ivy off my skin. She sported a neck fan to keep the heat at bay. 

All this was happening while I was carrying my basket with my one good arm. You see, somehow I managed to dislocate my shoulder last Thursday. Though I'm fine (I had an anterior dislocation. Marty has a posterior one, which requires probably a year worth of physical therapy and potential surgery), my arm is pretty sore and yesterday it did not need any additional strain. Therefore, Deb, ever the nurturer, took it upon herself to whack the grass with the hoe before every step, hoping to scare off any potential critters which might be hiding in the knee high grass. 

What I hadn't planned for was that 90 degrees to Deb and 90 degrees for me are very different. Deb lasted about five minutes in the "heat" before I insisted she make her way back to the car and turn on the air conditioning. We had a big old tussle about who got to keep the hoe, with me winning and telling her to take it with her BACK through the knee-high grass. If I saw anything slithering, I was going to scream, and toss my blueberry basket at the thing and then run back to the car. 

An over-sized bowl
with a lot of blueberries.

About ten minutes later, Leah showed up, unlocked the house (which comes with the land) and made Deb comfortable inside, where she kept herself busy by calling Tessa. Then Leah joined me as we finished picking the front side of the first row of blueberries. I wasn't going to risk my luck by heading deeper into that grass just for a few more berries. 

That said, I came away with two and a half pounds of fruit, plenty for jam. Plus, Leah said if I need more, just head back out and collect more berries. I'm thinking if I need more, I'll just head over to WalMart and buy some. 

By the way, the only critters I ran into were fire ants. Lots of them. 

 

Two and a Half Years of Small Town Observations:

1. People in smaller towns are nicer. I've been to Dallas twice since the beginning of June. Both times, I defaulted to "big-city" mode, where I kept my head down, walked fast, and ignored everyone else. Do that here, someone is bound to recognize you and ask if everything is okay. 

2. HIPA laws and all medical-related ailments are handled differently. I needed to change my adult daughter's medication to a different pharmacy. I called the doctor's office, told them who I was, and they just changed the prescription over. During that same phone call, we also chatted about what a shame it was Miss Marci, who worked at a local pharmacy, passed last year. That place just hasn't been the same. 

When I hurt my foot, the owner of the yoga studio I go to, suspended my account until I felt ready to return. No doctor's note. I texted her when I was ready to come back--and even then, she said if I found out it was going to be too much strain on me, let her know and she'd suspend my account again until I was ready. 

3. There is only one degree of separation from anyone I meet around here and someone from Fouke Arkansas. Deb, the Queen of the Coronas, Leah, Val, my sewing teacher and my hair stylist are all from Fouke. As Leah once told me, there are no branches in the Fouke family tree.

4. Folks talk about snakes around here the way people from Arizona talk about weather. Yep, it's hot. Yep, snakes are everywhere and expected. (Except when I go blueberry picking tonight. I refuse to find a snake.)

5. Homesteading is a thing. Recently, I got an e-mail from the City of Mesa (Arizona), suggesting I take up gardening because it is "sustainable" and "Earth-friendly." Want to know why people garden here? They want to eat. 

Not only do folks garden, but they can and store their food for later. Currently, I have four jars of homemade pickles and two jars of pickled radishes I made recently sitting in my cupboard. Right now I'm in talks with Cindy for peach preserves in exchange for blueberry jam.  

6. There is a wide-spread knowledge and interest in plants. Marty and I were discussing this recently, with him saying perhaps this was true in Arizona and I just didn't surround myself with "those" people. I disagree. I could not stop by any stranger's house in Mesa and strike up a conversation about how they propagated their tomatoes or if they are finding their gladiolas to be attracting the right pollinators. Here, however! Expect to get into a chat with the lawn guy about the best way to take care of the squash bugs that are eating the zucchini bushes or converse with some random stranger when you are at the gas station about if elephant ears are truly native Texan plants. 

7. People talk. And everyone knows everyone (even if they weren't originally from Fouke). I sat next to a few Coronas at the Church of Christ one Sunday and this woman I SWEAR I'D NEVER MET walked half-way across the church to ask me if my foot was better and how Marty's dislocation was healing. 

At yoga the other day, I overheard someone mentioned their friend Krissy and how she was dealing with her cancer treatment. We had three friends in common (one from--yep--Fouke). Also at yoga, my instructor goes to my (Catholic) church. She asked me if I'd heard if Father B. had returned from his trip. I had heard, as a matter of fact. He is back. 

8, The locals think Texarkana has crime. Maybe it does. I'll take Texarkana "crime" (generally on the Arkansas side, mind you) over anything that happens in the Valley. And if someone is brazen enough to commit even a petty misdemeanor, the police, community and the affected victim will post all over social media until the person is behind bars. Once the alleged criminal's face is on social media, that person will be identified. Expect everyone from the Sunday school teacher to the alleged criminal's significant other to give their two cents on where the person is hiding. 

9. It isn't snakes which are everywhere. God is too. I dislocated MY shoulder yesterday (still planning on blueberry picking, thank you). I texted with a massage therapist I know last night to see if she had any openings today. Nope. But she said she'd pray for me. She also sent me a text this morning, letting me know she's praying again. It helped. 

Public prayers happen before lunch at restaurants, before yoga sessions, at staff meetings at one's employment, and at Master Gardener meetings. Crosses are found hanging at doctor's offices and in retail outlets (even when they aren't for sale). Polly works at a local department store. Christian rock station plays throughout. Don't want to go to her store because you don't like the music? You probably are shopping in Dallas then because this is the norm. God is discussed before the symphony plays, during theatrical performances and by the local police on social media--asking for prayers for those involved in a car accident. 

For those who don't want any part of God, they just politely hang out until that moment is over. For all a prayer is truly is just a moment of gratitude. People seem to get that. 

10. Along the lines of that previous paragraph, this is very much a "you to you" kind of place and nobody caters to feelings and triggers, no matter if the topic is God or anything else. Everyone is expected to be tough enough to carry their own emotional baggage. 

A Minor Inconvenience or Two

Deb, my hoe-holding snake centennial had to reschedule the blueberry picking tonight. You see, it is Wednesday night. Somewhere it is written: On Wednesdays, the members of the Church of Christ must gather. 

'Tis true. And apparently traumatic. I've spoken to several of the CoC ladies, who missed the Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer Christmas special as a child because it came on ONLY on Wednesday night. 

Wednesday night is Church Night. No exceptions. Not even for blueberry picking. 

That's actually okay. I had three hours of sleep last night. I was too exhausted today to drive the 18 miles to Nowhere Arkansas for this endeavor. 

Crossing our fingers for this adventure to take place Friday evening.  

Preparing for Blueberry Picking.

This morning I asked Buckaroo to get the hoes and shovels from the shed, explaining to him I'm going blueberry picking. He raised an eyebrow when I showed him the picture of where I'm going. "YOU, are going THERE? YOU???" 

He had a point. After all, how am I supposed to pick blueberries if I'm busy guarding my life against snakes? 

So, I texted Leah, asking her if I can bring a friend. The friend turned out to be Deb, the Queen of the Coronas and some distant relation to Leah. Essentially, they know each other and why not? The more the merrier in the South. 

I then pulled a page from the Deb Playbook and volun-told her I'd be picking her up around 6 tonight. Dress for poison ivy. I  sent her a picture of where we are going, letting her know I will be happy to gather the blueberries while holds vigil with the shovel. 

Keeping my fingers crossed for a good harvest. 

She was Serious.

There's 100 blueberry bushes out yonder.

Leah bought a property in nowhere Arkansas (about 20 miles from my home). She'd been telling me about all the blueberry bushes on it, suggesting if I wanted fresh blueberries, come on over. Personally, I thought that was a wonderful idea, I'm low on jam and why not make more!

We made plans to meet up Wednesday night for the blueberry gathering. As she was hanging up, she said, "You'll want a basket for the blueberries. And wear boots and gloves because of the poison ivy. And if you have a hoe bring that, so you can kill any snakes you see." 

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Two days after the latest round of storms

We had storms this past week. 

Now, there's a difference between "storms" and rain. Rain is the normal stuff that comes from the sky about four days a week from the last week of December until early June. There is a caveat though, sometimes it might be snow instead of rain in the early months of the year. But not always. 

"Storms" consist of a warm pressure system coming out of the Gulf, clashing with the cooler air from the Rockies. This brings thunder, lightening, wind and other annoyances. If that isn't enough chaos, tornadoes are known to spur from those storms. Even though it feels like it is all the time--tornadoes are rare. 

Anyway, we had storms this past week. What did that mean for the Sunshine house? I lost my batch of carrot seedlings. They floated out of my garden. I wish I was making this up. I figure a few months from now I will find a carrot growing in the grass. 

The lawn guy can't mow because every yard in town is a swamp. My grass is mid-calf high. I hear squeaking in the grass. Probably the snakes hear the squeaking too. 

My garage flooded. Now I don't mean a half-inch of water came a foot into the garage. I mean I checked the garage at 4 p.m. and it was dry. I checked five minutes later and water was coming into house, under the laundry room door, which is on the far side of our two car garage. 

In the five seconds it took for me to call for the young adults, the water was at least four inches. Polly and I began damming the garage door with everything we could find--bags of soil, an area rug (sigh, I liked that rug), Buck's car cover, paint cans, blankets, towels, etc., while Buck took the push broom and began shoving the water back into the driveway. By the time Marty came home at 5:15, water was no longer under the garage freezer and we were only standing in an inch of water. However, the rain hadn't subsided, we'd just gotten our barriers to be efficient. 

It finally stopped raining today and Polly and I began cleaning out the mess. I have thrown out some Christmas decorations, a suitcase and tons of boxes. However, I'm beyond pleased my antique children's books--which were at the back of the garage on a shelf near the floor, came through unscathed. They have now been moved to the back shed and are five feet off the ground.  

I don't think there's any lasting affects to our walls and foundation. Some of my projects are probably ruined (I had some furniture to refinish). We've now purchased inflatable water dams--which are a thing--for the next time this happens. Because, according to the locals, there will be a next time.