finger thumb

that's not yours and you should give it back

I know that I'm personally in a place right now where I'm completely immersed in 'little kid' culture. Our lives, to a large extent revolve around a three year old and a six month old, and I spend a lot of time thinking about and participating in my kids lives. What's the best food for them, should they be having more play dates, and just what is going on in their little heads? I really wish I could see the world how they do. And I try to make an effort, especially in moments of stress for them to try and imagine what they are feeling. I'm not saying that I'm an exceptionally empathetic person, but I am their mom, and just really want what's best for them.

But I would think that its obvious even if you are not a 'little kid person' that threatening to take away what is clearly a child's favourite toy could not possibly be perceived by that child as a joke. 

Do you know what I'm talking about? Its this oddly common little song and dance that some misguided adults do with little kids (especially really little kids) that just baffles me every time. Though it probably baffles my kid more. 

For example, you're waiting in a doctors office. Your son has brought his favourite bear/truck/digger along with him for amusement and comfort, and the friendly old guy sitting next to you smiles broadly and starts chatting with you. You want to be polite, and teach your child how to interact with people, so you chat along. And because your child is three and a little shy of strangers, which is totally reasonable, you end up answering most of the questions yourself. Yes, we're seeing the doctor today. Thank you, they are nice sunglasses. Yes, we sure do get a lot of compliments on his hair. But he's a nice old guy, and your child sees that this situation is ok, you can trust people, so when the old guy says "What a nice digger you have there. Can I see it?" your son trustingly hands it over so that this new person can see his digger. After all, you've been working on 'sharing' since before he could speak. He knows how this is supposed to work. You hand over your toy to the other kid, he perhaps shares a toy with you in return, and in a relatively short period of time, he's supposed to give it back. But this old dude has another idea. He's a funny old guy remember? He fancies himself good with kids. So, with a big stagey wide eyed smile he goes "Wow, I like this digger! I think I'll take it home with me." And begins the exaggerated pantomime of putting it in his pocket. 

What the...? Can you imagine what the kid is thinking and feeling in this moment? Really the world is just too cruel. 

Never mind that this guy's pocket is obviously way too small. Or that he's clearly too big to play with toys. Or that a sane and rational person would never actually take the proverbial candy from the literal baby. As far as a three year old's reality goes, he doesn't get that this guy is 'kidding' or bluffing or whatever it is he thinks he's doing. I have seen this play itself out many, many times, and the little kid never, NEVER slaps his leg and guffaws, or shoots little vegas-y finger guns at the guy and says "oh mister, you got me there! Har, har, har!" Because he's THREE ya'll! He hasn't been here as long as the rest of us. He's still getting the hang of the culture and sometimes its just really, really weird. 

Really, its ridiculous how often adults do this. And not just old guys. I don't mean to 'profile' this kind of behaviour too much. One of the first times I remember it happening was when the Little Dude had croup and we had to take him to the hospital for a special medication. It was pretty stressful, he was really sick, we'd been up all night and here we are in the wee hours of the morning after sitting in the emergency room, finally getting the medicine to get his poor wheezy little breathing back to normal. On our way out the door I'd grabbed a toy out of the closet, one that I'd bought in advance of his birthday because it was so perfect (wooden digger toy, chunky and blue) but decided to give it to him early to take the edge off a tough day and give him some fun at the hospital. He'd had it for under a half an hour and was tired and wary of all the staff. Not many smiles. So when the nice young lady who was working in his ward came to talk to him, it was lovely to see him warm up to her right away. And then she pulled the "Can I see your toy" trick! I couldn't believe it! I remember thinking "lady, it is the thin veneer of civility that keeps me from pinching you really hard right now, and you better be thankful for it!"

Anyhow, my point with this rambling little rant is DON'T DO THIS. Kids don't find it funny! You'd find it kind of threateneing if someone did this to you right? Imagine you're on the subway and a stranger says "What're you reading? Oh, can I read the blurb on the back cover. Hunh, that sounds really good. I think I'll keep this." You'd be pissed righ? Duh.

To the Little Dude's eternal credit, he stays fairly calm in these moments. He's a 'low reactor' and has a long fuse, so I know if I step in and say "Don't be silly, stranger-guy, you're not going to keep our digger!" He'll be fine, and they'll hand his digger back. Though I would totally not blame him one little bit if he lost his shit. And after repeated experience with this little charade, he knows now that he's supposed to say, "No, you're not going to keep my digger!" With a sort of air of scoffing disbelief. At which point the joker protests a bit and then gives it back. 

But seriously, why do people do this? Is it a total lack of empathy? Do they really think its funny? I'm mostly confused by it, but have been noticing lately how often people do it. Its so weird. What do you think though? Do you see this often? Do tell. 

are your ready for this jelly?

I'm sorry about that post title, but I just couldn't help it. Because look what Hubs made:  Best. Grape. Jelly. Ever.

And the best part about it was that aside from the cost of the sugar, it was free! In fact he foraged the grapes himself. Hm. I'm not sure if thats the proper usage of the verb.

What I mean was, they are doing construction in our area, and down the road they pulled down all these houses and widened the road and are doing all this work, yada, yada, yada, and Hubs is a curious man, and likes to go and see what's going on. When he was little his parents would occasionally stop at construction sites after church on Sunday and let little Hubs and his siblings poke around and find bits of lumber and other stuff to make forts with. (I know, it was the '70s, people were a little more laisser faire about letting their children take risks) So he comes by that picking-up-random-bits and-pieces art aesthetic he's got goin' on honestly. Anyhow, he'd seen some wild grape vines at the edge of one of the construction sites, and took a couple of plastic bags with him the next time he went. And came home with two grocery bags bulging with wild grapes. Then he and my mom washed and picked them off all the stems and then he boiled them and squeezed out the juice and then got a recipe from my mom and next thing you know he made some really, really good jelly.    It is just a gorgeous colour. And so, so good on hot toast. Also, AMAZING with yoghurt. And excellent on ice cream (which practically goes without saying. After all, what's NOT good on ice cream. Oh wait. Liverwurst. I take that back)

He had so much juice that he made two batches, and then, bored of making jam he decided to try something else. Today, after a little advice from ye olde internet he decided to make wine. Or as he calls it 'Possum Wine'. Because apparently in the south the call wild grapes, 'Possum Grapes'. Also, 'Possum Wine' has that classy ring to it, that je ne sais quoi. I just can't wait to pair it with grilled squirrel and corn pone at our next barbeque. Mmmm, classy with a 'K'. Anyhow, it'll have to ferment for awhile, so you'll have to wait for a verdict on its, er, merits. 

But in the mean time, we are very much enjoying our jam.

I have more than one picture with a little hand in it like this. 

I finally relented and gave him the whole piece. That's the first bite.

And here's the last one. There was precious little time to get many other shots in between. He inhaled it. Suffice it to say that the three-year-old verdict on the jelly was two sticky thumbs up. 

He's not going to get a chance to pass judgment on the Possum Wine though. That'll be up to mama. 

finished quilt!

Look what else I've been doing (besides messing up my hair):  Ta-Daaaa! Another quilt finished. Its the one I made from this set of scraps that I got awhile ago. They are all from the same home decor set and manufacturer. I don't know who that is, but I can tell that they 'go together' because they are the same type/weight of fabric and style of printing.

It turned out rather well I think. It's another little play mat for the baby to roll around on. And roll he certainly does. Roll, scootch, squirm, roll and before I know it he's off the quilt and in hot pursuit of his brother's toys. Also, he appears to enjoy getting underneath furniture. I turn my back for a minute and he's under the coffee table, quite literally trying to chew the legs off it. Him and his two sharp little baby teeth. He reminds me of the baby character in the Series of Unfortunate Events books. If you've read them you'll know what I mean. Also, on a related note this makes me laugh.

Anyhow, I put in two layers of batting for this one to make it a little thicker and more mat-like, since its the one that we'll use in the kitchen dining room area, which is hardwood, so not as forgiving as the shag carpet upstairs. This way when he rolls over onto his noggin, there is less of a thud and more cushioning for his little baby brain pan. 

And as you can see above, I did a contrasting binding, which is not often the case for me, but in this instance I had run out of the khaki/stone coloured cotton I was using, and had to find an alternative. This nice green picks up the green patches in the quilt pretty well.   And works pretty well with the backing too. The backing is an old bedsheet from my stash that I thought was just perfect. But I'd already cut it up quite a bit, and had to frankenstien it together in order to get a big enough piece. 

Also, there was a rip right in the middle of the biggest piece, so I decided to patch it. I actually really like the aesthetic of patches, so I wasn't too bothered by it. I took a matching piece of the pattern from the edge of the sheet and its almost comical how different the colours are, since the middle of the sheet typically gets the most fading from wear and tear. But really, that's what I love about old bedsheets - the way they get worn and the variations. That and the way that they are all broken in and buttery soft. 

Anyhow, in terms of quilting I knew I'd rather take out my own gall bladder with a spoon than have to quilt through FOUR layers, even with a comparatively small quilt (it is 5 feet square) so as I sewed each square I used a layer of batting, cut to size as a founation for each block. Then, as I joined them together, I shadow quilted around each coloured square, as seen above. Then, to hold the four layers together I tied the quilt together, but instead of haveing the ties show on the front, I tied them so they showed on the back and used a yarn that matched my quilt solid, and threaded it through the corner of the quilted line. Which you can see if you look carefully in the above photo, top right hand corner of the quilted line. Its that one slightly thicker stitch. I did it that way because I'm really not crazy about the way the tied quilts look. And I didn't want the little ends of yarn as a design element in the front of my quilt. But you can't beat it for speed and effectiveness. Holds it together very nicely without breaking your back in the process. (you can see one of the ties in the picture that shows the patch on the backing fabric) 

Now, lets get on to more important things, like how cute the Baby looks on the quilt!

His styling here was kind of accidental. He was wearing his little drooler bib when I pulled this polo over his head, and the way they looked together, like he was wearing a cravat just killed me! It's how all the little old money aristocratic 6 month olds are wearing it these days. We've taken to calling him St John Rutherford Ponton-Hill the Third, when he's dressed like this. But his close friends call him Skip. (ps: St John is pronounced "Sin Jin". Just for you Brooklyn Codger)

But just to show that despite the poncy neck-wear, he's still a down to earth guy at heart he did his patented double roll-over maneuver and spit up all over the carpet. What a good boy, not to puke asparagus and avocado on mama's newly finished quilt. 

Then we went outside to give it an on-the-grass test drive. 

One of his very brief moments of restfulness.

And here his is relaxing with his Auntie Gwen. They have a lot in common these two. High energy levels. An appreciation of fruit. And he likes getting her kisses almost as much as she enjoys giving them; big wet smacks on the forehead every time they meet. Kindred spirits for certain. 

what's that smell.....

....I thought as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. It was Saturday morning, and I had a big day ahead. Both the Ukranian and the United Church were having rummage sales on the same morning. I was bound and determined to go to both. I'd slept a little late (7:40) as both L.D. and the Baby had taken a turn at waking me up during the night. The Baby likes to squirm/scootch his way up to the top of his crib and then I waken to the gentle, intermittent 'thunk...... thud....' as he bonks his head against his headboard. I like to get to him and return him to the bottom half of his crib mattress before he works his way into the upper corner and wakes scrunched up there at an odd angle and crying. Then, the Little Dude, has started waking up during the night to go to the bathroom. At which point he sits up and bed and calls "mama..... I NEEEEEEEEED yoooouuuuuuu! Daday.... pee pee on the POTAAAAAAAY" Until one of us goes and gets him. And I'll bet you can't guess who goes. Yeah, its usually me unless I get my elbows sharpened and in action and give Hubs a good jab, two or three times until he finally wakes up and then I have to explain to him why he's awake because he's all disoriented and groggy. ("L.D. needs to go to the potty. He wants YOU. Go before he wakes the baby!") Which reminds me, I don't know why they say 'sleeps like a baby' because a) anyone who's ever had a baby can tell you that long stretches of unbroken sleep is not most baby's strong suit at first. and b) it should be 'sleeps like a husband'. Because if there is anyone's sleeping abilities to envy, its the man of the house for sure. I hate to generalize/brag, but I'm awake and fully lucid and halfway down the hallway to a child's room in seconds during the night at the slightest noise and most of the time when I wake up, Hubs appears to be in a coma. He insists to the contrary; that my getting in and out of bed to tend to the boys disturbs his sleep terribly, (boo hoo) but then, I always ask, if you were awake, why didn't you get up? Hmmmm? I rest my case.

Oh, but I digress terribly, my point was, that on Saturday morning, groggy but determined, I went and took a shower. And after throwing on some decent clothes, and brushing my teeth I looked in the mirror and though, 'sheesh, that's some bad hair. The least I can do is slap it into a ponytail and straighten my bangs.' So I plugged in the flat iron, helped L.D. onto and off of the potty, and then took the hot straightener to my wet bangs and....

...burned the crap out of them. Yeah, that burning smell... that's the smell of my impatience and stupidity. Sigh. 

Its hard to see in this picture*, but see how its all frizzeldy and weird over on the right side? About a third of the bangs are burned, so that the texture will never be the same. It sort of shriveled up and got crispy. I went straight to the hairdresser, who cut off as much as she could without making me look like a lobotomy patient, and then wore a hat for the rest of the day. And I put mayonaise on them and vaseline on them and olive oil on them and anything else anyone suggested would rehydrate them and make them not look like dried grass. 

The next day I washed them and dried them and then carefully used the flat iron again, and they don't look ridiculous, (though they do stick out in a funny way, and definitely feel different from the rest of the hair) so I guess I'll survive. 

But I know what you really want to know. Yes, I did get to both the rummage sales and a random garage sale that I passed on the way home. So overall, the day was a success. You can see where my priorities are. 

*please note that in real life, both my eyes are the same size, although in pictures for some reason, my right one often looks slightly smaller than my left. Another reason I'll never be a model. Along with "I like eating", "plane travel sucks" and "the hours are ridiculous". 

eeeeuuuuwww

As Karen pointed out in the comments the other day, sometimes ugly is so ugly its pretty. And decay can be quite beautiful, or if not beautiful, at least fascinating. For example,look at what's happened to those puffballs.  No longer those pristine, white otherworldly globes, blooming from the forest floor. They are now in their full on putrid decay sporifying, er, glory. 

They don't normally get all torn up like this, but the Little Dude and Hubs had to poke at them with sticks. Ah, boys, they just can't leave a gross thing alone. 

Here's a less torn up view. Its quite amazing how many different textures and patterns and shades of brown and green and yellow are going on in this one organism.

The interior looks like a cross between old styrofoam and that last piece of sponge toffee that lingers at the bottom of your bag of Hallowe'en candy well into November. I'm quite torn about the fact that I want to know what the texture of this thing feels like, but at the same time am not at all eager to touch it. I don't really have the opportunity to anyhow, because whenever I see them I'm out for a walk with a little person who needs to hold my hand or a little person who needs to be carried, and so its not practical to get all spoored up. 

And not quite as gross, but still can be catergorized under the heading of 'compost' is the remainder of the Baby's lunch the other day.   Thats a still life composed of the remnants of a sweet potato, asparagus, egg yolks and watermelon. And really, it was quite beautiful, the way the colours blended and the sort of luminosity that the yellow of the yolks brought out in the pink of the watermelon. 

Ah, beauty is where you find it right. And if all this leave you scratching your head, just be glad that I did not take and post a picture of the Baby's perfect little poops floating in the toilet. Yep, after a bit of a stall with the ECing we are back at it with the great success of almost all poops happening in the actual grown up toilet. Just a simple flush and we are done. I can't tell you how happy I am about this. And if you are not a parent, its hard to explain to you how great it is to almost never have to clean smooshed up feces out of the back of your baby's shirt. Suffice it to say that its awesome. 

Hunh, I just reread that and there is a lot more fecal content in the post than I intended and I have half a mind to edit it out, but whatever; I blog about my kids and if there wasn't a little reference to crap now and again it'd just be ingenuine. 

quilt progress + inspiration

Remember that quilt I started working on awhile ago? Well, I've been steadily chipping away at it at nap time and during the evenings, gettin' er done. I had a brief stall when I was trying to get it to be something it's not. My point of departure for this one was a set of scraps that I got from a friend, and I made these free form blocks using one piece of scrap as the anchor for each block. When I ran out of scraps, I laid out my blocks to see what would happen. And it's turning out to be a nice, square, throw sized quilt/play mat. But I kept trying to see if I could stretch it into a twin sized bed covering. I hemmed and hawed about it for awhile, and it sat collecting dust. Finally, I realized I should just let it be what it is, or else it will sit, an infinished bunch of blocks that is nothing instead of something. I really try not to let too many unfinished objects sit around in my studio. After all, my free time is so precious that I don't like to put time into something and then not let it come to fruition. So I just finally bit the bullet and started to put it together. 

With this one I decided to do a modified Quilt As You Go method, where you foundation piece the patch pieces onto the batting, and then quilt them in smaller component chunks instead of having to quilt the whole thing. Which was quite a relief and a rather nice way to work. Also, I got to use up a lot of batting scrap that I had saved, which also is a good way to economize. All cotton batting is not as cheap as the polyester stuff. But so much nicer in terms of giving a lovely chewy old fashioned density to the finished quilt instead of the puffy 1970's loft that the polyester gives. Also, cotton batts give a much more pleasing drape to the finished quilt as well. 

When I'd finished sewing all the squares together, and then added some borders to it, I flipped it over in order to measure out the backing I would need, and I just had to take a picture because the back was so pleasing to see.
Actually, this is not technically the back, but more accurately the middle. I had scraps from two different brands of cotton batting, and these two shades of beige, along with the bits of khaki from the patches that are overlapped in the seams make a really pleasing composition and colour scheme. 

I had to take some pictures, because once the quilt is sandwiched together with the backing and bound to finish, this will never be visible again. And I really liked it. I makes me kind of want to make an all neutral, solid fabric patchwork quilt. Puts me in mind of this lovely pillow made by Sheila at Thought and Found. 

Also, this picture shows the quilting that I did as well as the seam lines. I just did an easy shadow quilting of the central patterned bit of each block. That way I did not have to do any marking. And it lends itself to a looser more improvisational look, which is what I was going for with this quilt. 

Also, I've been freaking out over the Missoni for Target collection (watch the commercial in that link, it gives you a good idea of the feel). I can't WAIT to get my hands on some of this. I'll need a couple of cardigans, some mugs, a whole set of towels (ours are as old as our marriage, and sadly, sadly threadbare) a bag, (natch) and there's even some baby clothes! The only thing that bums me out is that it seems that there are no sheet sets, and I really wanted some fun, zig-zaggy Missoni sheets, even if only to cut them up and make them into a quilt. P.S. I'm totally jealous of all you Americans who will get to go to an actual store and touch and feel and try this stuff on before you buy it. I'm going to have to shop it online (I kind of hate shopping online because you just can't ascertain fabric quality, not to mention accurate fit, from images of a computer screen) and get it sent to a friend in the States and then wait until CHRISTMAS to actually get my hands on it. But it'll be worth it!

I have an issue

The September Issue to be specific. I'm very excited about this. There was a time when I read a lot of fashion magazines. Now I don't quite read as many as I used to. I'm more focused on books these days. Parenting books. Historical Fiction (the good stuff, not the bodice ripper variety). Dickens. The occasional celebrity bio. Quilting References. So magazines have started to feel like, well, not frivolous exactly, but more like a luxury. I don't get as much reading time as I used to, so I like to use it to really read. But I do love the September Issue of Vogue. If I'm going to buy a fashmag, Vogue is my go-to. And the September Issue is always the biggest, juiciest one of the year.  Look at that! Like a big fat steak of fashion-y goodness! And as I mentioned yesterday, I love all the sweater-y, wool-y loveliness of fall fashion. It makes me nostalgic for the days of back to school shopping. Maybe I'll try to go out and hit the mall when the rush has died down and the sales are on. I haven't been to the mall since I went on Maternity Leave.

Anyhow, I'm rambling. The funny thing about this magazine is that I bought it TWO DAYS AGO and have yet to have a chance to crack into it. Sigh. It's a symptom of parenting. It's like the Cold Cup of Tea Syndrome, where I make a nice hot cup of tea, and inevitably find it, two hours later, sitting on a ledge somewhere stone cold and undrinkable. It happens to me multiple times a day. I just get distracted, and there is always someone needing to go to the potty, or needing a tractor toy found, or a load of laundry to be hung out on the line, or something like that. 

Mostly though, the reason I haven't read it yet is that I realize I have unrealistic plans for how I want to read it. Because I want to read it like I used to read magazines in my pre-parenting days. When I would sit down with a pristine new mag, a nice cup of tea and maybe a couple of cookies, and I would crack it open and page through it from cover to cover, marking pages that I especially liked, oohing and aahing and being inspired to make or shop or research. And really, I just have to accept the fact that its not going to happen that way anymore. I can still enjoy browsing through it, but it probably won't happen at so leisurely a pace, and I will have to do it piecemeal, a few pages here and there, and it will probably not be accompanied by tea, unless I manage to find a cold mug of it somewhere. But that's ok. Tomorrow I'll lay down on the playquilt next to the Baby, and let him come over and gnaw on the corner of it, while the Little Dude happily narrates his latest block building project from next to us on the coffee table. The pace of my magazine reading has changed, but the company has improved. 

shift + tomatoes

We woke up to a cold, cold morning that reminded us that summer is fleeting and fall is almost here. And I must admit, I kind of liked it. I know, I know, I should be mourning summer a little more. But you know what? I really hate feeling too hot, and I don't like mosquitos and a sweater and jeans is probably my favourite outfit (you know, after a 50's party dress, but I less opportunities for vintage these days).

Anyhow, we were not even up for a few minutes when the Little Dude insisted that we had to go outside, because "I can still see a little bit of red down there!" Translation: he wanted to pick tomatoes. So we went outside, where we found just a few tomatoes, but more importantly found a beautiful soft grey world, wet with dew and crisp and cool and devoid of mosquitos. I went and found my favourite sweater got some boots for both of us and headed outside. 

And then I took a million pictures of dew. 

You may have noticed this theme appearing in my pictures again and again, but there is something about water on greenery that is so damn beautiful that I can't help but whip out my camera. And do you see the size of that dew drop up above! And it was so crazy shiney, it almost looked fake. Like a big drag queen of a rhinestone. It was just nuts. We got a little cup and collected it and drank it, the Little Dude and I, because clearly the fairies left that one just for us. 
I know though, pictures of dew drops can start to look really screen saver cliché. One has to be careful.
Its not exactly original subject matter, but still, its like sunsets and sparkley ocean water and sunlit meadows. Cheesy, but what's not to like? Ok, bear with me, just one more.  All right, I'm done with dew. Now, on to tomatoes. 

Remember awhile back when I was all chuffed that we had two whole cherry tomatoes off our plant? Yeah, well, that was nuthin'!   We went out to the garden about the middle of last week and there were TWO baskets full like this. And then the added surprise of yellow tomatoes! I didn't even know we'd planted yellow tomatoes! (I know, we are officially bad gardeners) Though not so bad really, because look at all those tomatoes! Despite the weeds and the general neglect we still managed to eat a ton of spinach, arugula and basil this summer and now, TOMATOES APLENTY! We got two more baskets full yesterday. We're pretty pleased with ourselves, I must say. 

And the Little Dude LOVES to pick them. And eat them. In fact, you have to keep pretty close to him in the garden or else the best part of a nice tomato and feta salad is consumed well before lunch is even close.  His favourite thing about our homegrown cherry tomatoes is that they are bigger than the little grape tomatoes we usually buy at the grocery store, and so he like to lodge them in the side of his mouth and say "Feel my cheek! Feel my cheek!" At which point you have to pat the lump on the side of his face and pretend that you don't know what it is. Maybe there is something wrong? Maybe we should call the doctor! At which point he reveals that "its just a tomato!" And then we all laugh and feign great relief. 

Also, when you chomp down on them, if you don't close your mouth all the way, the squirt. Also hilarious. And the reason I have so much laundry to do. 

And speaking of tomatoes, get a load of this baby:     I know. Is that not the ugliest fracking tomato you've ever seen! (see Aunt Helen, that's what it looked like before it got all cut up into slices) Its not from my garden (I wish!) but the garden of a friend of my Dad's. Its an heirloom variety that looks ugly, but tastes really, really good. 

You'd never be able to sell this guy in a grocery store. People now seem to want all their fruit and vegetables completely uniform, no marks of visible diferences. Just complete homogeneous uniformity.  Which is why the tomatoes that you buy now are kind of tasteless. Because they are grown for looks not taste. I miss the markets I used to go to in Montreal, where there was always a plate of sliced tomatoes next to the tomatoes for sale. Because you should choose produce with your mouth not your eyes. Like the good farmer's daughter that I am, I always taste produce when possible. I never buy grapes without eating one. Berries too. I was in the produce department the other day, tasting the grapes, and this other lady gave me such a stink eye about it! Like I was stealing. But the nice old-school produce guy was there, and smiled at me. He knows you should taste the grapes. 

Theres a book about this whole homogeneous tomato thing called Tomatoland. Some nice little blurbs about it here and an actual review of it here. Did you know most, actually all of the tomatoes you buy (at least in the states) in big stores are picked green and hard as a rock to be shipped and then force-ripened with chemicals. Crazy. (That's the kind of thing that happens when everyone is convinced to choose produce with their eyes) But not this ugly mutha! It grew in the dirt and got ugly and reddish in the sun. We ate it, and it was good. We saved some of the seeds and we're going to try and plant them next year. And maybe we'll have some ugly delicious tomatoes of our own. 

and also, there were horses

A whole bunch of horses. At least four, but I was so busy taking pictures and making sure that the Little Dude did not try to pick up a goat and take it home that I didn't really count.   And these were not just horses for looking at, but horses for riding. 

Much to the joy of my niece, who got to ride this nice horse named Tinka. 

She even got to go a little bit faster than a walk. There's a proper name for it. A canter maybe? That sounds about right.

Her friend got a chance to ride too. 

I must admit, it did look like fun. I'm usually kind of the indoorsy type. As far as machines go, I'm far more interested in my sewing machine than any ATV or snowmobile. And whenever my Dad does persuade me to go for a ride on the ATV, and we get out into an open stretch of field and he says "do you want to go fast?" I always say "not particularly." But I will say that I can imagine myself high up on a horse, the trees rushing by us as we push into the wind. That'd be a worthwhile experience I think. But I had limited time on the farm that day (had to be home to feed the Baby by 11:00) so I missed my chance to get up on a horse. But maybe I'll do it another time. They say its never too late to learn. 

Its a little girl cliché, I know, but horses are just so darn pretty! Their coats are so shiney and beautifully bright. 

And they've got those big eyes and dance-y feet. 

My Dad was, of course, quite at home with them. He'd brought a package of carrots, so they were soon good friends. 

And there were a few other animals too.
A miniature horse, named Lady, I believe.

And a sweet little donkey. But she/he seemed a little shy. 

Speaking of shy, the Little Dude, while excited to see the horses, was not exactly running up to try and pet them, as he had done with the goats. And its easy to see why when you look at this picture.   This is what a horse looks like to a three-year-old. They are huge. 

HUGE! And their big noses look shiny and mucousy and weird from close up. And their big lips and teeth do unexpected things. In fact, I remember feeling overwhelmed a bit by horses when I was little. We had a couple of horses around when I was very small. They were gone before I was big enough to ride them by myself, but I can recall their large lumbering presences. 

I also remember with chagrin the time a family of boys came to visit our house when I was a little girl (7 or 8 years old maybe), and we went to look through the fence at the horses in the paddock. And even though I was being nice and let them have the carrots to feed the horses, they cruelly pulled my hat off and threw it over the fence and under the horses feet. I couldn't think of what else to do, except to go and get my hat back (It was winter, and I was supposed to wear a hat outside at all times. Little kid logic; not so great) and carefully sidled up to the horse who was standing directly over my hat. I managed to get the hat, but then before I could get away, the horse managed to back up and step right. onto. my. foot.
Did I mention horses are huge? And very, very heavy. But I'd been warned repeatedly about not spooking the horses and the danger of getting behind one and getting kicked, so despite the fact that it really, really hurt I did not make a peep, but just stood silent and red faced and bug eyed until the horse decided to shift her weight again and lifted up her hoof. And then I got the aitch out of there. And also, I cried. And also the boys laughed. And also, my hat might have had poop on it, and was definitely wet from the snow. Did I mention that I hated those boys. Because I did. 

But despite that early childhood trauma, I still like horses. Maybe I should add learning to ride a horse to the list of things I'd like to learn to do before I get too old. Along with dancing (ballet or flamenco maybe) and canning tomatoes, and sewing my own clothes. Dude, I just looked over that list, and apparently my end goal is to be a pioneer. Hunh. 

farm animals!

Man, there is so much going on around here lately, so much to blog about that I can hardly keep up. These last days of summer are getting packed to the gills, I tell you. 

So these photos are from last week, during the time that my niece and her friend were up to visit. My Dad told us that he'd met some more of their farming neighbors around their new home. He really likes to get to know the area, my Dad. He loves to learn the land and make plans and improvements. He's such a hands on practical farmer guy at heart. Part of their property is a field that they rent out to a farmer, and my Dad is always improving things; digging a ditch, draining a perpetually wet patch to make it farmable. I'm telling you, he's a man you want on your team when the apocalypse hits and we all have to go back to living off the land. You know, theoretically. 

Anyhow, the neighbors that he's met have a farm. A real farm; that is, a farm with animals. My Dad has been a farmer all my life, but he always had the boring kind of farm (no offense Dad) ie: the kind that does not have animals. Just acres and acres of vegetables. I remember we'd get so excited if even just a feral cat came to live in one of our barns. Which didn't happen often. Sigh. Such a sad childhood. 

But this farm is full of animals. Chockablock. Dad took my niece and her friend and the Little Dude over to meet them the day before, and they had a brief visit and were invited to come back the next day to visit again. So as soon as the Baby was in bed for his morning nap, we were off.   All seven of us (G-pa, me, L.D., my sister, my niece, her friend, my nephew) spread out over two ATV's (one had a trailer) with the Little Dude in his favourite place, up front, riding on the blue one with Grandpapa. (you can see his curly hair there over G's shoulder)

Between the corn field and the big row of poplars...

...and past more goldenrod than I ever knew existed (aha, that's why I feel like crap. I hate allergies) till we arrived at a paddock and some fenced in fields. 

The Little Dude was off the ATV like a shot. He'd been here the day before remember, so he knew what he'd see, and was all excitement. He ran ahead of me, curls bouncing in the sunlight, pausing every so often to shout back to me "Come! Come mommy! Come on!" With great urgency. We passed through a little tunnel of trees and saw a barn up ahead.   L.D. was making a bee-line for it, but Grandpapa, told him that we had to go up to the house and say hello to the neighbors first. He complied and headed up the driveway. 

Such a pretty house. We knocked on the door, and when it opened, out tumbled the most beautiful dog's you've ever seen. 

They have a whole pack of Samoyeds. I'm not quite sure how many (although I'm certain that my niece could tell me, along with all their names) but it seemed like at least a half dozen. And one of them had recently had puppies. (I didn't get time to see them that day, but do hope to get back and get a glimpse soon. But the Little Dude saw them and has mentioned them often since. He says there are 14 puppies and that one of them is named 'puppy-pup', though I'm fairly certain neither of those things are true) 

Though only two of them were saying 'hi' to us, I'm sure it would seem like a lot more if you are a little person. Luckily my sister was on hand to support L.D. as he met the dogs. They were very friendly and crazy soft. 

Eventually the dogs headed back into the house, and the farmers came out to introduce us to the rest of the animals.

Hello there!

Are you a little bit shy? That's alright. 

Just come on out of there when you feel ready. 

 These two little goats were probably the Little Dude's favourite animals. As far as temperment and speed goes, they are a good match for his energy. Dogs come on too strong for a toddler generally speaking, but goats- goats like to keep their distance for a little while, which is perfect. 

The black one is named Dominic. He is the more outgoing of the two, and likes to show off his mad stair climbing skillz. 

From his perch on the mounting block he was ready to make friends. 

I'm not sure what makes little goats so cute. Their pointy little hooves? The tiny horns?

Big goats are not nearly as cute. Probably because they are less bouncy maybe, and their horns are bigger. A little more intimidating perhaps. 

But little goats....  ...little goats are just the right size to feed out of your hands. Ever so fun. I'm not sure if you can make her out in this picture, but the other little goat was hiding under the stairs. She was a bit more timid. 

But so pretty, with her little bi-colour coat. Her name is Mirage. She wasn't as interested in being petted though. 

Luckily there were also barn cats.   Hello there kitteh!

Ah, you are not shy!

But look, the little goats have some big friends. Come back tomorrow and you'll get to see them too.