This morning my friend Joe rolled in the parking lot in his huge F-350 and pulled a tall cardboard box out of the back. We knew he had a surprise. I looked in the box and knew I was right; two lionhead rabbits. “Make sure you feed them well,” he said. “So they make good rabbit stew.” He’s been teasing me about eating my rabbits for years, but I don’t mind, because last year when my Georgia was stolen one night Joe came home from the auction a few days later and handed two big (somewhat ugly) white rabbits into my arms because his heart’s just that big, just like his truck. I guess it’s to the point where he can’t help himself because I’ve got two more rabbits in the barn tonight. One is big and brown and looks like a lionhead cross with something else because it has ridiculously enormous ears like I’ve never seen. The other is petite and fluffy, white with chocolatey brown splotches and gorgeous brown eyes. I’m naming the new girls Clara and Lorie Darling, in keeping with the Lonesome Dove theme we’ve got going. They’re going to stay. At least, for now…I’ve got eleven bunnies in my little kingdom at this point, and feed isn’t exactly free, so we’ll see. (One thing I do know is next time I go to buy feed I’m going on a Saturday afternoon because that’s when the cute one works. And no I’m not a stalker. I just pay attention.)
Sadie and I went to a bonfire with our youth group friends last night. On the way there we stopped to get ice cream because we’ve gotten into that habit on Wednesday nights. (To answer your question, yes, we are addicted. Hey, it’s better than a lot of things.) However, some of you may know this, but it’s 90% impossible to drive 100% safely with a stick shift while you’re trying to maneuver a cup of ice cream and a spoon. For this reason I still had more than half of the large cup I had ordered left when we arrived at our destination…so Sadie and I, after parking the truck, sat there for several moments trying to finish our ice cream at lightning speed while we contemplated whether or not what we were doing was rude, or if it would be ruder to walk out and join the crowd with our cups of ice cream, or if we should call our mom and ask what to do. In the end we caved to feelings of embarrassment and I left what remained in the bottom of my cup in the truck. In the end it melted.
The bonfire was really fun though and we played mafia and I killed off my own sister because why not when you get the chance, right. (Also thanks Pastor Dave for unintentionally bombing my picture and making it look like the cover of a LoveInspired novel.)
Have you heard of the Strawberry Monster? It’s what happens when you run out of strawberries and you can’t pick them as fast as you’re selling them. It is in these desperate moments the Strawberry Monster will get you. (See also: Corn Monster. Coming late July.) Strawberries are stressful. That first morning last week when we drove over to the patch I was so excited, thinking I had the best job ever. I still think I have the best job ever (if you subtract the buckets and buckets of family drama…which that’s the thing, you can’t), but it’s not as easy as I thought. You’ve got to keep the customers happy, you’ve got to keep your mom happy, and you’ve got to keep the owners of the strawberry patch happy.
I love strawberries, but there will be some measure of relief when all we’re selling is stuff we’re growing ourselves. That way you can’t get kicked out of the patch. I’m not saying this has happened. I’m just saying.
The two little Amish boys at the strawberry patch are more precious than anything though. Joe, the older one, knows some English and often strikes up a conversation by calling out “HI!” as soon as we enter the scene at 7:30 every morning. The other day he and his brother came over to help me fill my baskets, throwing little white berries in, which I threw back out again when they had their backs turned. Their mother, Sarah, appeared in the kitchen window. “Are they bothering you?” And I’m like, are you kidding? Best part of my day is throwing away unripe strawberries and trying to understand Pennsylvania Dutch while two little straw-hatted angels tromp over the bushes in mud boots.
Peasall Sisters – Fate Texas
Mark Knopfler – The Car Was The One