And you know what? They did it.
Because the night before, I had threatened them with the gravest of punishments. I would attempt to wake them once. Just. Once. And if they failed to haul their fannies from their beds, I would let them sleep.
Harsh, huh?
Well, yeah, there's a little more to the story.
See, they'd been looking forward to meeting a new friend. We were going to spend the day making applesauce with Jill and her almost-ten-year-old daughter Miss-E, and we were to meet them at early-o'clock in the morning. And that required going to sleep instead of giggling. And that required serious threats. If they didn't tumble out of bed on my first attempt, they would sleep, and they would miss going to the orchard to meet with Jill and Miss-E.
So when I hollered, they responded. The Baby hopped up like a Pop Tart out of a toaster, and I only had to tell her to change clothes twice, given that it was 33 degrees and she was wearing shorts and sandals.
The drive was gorgeous, with a heavy fog filling all of the nooks and crannies of this sleepy 8,000 horse town.
It was delightful to spend the day with Jill, sharing lifestories like we were long-lost sisters, listening to the contented silence of little girls engrossed in Polly Pocket play. It was such a different and pleasant experience to spend the day in the kitchen with another woman, one who was competent and self-motivated, who was not shy to dive in and do what needed done. It was forever surprising to turn from a task only to turn back and see Jill finishing it, having picked up where I left off. When it came time for us to kick it into high gear so I could get to the evening's parent/teacher conference, I was sorry that the day was ending. I wish I could have someone like Jill around to keep me company in the kitchen every day.
We stopped long enough to harvest some basil, which Jill vigilantly plucked, washed, spun and stuffed into freezer bags and to enjoy a lunch of romaine salad, fettuccine with Alfredo sauce and fresh-pressed cider from the orchard.
When all was said and done, we had thirty-tree and a half quarts of cortland/grimes golden applesauce standing proudly on the wooden butcher block. When each one popped, Jill would say, "thank you!", a trick she'd passed on from the generation before her to her own children.
You know how they say that chopping wood warms you twice? Well, the same can be said for canning with a friend; first from the steaming heat of the water-bath canner, and the second time when you enjoy that yummy food and remember the day you shared with your canning buddy.
