Homestead Roundup

Two of the turkeys are toms. They stamp their turkey feet, spread their impressive tails, and show off. The hen just sort of peeps forlornly and wanders off. But really, the toms have faces that only a hen could love, I assume. They're not going to get more beautiful, either. I still kind of like them.

Hen face:

The middle Things are greatly enjoying their kung fu classes. I'd heard good things about this studio, in terms of the interaction between the instructors and students, and I'm a believer now. Enthusiastic, truly loving in the way they expect only the best from their students, and inspiring.

I watched one of the young instructors jump and throw a roundhouse kick above his head yesterday. And I thought, the way I do when I see dancers, "I wish my body could do that."

The kids want to get their hands on the weapons on the wall. I can only assume that they will, and you know? I'm pretty okay with it.

I declared a holiday from schoolwork on Tuesday and my sister and I went out to the berry patch for a soulful goodbye. It might not be our actual last picking, but the berries are showing signs of wear. The last hot spell turned many into dried out bits of former goodness, and the production cycle is slowing down -- not very many blossoms anymore.

But we got enough to finish off our season, and tried out some new recipes back at home. As I carried full boxes of jam downstairs, I felt a sense of bittersweet closure. As sure as the yoke for the Cobblestone sweater is growing, cold weather is coming and this years' fruit crop will end. But I can breathe in the sweetness that was this summer every time I open a jar.