Up here on Old Mission Peninsula, there are lots of orchards, and at this time of year their produce is sold from old-fashioned farm stands, weathered and sagging wooden barnlets of all sizes and shapes, but all including a shelf and an awning over it shading the offerings on view to those driving by. There’s always a big, crudely lettered sign, a sandwich board, letting folks know what’s in those baskets or bags on the shelf: “Peaches today $4/pint”, or apricots. Sweet Cherries are gone, and most of the blueberries. Tart cherries are yet to come, and apples and pears.
During peak times, and especially on tourist weekends, the farmers are
out there, selling their produce, and one or two cars are pulled in front of the stands almost all the time, coming and going. But on weekdays, or in the evening, the stands are always open, and there is a bucket there for the money. A trust bucket. It’s not a closed box with slot, it’s just an open bucket. We’re trusted; the fruit is available whenever we need it even if the farmers are doing something else. Before the sweet cherries, there were raspberries, and before them, rhubarb and before rhubarb, asparagus. Before asparagus, gee, I don’t think there was anything, except the warming air of spring and the smell of earth waking and inviting and promising. And after the apples and pears there will be frost, and the stands will be empty, except for the leaves, oak and cottonwood and maple, mostly, and eventually snow, snow, snow.
out there, selling their produce, and one or two cars are pulled in front of the stands almost all the time, coming and going. But on weekdays, or in the evening, the stands are always open, and there is a bucket there for the money. A trust bucket. It’s not a closed box with slot, it’s just an open bucket. We’re trusted; the fruit is available whenever we need it even if the farmers are doing something else. Before the sweet cherries, there were raspberries, and before them, rhubarb and before rhubarb, asparagus. Before asparagus, gee, I don’t think there was anything, except the warming air of spring and the smell of earth waking and inviting and promising. And after the apples and pears there will be frost, and the stands will be empty, except for the leaves, oak and cottonwood and maple, mostly, and eventually snow, snow, snow.
Waiting for the first sign “Asparagus $2/bunch” makes it all the tastier.
Free Lemonade Stand will dispense this product, as it has for the past three days: Anticipation. After writing daily for several months, I’ve realized that not all of what I write is blog-writing. The Howard Gray Good Samaritan model, for example, is a book that calls me to write, or at least a serious article. And so rather than confining my every morning writing to this blog, I will save this stand for the produce that you can pop into your mouth as you drive off, or put up as preserves to spread on your morning toast in the middle of winter.
So you won’t find something new here every day. I hope that anticipation won’t turn into disappointment. Three things you can do if it seems like the blog is letting you down:
- Use one of the new “subscribe to” features on the right at the top. It will send new posts to you, so you don’t have to drive by. If you subscribe by e-mail, you will receive any new posts in your e-mail when I post them. Or you can subscribe by RSS iff you know what that iss.
- Or use the “Trust Bucket” – the “Comments” frame at the end of every posting. It comes to me in my e-mail.
Speaking of the “Trust Bucket”, your comments do mean a lot to me. Like the farm stands sustain the farmers, your comments sustain me. I consider this blog to be an exchange of ideas, not a soap-box.
PEACE
John
FreeLemonadeStand by John J. Daniels is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
John,
ReplyDeleteThe selfish me says that I'm sorry I won't find something new here every day. But the grateful me will treasure whatever I do find, whenever I do find it...just as I treasure all that has come before. Many thanks.
Bill