We're the Toughest of the Tough
After Puck simmered over the 102 mark, we tucked him down for the night.
“How do you feel, bud?”
“Good,” he nodded, tiredly.
An hour later, the fever broke in his sleep.
This is a pretty tough chap.
The Bear caught him eating corn chips under our bed at ten this morning.
So, yes, we stayed home from church anyway, for the just-in-case sake of dozens of parents and their young.
In the afternoon we took the little man apple picking. The whole family got shipped out in that tidy box we lovingly label “The Green Slug”, serenaded to the oldies tunes of Francis’ iPod…
“Who’s singing?” Rose griped. “Blahgck.”
The day was fine.
“Uh oh. Francis and Puck are sitting together…”
“We’ll be obedient,” Francis assured the van, wedged beside Puck in jeans, wellies, Krispy Kreme [not the rapper] sweatshirt, blinking jack-o-lantern necklace from Mom, and clip-on tie. “We promise.”
The air, cool.
“Shouldn’t we at least look up where we’re going before we start?” Mom asked, climbing in to co-pilot.
“Naw,” Dad replied. “We’ll just sniff our way there.”
I confess the smell of apples is a little intoxicating, especially at this time of year.
As the chugging beast took off, we discussed our various experiences riding horses in the past, this subject morphed into the strange old days of 4-H. Cake decorating, glass etching, horsemanship…
“So that’s what they do there…” The Bear mused. “That’s what they do at the lower levels. At the upper levels, they control the weather.”
We admired various views on the journey in the newly updated A/C of the van as Dad blasted around semi hairpin turns.
“Oh, these nice Sunday drives,” Mom groaned, as Dad gunned four tires on another zag.
“Just pulling some G’s,” Dad replied, unaffected.
“Is it the 23rd?” Rose asked absently. “Oh, right. Because it was the 21st two days ago…”
“High five for algebra and calculus,” The Bear congratulated her. “I knew I learned trigonometry for something.”
So we carried on past European hills and fields of goldenrod towards a new place on our roster of family events – Thierbach Farms in Marthasville, a small town once-devastated by the Great Flood of ’93.
We chugged in, realizing that the entire apple-picking Sunday mob suddenly found our monstrous entrance to be the most fascinating feature of the present landscape. As we emerged, Joe sketched in the dust of the green paint – The Joy Bus. Carrie quickly erased it.
We hopped the cranky tractor tote to the orchard across the highway. “Highway”. Jolting each other up and down the benches through the gullies we traversed.
The trees were thicker with yellow fruit the further back we walked. Half of us munched the juicy goodies in the company of thirsty bees while the boys bombed the fallen globes into mushy missiles down the grid. Carrie kept half an eye on the nearby territory for Sasquatches. And the boys slapped each other with sticks and punches as we waited for the return tractor.
When we returned, cold apple cider slushes awaited us.
Further back in from the country-countryside to the town-countryside, we found Philly’s Pizza. While Mom, The Bear, Francis, and I walked Puck to the quiet park across the sleepy street, everyone else scarfed down a basket of “possibly the best breadsticks in the world”, according to Carrie, without telling us about them… until they were all gone. Then came the pizzas in the form of bacon and sausage, which, I have to say, were some of the best slices of cheese, bread, and meat I have probably ever tasted.
We all penned our names or messages on the green wall behind our table with a black Sharpie and departed into the early evening for another scenic ride towards Weldon Spring. But not before Joe had sketched another “Joy Bus” on the back of the van before anyone could stop him.