Applesauce Days: A Cautionary Tale

Once there was a mommy whose children loved applesauce. Every day the children would lift their angelic faces from the dinner table and say, "More applesauce, please." Of course the Mommy was delighted to fill her children's stomachs with the nourishing treat.

One day the mommy had a thought. "I can make applesauce myself. I know what I shall do! I will pick my own apples and make my own applesauce. In this manner, I shall feed my children in a most frugal and preservative free way."

Soon the apples hung heavy on the trees, and the mommy and her family went in one Accord (Honda) to the orchard to gather the bountiful harvest.

"My Dove," asked her husband, "how many bags shall I get to gather the apples?"

"I think three bags should be sufficient, Darling," she answered.

"But My Dumpling, are you certain?" questioned her husband. "I believe three large bags will hold quite a great quantity."

The mommy answered confidently, "That is precisely what I intend, Beloved."

The family was soon wandering amongst the trees filling their bags with ripe fruit. After a time, the bags were bulging, and the mommy declared that there was now a sufficient quantity of apples to make her sauce (60 pounds, to be precise.)

The mommy was soon ready to begin preparing her applesauce. Realizing that she had a great many apples and not wanting to spend too long in the process, she proceeded to her nearest non-electric goods store. There she valiantly fought her way through the throngs of Amish and senior citizen bus tour groups to emerge with the coveted apple peeler thingy. Her prize in hand, she returned home, put her children down for a nap and began to create the applesauce. Soon there were pots of apple slices simmering on the stove. The sweet stickiness of apple juice ran down from her peeler covering her countertop, and sides of the counters . . . and floor. All afternoon and into the evening she patiently cooked the apples and lovingly added cinnamon to one pot and strawberries to another.

When her husband returned from his labor, he observed, "Why Buttercup, your work has yielded a great supply of applesauce, and yet I perceive the apple bags are yet quite full."

The Mommy thanked her husband for his keen insight and proceeded to prepare the applesauce for storage in the ice box.

The following day, the mommy returned to her bags of apples, determined to transform the entire lot into sauce by the end of the day. She worked with great speed and once again produced much applesauce for storage. Likewise on the third day, the mommy again determined that she would finish her task and rid her kitchen of apples before the sun went down. As she worked, she spoke encouragement to the simmering apples that they might transform into golden sauce with greater haste.

"Die! Die, you stupid apples!" she chortled as she gently bludgeoned them with her potato masher.

On the evening of the third day, the apple bags were empty but for a few stray apples the mommy declared would be set aside for another purpose to be determined at a later date. In her ice box was a vast stockpile of applesauce. The mommy thought she had perhaps been just a tiny bit overambitious and determined to slightly reduce the quantity of apples harvested in the coming year (by several dozen pounds.) She knew her labor would be well rewarded though when receiving the praise of her grateful children.

The following day, during the noon-time meal, the mommy inquired, "Would my angelic children care to partake of the delicious applesauce that I have these so many days endeavored to create for your enjoyment?"

They answered without hesitation, "No, we want fruit snacks."

Meet Me In Wayne County

"Meet me in Wayne County . . .County,

Meet me at the fair.

Don't tell me that the cows are mooing anywhere but there."

Ok, so maybe Judy Garland would roll over in her grave to hear my version of "Meet Me In St. Louis," but the fair is such a big event around here, it seems like there should be a song about it.

The much anticipated event has once again come and gone. We made it to the fair twice in the last week. The first was Saturday night with the Lees. I took the kids again on Tuesday for stroller day. My dad met us over there after he finished some work, or "put some bad guys in jail," as Riley likes to say. As the kids get older, they seem to enjoy a wider variety of activities the fair has to offer. No trip is complete without partaking of the fine cuisine. There are so many healthy choices like deep fried corn dogs, deep fried cheesecake, and deep fried lard on a stick (I made that one up.) We love the french fries loaded with salt and vinegar. On Tuesday, when Riley was offered ice cream, she asked if she could have some more fries instead.

Colin is entering a trans-fat induced trance as he chows down on another helping of fries. That or he's people watching.Madeleine is trying to decide if taking a sip of her drink would prohibit her from eating any more fries.

In years past, the fair has been all about the animals. This year the rides edged out the sheep and chickens as the most favored attraction. Colin was absolutely fearless and wanted to do everything. Riley had fond memories of some of the rides from last year and wasn't about to be shown up by her little brother.

This had better be the only time I see Riley riding on the back of some guy's motorcycle. She was sooooo excited that she got to go on some of the rides with her buddy Ethan.

Both kids loved the roller coaster. Riley was a little reluctant to ride until she saw her friends Clair and Sophie get on.

This picture cracks me up because I have no idea who Riley is waving at. She looks like she's performing in a show and acknowledging the audience. The jet skis were very jerky, and the kids had fun throwing their heads around in an exaggerated fashion.

I used to love the scrambler when I was younger. I think I'm starting to show my age when I got dizzy just watching the kids spin around.

One ride was so fast, it left skid marks. Actually Colin got these crawling over the tires on the SUVs. That's grease all over his legs. He was pretty proud of his tracks and was annoyed when Mommy broke out the wet wipes.

There are always a few "fair couples" walking around. You just want to go up to them and say, "Hey, knock it off. I didn't come here to see some PDA and" . . . hey wait a minute, that my daughter!I just love the pygmy goats. I could have put this little guy in the stroller with Colin and taken him home. Jeff might not have appreciated that so he stayed at the fair (the goat, not Jeff.)

And now I will leave you with some Wayne County humor.