Potato Harvest - A Maine/Childhood Post

This time of year always makes me think about Potato Harvest.

IF you are not from Aroostook County & your school did not take a 3 week break to harvest potatoes, then let this blog post be an introduction for you, but you must, must dig deeper, (especially if you are a Mainer), (especially, especially if you are from "the County" & you somehow missed out on this rite of passage or your parent/grandparent/great-grandparent did & you want to know more).

First of all,
my Great-Grandpa Smith was a farmer.
my Grandpa Sjoberg was a farmer.

my Great Uncle Glenn was a farmer.
etc...

Before my Gram, (daughter of Great-Grandpa Smith & wife of Grandpa Sjoberg! - in other words, daughter of a farmer & wife of a farmer), passed away I was able to collect some information from her about her experience with the Potato Harvest & I have tucked away some thoughts about how I would like to share that someday.

Living on a dead-end dirt road with 8 other homes, (5 of them containing relatives), farming in general was just a way of life.  Our home lot was carved out of a pasture, so cows getting out & getting in the yard, or the garden, was a fairly "normal" thing.  (I understand it still is!  Right, Mom?)  This is not to say I paid attention to the details of farm life.  I wish that I had!  But it was as commonplace to my existence as our beautiful view of Mt. Katahdin or the fact that my mom would be making a homemade meal for dinner.

Maybe families do everywhere, but we had potatoes for dinner nearly every night.  My Grampie, being a small time farmer, had a stand at the end of the driveway, by the Calais Road, selling 10 lb. bags of taters through the honor system, with a tin can to collect the money.  I loved it when Grampie and I sat on the floor of the shop, and he would let me operate the tool that would twist the metal ties to close the bags of potatoes.  Or sometimes I would stamp the bags.

(photo credit to my big bro- Marvin Foster)

So my first Potato Harvest memories are just a fuzzy realization that it was happening.  That Mom was working for Uncle Glenn on the harvester and that there were a lot of dirty clothes & that is about all I knew.  A little bit older & I remember going to my Grampie Sjoberg's farm.  Too young to really pick but I guess old enough to not be too much of a nuisance!

This is a pic of my Uncle Paul, my mom's older brother.

Then, when I was old enough to pick potatoes for my Grampie, (my best guess is that I was about 7), Grampie took it pretty easy on me!  He would stop the tractor and help me shake the potatoes out of my weeds, (I hated fields like that!)  He would throw me candy from the tractor.  I even used a tiny-sized potato basekt.  It was a pretty sweet deal.  I'm so thankful to have those memories.  My Grampie died when I was about 12 years old.  I don't have clear memories of how often I picked for Grampie or how many years.  

What I remember most about picking for Grampie was the lunch breaks.  Nearly every field had a woodsy place which was of course handy for when you had to use the bathroom!  These woodsy places might have old cattle bones and old bottles but most certainly would have a lot of rocks.  Grandkids like Marvin & I & probably our parents did it too, would help pick the never-ending supply of rocks in fields.  Farmers like Grampie would dump the rocks in these woodsy places, which were sometimes in the middle of fields, and eventually they got to be quite the rock piles.  At lunch time we would all go to these rock piles & break out coolers full of all kinds of treats that would not normally have been in our lunches.  And I would observe Wes Kenney & think about what a cool boy he was, not yet knowing his brother would become my math teacher!  

I should add how this whole "Potato Harvest" thing worked.  At least how it worked when I was a kid.  From my "kid perspective" which may not be entirely accurate!  We started school in August & we went to school for about 5 weeks.  Then, we had a 3 week Potato Harvest break!  Now even if you were a picker, it would have been very unusual in Southern Aroostook to actually pick for 3 weeks.  So any way that you look at it, it was a vacation.  It was common for families to plan vacations to Florida during this time.  Other kids were in school and it was the off-season.  My family did that one year.

Potato Harvest provided an avenue to make some $.  We weren't from Portland where neighbors would pay you $15 to mow their postage-stamp lawn!  Sometimes my Gram would pay Pansie & I a few dollars each to mow her lawn.  Sometimes my Grampie would pay Marvin & I a dollar to pick rocks.  But for the most part, for a little kid, this was the only way to make some money.  And even as a big kid, Potato Harvest meant extra cash & time with kids from other schools & certainly a potato fight or two.

If you were 15, (I think this is correct), or older, (including my mom & many other adults), you could work for.... hourly pay....  wow!  This usually meant working on a potato harvester, but it could also mean working in a potato house or being one of the "cute older guys" who drove the barrel truck.

I grew up right up the road from my Great Uncle Glenn.  I absolutely did work for hourly pay when I got older.  I'm guessing we made about $5/hour, which would have been above minimum wage.  A potato harvester digs up the rows of potatoes & if you are on it, it is your job to get the rocks & rotten potatoes & anything else that doesn't belong off so that only the potatoes ready for storage & sale go into the truck.  There are breakdowns.  At least there were for any farmer I ever worked for.  It was not as physically hard work as picking was & you got paid more.  

Right up the road from my house was Uncle Glenn's potato house.  There were various holes in the floor that went to the basement for storage.  When it was empty Marvin & I liked to ride our bikes in it.  That is until a neighbor called my mom & told her how dangerous it was for us to be in there, we might fall down a hole!  (Clearly, clearly... not one of the "relative" neighbors!)  One year I remember desperately longing for a pink denim jean jacket.  I wanted to earn enough money to purchase it.  It was common to take a bi-annual trip to the big city of Bangor, Maine, (the other time would of course be during tournament week), to the big & daunting Bangor Mall for some shopping.  This particular year Glenn was filling the potato house, but also bagging up 50 lb. bags to sell.  I worked at the end of the conveyor belt bagging the 50 lb. bags & earned the $35 I needed to make my much-anticipated purchase!  

It wasn't without its hazards, as you may imagine.  Marvin got his foot caught in the machinery once and Joel did too.  In a non-harvest related accident, but an accident that took place during Potato Harvest, my 5 year old brother, Nathan, was riding in the back of the pick-up, (no seat belt laws 'til I was in 6th grade), coming home from Grampie's house & oh-so dirty from the potato field, and due to a freakish accident had the tip of his ear cut off.  

Now, if you were not old enough to make hourly pay or were not able to get a position doing so, you had the opportunity to PICK.  And I do believe that was the best experience of all!  In this case, a tractor pulls a digger which digs up 2 rows of potatoes at a time.  Unearths them, basically. 

Your job is to pick those potatoes!

I worked for Kenny Wilson.  Again, I'm not sure how many years, but at least a few.  I am curious if the farmers had to turn down pickers, because it is certainly true that if all the school children had wanted to pick, there would not have been enough spaces for them.  Some pickers came with parents and I probably felt the most sorry for them.  Potato picking was hard work and parents helped, but most likely they were also there to make sure that their child worked super hard.  However, let's admit it, I would do the same if I was that parent & my kids had the wonderful opportunity to pick.

Every picker got a packet of tickets with a unique number of them.  The farmer, or rather- usually the farmer's wife, wrote down the name & number so that they would know who to pay for each number.

During my time picking for the Wilsons, we earned $0.50 a barrel.  I wish I had a detail-oriented memory & could dredge up all kinds of details, such as how many barrels I could usually pick in a day.  But I can't.  I know that Wendy & Kerri Ivey usually took the prize for the most, by a long shot!  I'm guessing with my very fuzzy, vague memory on this subject, that I probably picked about 25 barrels a day.  

Every picker had a basket to use.  And now I have one of my own & I treasure it.

Some potato picking days were rained out & some were downright cold & some were sunny.  Some brought Uncle David & Aunt Susie with hot chocolate & all brought long johns & "old clothes" and boots & getting undressed on the porch because we were not going to wear those dirty clothes inside!  The potato field was a great leveler & allowed for excellent interaction between the so-totally-separate worlds of Hodgdon students & Houlton students!!

So the basic idea is that you arrive at the farm & are directed to the field.  You have toilet paper & thermoses of water & extra sweatshirts & a cooler of food that you may or may not have to share with your sibling who may or may not want to pick next to you and this may or may not be a pain come break time.  These items serve as excellent markers because sometime there aren't enough sticks or they get lost or don't show up well.

Potatoes are planted in nice long rows and your job is to estimate how long to make your section.  This is tricky & may vary depending on the field.  If you pick too long of a section, you are going to get behind.  And eventually you will get more behind.  And when breaks & lunch time comes around, you really can't stop picking because you are behind and need to catch up.  

Of course Rod didn't like to stop for breaks and would usually dig right on through breaks & lunch, much to the dismay of the pickers.

You don't want to make your section too short because you might get in trouble & after all, you are there to make some money & you aren't going to make any money if you aren't picking!  So, your section is marked with sticks or stuff and you now have your area to pick.  When the digger goes by you start at your marker & go to the other, filling up your basket.  It's best to pick standing up and bending over, but everyone gets tired and will end up on their knees for at least some of the time.  It certainly helps when those "cute older boys" stop and help!!  

When your basket is full you dump it into a barrel that you have put on your section.  Any kid worth their Aroostook County-stock knows how to go get a barrel, lift it up over their head & carry it over the rows to where you want to put it!  There are 2 shapes of barrels, I prefer the rounded ones, and I now have one of Grampie's on my porch.  However, it is imperative  that you make sure your barrel is in the correct row.  The barrel truck, (is that what it is called?) needs to be able to drive down the already-picked field & use it's big claw to pick up the barrels.  It can't do that if barrels are in every row, so your barrel must go every other.  

Once your barrel is full, (and again, this takes considerable work), you tag it with your ticket!  You have earned fifty cents!!  On to the next one...

Diggers break down & potato fights are instigated.  Relationships are strengthened & a strong work ethic is produced.  

I desperately wish there was a way to re-create this experience for my kids.  The culture & the hard, hard work.  This is why we take them on 22 mile hikes of the AT & why we help Micah trap muskrats.  The closest I can come up with is raking blueberries.  Now, to be clear, this out of shape Mommy has never raked blueberries!  But.  It is on my list & I have every intention of camping out, all nasty, and as a family raking blueberries together.  See, I would have been one of "those moms."  

Picking potatoes & the Potato Harvest are among my most cherished childhood memories.  I feel so, so lucky & blessed that this is my heritage.  

September 11 - A Wendy Post

September 11, 2013, this day, 12 years later.  I have struggled to know
what to express
how to express.

I have been puzzled all these years by my ongoing emotional response to 9/11.  It was not a personal tragedy for me.

Jerry Sittser says something like, "Tragedy expands the heart's capacity for compassion."

I respond emotionally for the attack on NYC, on businessmen & first responders.  I respond because our country was attacked.  I remember the uncertainty of what this all meant and what it would mean for the future.  I cry over each story explained, both victories, heroes, good endings & losses, sadness, death.  I ponder about how those big numbers of people who perished in each tower & in each plane crash are made up of individuals.  And how each individual has left behind a hurting family and hurting friends.  I consider the wars that we have entered since 9/11 & what they are really about & how compounded & complex is our nation's loss & ongoing grief.

We will never forget.
But what did it all mean?

One thing it meant is that a boy named James finished growing up & joined the Marines & fought in Afghanistan as a man impacted by 9/11, in a war directly tied to 9/11.  And that young man, James is now in heaven & I love his sister like she was my sister & I grieve for them all so.

And another young man from my little corner of the world, a beloved cousin to some of my cousins, younger boy from school whose house I passed on a daily basis, it meant that he too would move on to heaven.

And each time I pass his dear mom's house with the row of flags my eyes well up with tears.

When writing me a check today, someone asked me what the date was.
I surely know what the date is.  My son knows without me mentioning it, what today's date is and what it means.

I won't forget.

I was not looking for 9/11 videos b/c I burned myself out on that 2 years ago on the 10th anniversary.  However, without looking, I stumbled upon this one today.  It tells a story.  And I like stories.  It inspires.

http://www.upworthy.com/the-incredible-inspiration-one-man-gave-us-in-the-last-hour-of-his-life-9?c=fea

Knowing When to Do/Help and When Not to! ~A Parenting Post

Someone wise once said, "Never do for your kids what they can do for themselves."

It's a hard transition for us, as parents, and probably especially as moms!

These little ones come into this world needing us to do everything for them & they become our total world.
Throw into the mix 2 kids who are delayed & therefore need further help & more help than their peers...

Throw in today's generation of parents and our tendency to "over parent" and be "helicopter parents"...

... and you may find yourself doing far more for your child, (toddler or teen), than you should.

Sometimes we step in out of fear.

~Fear that the child will get hurt.

~Fear that the result won't be perfect.  Things might get messy!

~Fear about how less-than-perfect reflects on us.

This sends the message to the child that they can't do it. 

(Self esteem plummets.)

Obviously this ties very much into the lost art of allowing our children to fail.

Sometimes we over-step because we see our job as preparing our child for college, so of course they need 5 extra curricular activities per week in which they excel and of course they must have the best grades ever so I will "butt in" where I really, really should not.  Really, I believe, we are preparing our children to live godly lives, living in community, loving their friends & family & serving the Lord.  Yes, probably college too, but college is certainly not my end goal.  

Sometimes we step in because we want to control the outcome.  

It's easier when we do it.  It's faster.  It's better.  It makes us look better.

Same message:  I can't do it if I'm a child.  

Oh, am I every guilty of this!

~When our favorite Science guy asks my son a Q and I answer.  (What am I doing??)

~Tweaking their outfit choices to better reflect how I want them to look.  

~Reminding - "Don't forget your violin!"

                     "Dance class starts in 10 minutes!"

                     "Don't forget to make your bed!"

                     "Feed the rabbit!"

~Tying that shoe.  Cutting those veggies.  Helping with that Science Fair project.  

A dear teacher once told me that she can totally tell which kids do their own Science projects & which projects are essentially completed by the parents.  When one of her students clearly did the work by him/herself, she gives them a lot of extra praise.  After all, that is what is supposed to happen!

I wish I had a picture of a classic example of me doing this, in this case with my stepdaughter.  I do have a pic of a project she made for Science last year, in which we did not fall into the pit of "Let's help & make this the best project ever!!"

Anyway, back to my mistake.  One of many, I assure you!  It was "Drug Awareness" Week at D's school, or something like that.  Part of this was a poster contest.  Well, guess what?  She won!  Got a T-shirt & a water bottle & lotsa good stuff.  BUT... looking back, I really think map of the U.S. turned upside down w/ little statistics about drugs & the theme of how we can turn the U.S. upside down & change all these statistics...not D's idea.  my idea.  How shameful!

You know, it's hard to take pride in something you made, accomplished, did when you really didn't make, accomplish, do it.  And then we are getting back to that subject of true self esteem and self worth.  When we allow our child to do something themselves and we accept that & we do not send the message that it would be better if it were more perfect, more like Mom or Dad could do it, we are building up their security & self confidence.

Sometimes, my children make things that look like this:

And sometimes they make things that are really cool & look like this:

But guess what?  They take pride in what they have made!

Now, this is no slam on my dad, because he did what I asked him to do.  A few months ago I asked him to help Micah make a little dogsled.  He did and it is very cute.  

But Micah didn't really make that.

Now, there is a middle ground that is healthy between the unhealthy extremes of doing too much & un-parenting/doing too little.  We need to consider actual ability & learning readiness.  Maybe your child really, truly cannot unbuckle their seatbelt.  Or maybe emotionally your child really truly cannot handle a task.  There is a time to push and a time to let it go and help more.  Aren't we as adults this way too?  Some days I am on the top of the world and I feel like I can handle my day well.  Other days, having my husband help would mean the world to me because I am needier. 

Also, we are parents.  There are standards.  We strive for excellence.  It is certainly okay for us to tell our child how they can improve their performance on a chore.  We are parents.  We know our children.  I have had to push Micah to do a lot of things, because I know my son, and without that push he would stay right in the very, very middle of his comfort zone & never move!  

Mistakes are our teachers.  Noelle's violin teacher said this to us a lot.  The more I think about it the more I agree.  I have picked up two new hobbies this past year:  hiking & knitting.  Mistakes are our teachers.  When I fell on a slippery rock, by the side of the river I was crossing, it was an accident, but also a mistake.  

I made a mistake in judgement as to whether or not to take my hiking boots off & cross the river.  I didn't want to take the time or energy to take them off so I was searching for a place to cross on rocks.  Slippery rocks.  Ah, mistakes are our teachers.  I may fall again on a slippery rock, but I have learned my lesson about crossing rivers and changing footwear.  

I have made countless mistakes with my knitting.  I have ripped out whole projects & I have ripped out hours & hours & hours of my own work.  But mistakes are my teachers.  With knitting anyway, (although I wouldn't apply this to many things in life), I have seemingly needed to make those mistakes in order to understand the right way to do it.  

When Micah was 7 years old, almost 8, his dad gave him a Leatherman.  

Sure enough, he cut himself.  (Truthfully, this really didn't bother me.  I knew it was "good" for him.  Don't judge!)  We had talked to him about knife safety and shown him the right way to hold the knife.  We weren't just leaving him to his own devices.  He ignored the rule that we cut away from ourselves.  His first reaction was to put the knife away & tell me, with tears streaming down his face, that he was never going to use that knife again!  In time, he of course got it out and now, with much sharper knives, can skin a muskrat with skill.  Well, some skill anyway!

So in my mind, letting our kids fail is very tied to getting out of the way and knowing when to help and when not to!

Just last month I caught myself!  I am trying to be so mindful of this, but I did it again!

Noelle & I were at a doctor appointment.  Now, she is a healthy child, but she has also spent her fair share of time with various specialists, therapists, and doctors.  She currently has 7 prescriptions she uses every day, if you count the 2 ointments she has for eczema.  Anyway...

Her doctor asked what prescriptions she is currently taking.  What a perfect opportunity for me to keep my mouth shut & for Noelle to answer!  She is 12!  She can do this!  She probably doesn't know all the names -but she might - but she can certainly answer for herself!  But no- I butt right in and name off the medications.  About 1.5 seconds after I am done speaking, I realize what I have just done!  Whoops!

I refuse to be that parent- and this actually, really truly did happen when I worked at a hotel- who, when their child was in college, (so, really not a "child" right??), came in to get an application for their "child", called to check on that application, came to the interview...  

Please smack me on the head if I am headed down that road!  But it doesn't start when they leave high school.  It starts now.  

 So- resist the urge!- Let them carve their own pumpkins!  Yes, the pumpkins that other people are actually going to see.  

Shape them & guide them & teach them & nurture them & love them, but..

Wendy, are you listening?

Give them a safe place to fail.

Don't do something for them that they can do for themselves.

The Value of PLAY - even after early childhood! - A Parenting Post

“When we treat children's play as seriously as it deserves, we are helping them feel the joy that's to be found in the creative spirit. It's the things we play with and the people who help us play that make a great difference in our lives.” 
― Fred Rogers

Thank goodness for George School Children's Center in Newtown, PA, a Friends school where I worked for the three years prior to being pregnant with my first child & moving back to Maine!  The timing of my time there was perfect for preparing me for motherhood and the preschool years.  I learned about play-based learning & I then tried my best to duplicate that in my little home.  

Much can be said about the benefits of PLAY,

   how present-day kids don't get enough of it,

       how too-busy schedules & helicopter moms & electronics are taking kids away from free play.

Studies have been done & books have been written...  

I believe in PLAY!!  

Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood.

-Fred Rogers

Play regulates our behavior & gives us self esteem and it is the "work of childhood."

But sometimes we forget that the "big kids" need PLAY too.  

They need unstructured time.  

     Time to be bored.

           Time to explore & to create & to feel.

This afternoon was a beautiful example of PLAY, here, at our house, in spite of a rough start to the afternoon & some sibling quarrels & such...

The kids, (by the way - they are 10, 12 & 13 & not too old for play! - don't confuse innocence with immaturity!), so-the kids decided they would "make salads", a "game" they used to play a lot when they were younger.  Collect various things found outside & "make" a "salad".  Well, I must say, the plating has certainly become quite professional!!  At the end of making their salads, the kids wanted me to come and see and they wanted to present their dishes to me.  I asked Noelle what her inspiration was and she said, "Boredom!"  :)

 Micah collected all his items & wanted to show me what he had found.

Sometimes Clara needs to be shoved out of the way!  Or - sometimes Clara starts eating the salads!

 What a great idea!  Hollow out a cucumber!

 Play is serious work!

 Kind of a cool mushroom that Micah found.

At the point of me going back in to make dinner, this was Micah's dish.  He was done & the girls were far from done!  The salads kept evolving & evolving & much like on food shows, they gained ideas from each other!  I was surprised to see that Micah's dish now looked like this:

 D's beautiful dishes!!  

 13 year old D's "presentation"  Sweet!

 10 year old Micah's presentation.

 12 year old Noelle's presentation.

d

 Noelle's salad.  I broke the big rule of free play & I rushed her.  (If you have a Noelle, perhaps you will give me grace!)  I wanted us to eat dinner & I rushed her so she spilled her apple dish & kind of had to make do.

She's a minimalist!  

So that is play.

And that is nature.

And they are not too old.

And it was not about the product, (because they enjoyed chucking the salads - their idea - right       after they presented them!

It was about the creative process.

There is SO much to be learned through play.