Bates Nut Farm

This Saturday the boys and I visited Bates Nut Farm in Valley Center, CA. It is about 45 minutes from where we live, without including getting lost (which I did). It was well worth the drive and I was glad to have taken my camera along. It was spectacular. This is a HUGE pumpkin patch with a variety of pumpkins to choose from, including the Big Macs you see in the picture. The farm seems more like a country fair with tractor hayrides, a straw maze, petting zoo and much more. This farm's emphasis feels more like harvest than 'spookiness' which is wonderful. We're teaching the boys to enjoy the season without embracing the themes of darkness, evil and death that our culture promotes. I seized the opportunity on this day to remind the boys that God, our creator, is a God of light, goodness, and life.  

The boys loved the maze, loved choosing a pumpkin of their own to bring home.

Visit the farm's website at www.batesnutfarm.biz/  :)  

Emotive Stick Figures

My six year old son, E, has found a new outlet for his emotions: stick figure sketches. E is a very expressive child. His mood is always intense.
When he's happy, he's dancing around, hugging, singing, giggling, laughing, making others laugh, jumping off couches, telling me he loves me.
When he's angry, he assumes a perpetual frown, he gives the silent treatment (or devises a worse way to punish you), he will refuse everything (he is un-bribeable) and he can stay this way for an extended period of time.
And, well, he's never quite anything in-between. Recently, he began drawing stick figures, all with something in common... they are all packed with emotion. Well, at least with as much emotion as a stick figure can capture. Here's a few:

This is Ethan, age six. He drew this happy self-portrait at school. He loves his teacher this year. She is firm and he is blossoming with the structure she provides.

"It is the fall. This is me jumping with my hair sticking up... weeee into the leaf pile" -Ethan

E drew this after completing his phonics computer lesson at home. He is the one working on the computer. I am on the couch (see my curly hair?). J is showing me his homework and I (on the couch) am upset that it is late and he still has not finished it. I have never looked this bad in a picture before.

This is J and dad on the couch and E standing nearby. My boys love spending time with their dad. Notice how E always draws himself larger than his older brother.

I found this one on E's bed while tucking him in at night. When he saw that I had discovered it, he snatched it from my hand and starting giggling and laughing mischievously. Yes, he looked just the way he does in his sketch. It was hilarious. It made me wonder what he was plotting as he drew it.

This is my favorite. It is a highlighter drawing of his school with the bell ringing. E is walking towards the school (see the arrow?). His mouth, in case you can't see it, is in a wide open yawn. (Double-click on picture to see enlarged image.)
"I am going to school and I am so sleepy. My feet aren't runny [don't feel like running] and the bell in the school is ringing." -Ethan
The day he drew this I had subbed at the middle school and had woken him an hour earlier than usual.

This is E arguing with his older brother. E is either aware of depth perception and his brother (crying) is in the background or E just perceives himself as bigger. When they argue, J, often ends up crying. E gets in trouble for picking on his older brother while J gets in trouble for not standing up to his younger brother. E drew this while in time-out- for this very offense.

Here, E drew his family. E is the one holding our pet parrot, Theodore. My hair is long and curly. J has sticky-up hair. E's hair is thin and limp. Dad has short hair. We all have big smiles :)

More Labor Day Weekend Trip Images

There are countless beautiful spots to visit in Yosemite. I think it's important to just choose one, take it in, and own it for the day. This picture definitely captures a 'carpe diem' moment. We pulled over on the side of the road, adjacent to the Merced River (in the valley) at an indistinct random location. There was no reasonable access to the river down its bank from the road above it. Yet we trekked down the slope, over rocks, to reach the water's edge, young children and all. Since it was hardly planned, the boys waded in the water in the shorts they happened to be wearing, they took off their t-shirts and we smothered them with sunscreen. Tere and I climbed down first and with help, climbed onto a huge boulder in the river for a picture. Everyone relaxed-- cellphone and watch-free. The recurring water ripples, eddies, and currents of the river seemed to have a time-warping effect. The perfect setting to seize the day. Soon, the men had their fishing lines in the water. They didn't catch a thing-- but don't you think E looks great trying?

Can you believe that we drove to San Francisco the Monday following that same weekend? It was our first time in the San Francisco. We drove across the Golden Gate Bridge, took many pictures, and had Clam Chowder at Pier 39. Yum-o. 
picture: Ethan w/ binoculars

I had to take a picture of the fields as we drove through the central valley... even if it could only be a drive-by picture. I am a would-be 4th generation farm worker. Would-be because I have never worked in the fields or any farm for that matter. My great grandfathers, grandparents, and father, however, did. 
My paternal grandmother worked in one of the field kitchens where farm workers were given meals while her father (my great-grandfather) worked in the field. This is where she met a young field hand, my grandfather. I often think about how she met him serving his food and how she continues to serve him food religiously three times a day to this day. She spends the majority of her day, each day, preparing meals, but you will never see her sit down to a meal. She eats standing in the kitchen, eating on the fly, as she keeps the warm tortillas coming. 
My maternal great grandfather was a migrant worker and temporarily came to work in the U.S. on a seasonal basis but never settled here. My maternal grandparents, as my paternal grandfather, came to work in the U.S. by way of the Bracero Program (legal importation of temporary contract laborers from Mexico to the United States).  Unlike, my great-grandparents however, they moved to the U.S. and raised their youngest children here. My parents were not among those younger children. They would immigrate here as adults. My father was a farm worker initially, but only a year or two, not his whole life as my grandparents before him.
I have childhood memories of staying with my paternal grandmother to keep her company, while my grandfather spent time away during the seasonal harvests. He'd return with boxes of grapes, large sacks of raisins and half a dozen or more watermelons.
I also have memories of visiting my maternal grandparents while they lived and worked in Delano, CA. My memory of it is extremely hyper-sensory. The feeling of my ears popping, plugging and un-plugging as we drove over the Sierra Mountains. The pungent smell of fertilizer, like rotten grass, when we pulled up to my grandparent's house and we first opened the car door. The inescapable dry heat of the day. The smell and flavors of the fruit that always seemed to sit around in boxes everywhere around their home. Memories of pulling cherries in a cherry orchard. We ate cherries until they made us sick that day. Memories of my grandfather sleeping on the living room floor and grabbing hold of my ankle (as a game) as I quickly walked by to avoid being caught by him.  
And then there's all the stories that my grandparents tell. Of crossing the border on foot. Of the different places they worked in, the various crops. The nostalgia they now feel, retired, and living in Mexico. Of the day that César Chávez died, of his funeral, of his good deeds. Of how so many who they knew have now died from various cancers, which some attribute to the toxins they were exposed to in the fields. (Okay, I'll try not to end on that note.)
There's a personal history that I embrace when I see these fields. 
I feel a combined sense of obligation and pride to narrate my grandparent's story of hard work, endurance, and survival-- to my sons, and to you :) But, perhaps in more detail, another time.