Blueberry Picking

I can’t honestly remember the first time I went blueberry picking. Taking fruits and vegetables from a garden was something I knew all about from a very young age. I never took to it like some of my siblings, but growing things, and weeding, and seasons were never foreign. Not like some people (like my husband) who have grown up in a city (like Pittsburgh).

Not that Ed doesn’t know about growing things, and gardens, and seasons. He does. He just doesn’t have first hand experience. So, I started him small. We went strawberry picking in June. It was the end of the season and we had to hunt hard for the little berries, but he enjoyed it. So, I decided he could graduate up to blueberries.

Actually, I think blueberries are easier to pick than strawberries. No bending over and crawling. And this season has been amazing. We first went the start of July. We ended up with several pints after an hour or so of picking. Trained by my mother, I do like to freeze fruit and have it all year round. So, we met back up at the farm when he got off from work today to try again. I called ahead because it is nearly August and the season should be coming to an end. But, nobody told that to the blueberries. The bushes were covered with berries and not half of them were quite blue enough to pick yet. I don’t know if the season started late because of the cold winter or the cool, wet summer we’ve had is keeping the season going longer; but we picked several more pints today and it didn’t take half as long.

Next month, we’ll graduate to something we can do for months: apple picking. (I may need to purchase a small freezer…)

Ed picking blueberries.

My Dad

Not long after Ed and I were married and settled into our duplex, a robin couple decided the rafters of our porch would be a wonderful spot for their new home. They tried for several days to build a nest in different locations, long grass and other things falling down on our porch. We were pretty sure they wouldn’t manage to build anything on those narrow boards, but one day we came home and had new neighbors! For a while, it worked out fine. But now they have babies on the way and spend a lot more time in their little nest. Because of this, they are making a mess on our porch. Ed’s response: “Those birds have to go.” He sounded just like my dad…

Today my dad turns 60 years old. And he has been my dad for over 34 years. Before that, he was a little boy mentioned in the letters we recently found from my grandmother: “Little Joey is doing well in school,” “Joey is anxious for Christmas to arrive,” or “Joey likes sharing a room with his new baby sister.” Little Joey grew up to be a bigger Joey, playing high school football and dating Pat Ogilvie whom he would marry in 1977 after graduating from the United States Naval Academy the year before. After traveling the world on ships (not boats), he would be given shore duty in Newport, Rhode Island where his first child (me!) was born. After that, we just traveled the United States in cars, vans and trucks. As my mom always said, “You can take the man out of the Navy – but you can’t take the Navy out of the man.”

I have lots of memories of my dad. Where else would I have learned how to pin someone down in a wrestling match and count, shouting at the end, “I’m the winner!” (I mean, my three-year-old self must have pinned Dad’s shoulders down with all my brute strength, right?) Or to shout, “Go Navy! Beat Army!” with passion? Or how to cast a fishing line (off the front porch), blow bubbles with my gum, play checkers (I did break the rule, “Daddy always wins” and beat him once!), jump off the diving board before I was 2, pump up a bike tire, drive a stick-shift (and even though I cried through nearly every lesson, I’ve never owned an automatic), paint walls (with white paint, of course) or pump gas?

My dad was the man who read to me from my Bible story book every night before I went to bed. He led us in family prayers. He encouraged me in memorizing Bible verses before I could write my own name. He helped me win my first Bible. He also taught me the importance of tithing (and good stewardship of everything the Lord gives me). He took us to church every Sunday and Wednesday, plus almost every other day the church was open. And he continues to set an example of hard work, faithfulness in marriage and being a loving dad.

During our marriage counseling (over three-way phone calls since I was in Minnesota), Pastor Ben asked me about my family, especially my parents. I don’t remember exactly what I said. I know I didn’t say anything I wouldn’t normally say to anyone who asked, but when I finished he had only one comment, “Ed, you have a hard act to follow.” And maybe he does. Or maybe my dad just set the path my husband will now walk with me. I just know I’m now doubly blessed with two godly men in my life.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Memories of…Daniel!

I guess most people would remember when their first brother was born, especially one that was longed for since who knows when. But even though I was 6 ½ (and remember the births of the two sisters before with a few vivid scenes), my brother’s birth 28 years ago remains a bit foggy.

Maybe because one day – July 23, 1986 – he was just there. If I remember the story right, Mom had been to the doctor earlier in the day. She went back later and was induced. Then Joseph Daniel Sturm came along. And while I’m sure there was much fanfare when my dad discovered he finally had a son, I don’t even remember him coming home and telling Katey and me. You’d almost have to say I wasn’t impressed that I now had a brother.

And, honestly, Daniel and I never played together as Katey and he did. By the time he was of age to play, I had grown into books which left a gap in Katey’s fighting pirates from Swiss Family Robinson to be filled by Daniel. He was probably better at it, anyhow. I was more the playing school type.

Daniel was a funny kid. He went through a stage where he had to wink in every picture we ever had, giving him a kind of scrunched up look. I never met a kid who could get a whole crowd of adults to play tag just by running up to one of them, tapping them on the leg, shouting, “Tag! You’re it!” and dashing away. And when we lived in Connecticut, no one would ever get into his room – at least, not without a knife. He had yarn rigged up all over the place. Not to mention his dream of being Macgyver when he grew up.

In those ways he was different from me who had shut herself off from most of the world with a pile of books. But in other ways, we were two peas in a pod. Which is why we fought a lot. Mom said our fights went on forever because both of us had to have the last word. I’d like to say I’ve grown out of that problem, but I haven’t. Thankfully, Daniel’s too far away to fight with!

Right now, especially so. Daniel will celebrate his 28^th birthday in Jordan, serving our nation in the United States Marine Corp. And I am very proud of him and pray that the Lord will bless his day.

Memories

Last week my mom texted me that Uncle George had called her to say that Hiccups had died. It’s funny what memories one cat can bring back…

I suppose we decided once upon a time that if we had to move so often, then we needed to make it non-monotonous. I mean, there’s only so many times you can pack everything you own in brown boxes, put it on a huge truck, pack your own suitcase, load up in a car and everything arrives in a new state at a new home to be unpacked. And if having eight kids wouldn’t make it a bit more exciting, my parents thought we could have pets, too. Like fish, and turtles, and guinea pigs, and rabbits, and cats, and dogs. They drew a line at trying to put a horse in our van (although many siblings asked).

Sometimes you have to wonder if your parents love you very, very much or they’re just insane. When we move from Massachusetts to Texas in 1996, there’s probably good argument that the latter was true. After all, not many parents would load eight kids ages one to sixteen up in two cars with a Beagle, two rabbits, two cats and three kittens (fondly named Hiccups, A Midsummer’s Night Dream and Freckles). And my siblings can correct me if there weren’t more pets…it’s easy to get this move mixed up with the equally adventurous move back to New England three years later.

To add to the insanity, we decided to include within this a week-long conference in Knoxville, Tennessee and a brief stop to see family in Nashville before we actually made our way to Texas. (It was during this road trip that I had one of my training sessions on how to be a good wife. I was the navigator for Dad in the red, Nissan Stanza. This was in the days before GPS, Google and a smartphone. I used an atlas, TripTick from AAA and AAA’s travel books of all the states we went through. And so looking for a hotel in Memphis during greyhound racing season at ten at night proved to be a learning curve. Let’s just say I almost decided then and there that being a wife was not in my future.)

Among the many adventures of the Sturm family during this trip was a visit to a vet in Virginia (I think) for our Beagle’s horrendous cough. I nearly lost one cat who slipped the leash. There was a Basset Hound convention at one hotel with Basset Hounds dressed in every costume imaginable. Some of us got sick with a bug we decided to share. And never open a water bottle that uses a straw with coke in it. The stain never came out of the ceiling of the Stanza.

Yes, it all sounds like a good plot for a reality TV show…

Anyhow, we managed to survive the trip to Knoxville and somehow got through the exhausting conference (but not without the hours of choir practice giving me nightmares in my sleep every night). Then off we went to Nashville. It is very fuzzy to me now which uncle’s or aunt’s we stopped at for lunch, but everyone was there. And my cousin Rachel fell in love with the kittens who were just ready to leave their mother. She begged and pleaded with Uncle George for one…and in the end, Hiccups became a member of their family.

We went on to Texas, crossing the border in Texarkana with tears at the 100 degree drought in May. Three years later, we would give that trip a very promising sequel!

Pittsburgh in Pictures

Just thought I’d share a few pictures of my new city:

The fountain at “The Point”. This is where the three rivers (the Ohio, the Allegheny and the Monongahela) meet. It is also where Fort Pitt was built, the colonial defensive structure of the 1700s.

 

Heinz Field – where the Steelers play – from the Point.

The Incline – a fun way to get up to Mt. Washington (which overlooks the city). During the Industrial Age, they were used by the steel workers and miners to get things up and down the mountain. Now it’s a local and tourist thing, which I haven’t done yet.

Heinz Field at night from Mt. Washington. Just beyond that is PNC Park where the Pirates play.

The city at night from Mt. Washington. The camera doesn’t do it justice.

Fireworks!