And Then There Were Three

Since I got off my story line in my last blog, I'm sure you wondering if Jim and I ever resolved the problem with my dad. I have to admit that it was Dad that made the first step by having my brother deliver a bushel of peaches to my door a few weeks later. Many nowadays don't even know how much a bushel is. It is a lot! Since few people can fruit anymore, they by fruit by the pound or, at most, a "lug" or peck. A bushel is four times that amount. My dad had a peach orchard so he graciously gave us free fruit to can each year and we were grateful. But this year in the heat of a Utah August, living in an upstairs apartment with no air conditioning, and being eight and half months pregnant I wasn't so grateful. I know he meant well, and I appreciated this sign of reconciliation but I could hardly face the idea of having to can all those peaches in the heat with two little toddlers running around. I wanted to cry. But instead, I called Dad and thanked him, trying very hard to sound sincere. Nothing was said about the problem we had had, and he never did apologize. I never suspected that he would because he had always been a proud man, needing to feel right in order to have the respect of his children. That would change in his later years. But for now we just decided to let bygones be bygones and move on.

I gave away as many peaches as I could to our landlady and to Jesse and Jean, but they only wanted enough to eat, not can. The words of my mother kept passing through my mind as I tried to find some excuse to just let the fruit sit and rot. "God expects us to use the resources he has provided for us wisely. Waste is not acceptable in His eyes." So I got out my canner, washed and sterilized dozens of bottles, filled the sink with boiling water to slip the skins off the peaches, and began cutting the fruit into the sugar water in each bottle. I don't remember how many quarts I filled that day, but it took "forever" as my canner would only hold seven quarts at a time. I do remember feeling so hot and so tired as I lifted that last seven quarts of peaches out of the steaming water that I just wanted to die. But I also remember the feeling of accomplishment as I looked at all those quarts of beautiful yellow fruit sitting on the counter the next day. I just left them there the rest of the week so I could admire them.

On September 11, another beautiful little girl was born into our family. Weighing in at eight and half pounds, this baby was definitely her Daddy's girl...black hair, dark skin (actually very red at first) and dark brown eyes. Jim insists that I apologized to him for having another girl, but I can't imagine my ever saying that. Neither of us had ever said that we hoped for a boy. And Jim really loved those two little girls. I knew he would fall in love with this one, too, as I had done the first time she was placed in my arms. I remember thinking to myself as I looked at her that I could put her in a cradle board, strap her to a "Squaw", and nobody would even question that she was and Indian baby.

Needless to say my life was a little crazy for a while with two in diapers. I knew I would have to get serious about potty training Debbie. She hadn't been too cooperative in the past, but now I was not going to give her a choice. Doing laundry became even more difficult trying to shuffle three children up and down all those stairs. I knew the first thing I was going to buy when Jim graduated in the spring and got a "real" job was an automatic washer. It was harder for me to get out of the house because I didn't have a stroller...only that "buggy". Jeanie and Debbie had to walk wherever we went, and that was hard for a two and three year-old. But we could now see the end of the tunnel with only one more semester to go. We were both ready for our school days to end and begin life with a "together" family.