I admit it. Today when I woke up, I was full of negative energy. I knew it right away. My body felt tired, I could sense the lingering stress in my shoulders, and I was still battling this perpetual runny nose. But I turned to find Henry tucked into the covers beside me (where he'd climbed in during the wee hours of the morning) and as I watched the sleepy intermittent flicker of his long eyelashes—I was reminded to put on a smile. It was berry-picking day after all.
We got going slowly, in true summer style, and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast followed by a marathon Play-Doh party. Sadie proudly sat in her booster seat (not without some token daredevil moves) and Henry made blue Play-Doh carrots that were quite life-like (aside from the color). I actually finished a full hot cup of coffee! Finally, though, we had to get dressed. It was after 10 a.m. and I feared the noon o’clock meltdown if we did not make it to the farm soon.
Of course, when I tried to organize everyone, things fell apart. Sadie ran around naked for fifteen minutes, slithering from my grasp like a snake every time I tried to dress her. [She’s unnaturally strong.] During our chase, Henry chose to lounge (also naked) on his bed and stare up at the ceiling, just contemplating life I suppose (or thinking about Cars 2, one or the other). Eventually, I had to nudge Socrates to get a move on … Once both Aiello children were clean, clothed and coiffed—and I was sufficiently exhausted—we got in the car and were on our way to Cider Hill Farm in Amesbury.
Cider Hill Farm is a special place. It sits on 145 acres of hills and valleys, 70 acres of which are used for growing fruits and vegetables. The family-owned-and-operated farm offers a Community Supported Agriculture program as well as an abundance of seasonal pick-your own produce, and a general store complete with the best cider donuts in/the/world. The Cider Hill crew also raises livestock and bees. It’s a place that’s always moving forward, always getting better and always working to provide the ideal family experience no matter the season.
As soon as you turn down the gravel road to Cider Hill, you see healthy, active farmland from all vantage points. It's texture for your eyes as they dart from symmetrical ground-level gardens to mid-level apple orchards to the tall trees that line the horizon. All in every shade of green imaginable. It’s like entering Oz … if Oz were located off Route 150 in Amesbury. Right in the center of the land is the general store, always bustling and artfully landscaped with the season’s best and most bountiful flowers. Today was no different. We parked the car, gathered ourselves and headed in to pick up our green strawberry cartons.
From the second we stepped into the store, though, chaos ensued. Henry went one way, following his nose to the cider donut bakery. Sadie went the other and was soon shoplifting already-picked strawberries from a display and trying to shove them in her mouth. So with one screaming child under my left arm, and one complaining child under my right, I did my best to get them to the counter, wait in line and pleasantly/calmly collect our cartons.
The strawberry fields at Cider Hill are a bit of hike, uphill no less. Truly, the Beatles were playing in my head. Okay, more like taunting me in my head. The walk is lovely, of course, but on this particular day it was somewhat grueling. The temperature was climbing. I had foolishly neglected to bring the stroller, or pull one of the farm’s wagons along for support. Henry wanted to stop at every small wonder of nature. Sadie for the first time in her life … wanted to be carried.
After what felt like a half-mile walk in the blazing sun, we arrived at the strawberries. The bright red berries poked out from under the lush green leaves and delicate white flowers, row after row between hay-laden foot paths. I showed Sadie how to pick a berry. She squealed with delight. Henry, an old pro at five, was already half-way down a row, picking at a good clip and announcing every berry he found as “the best berry ever.” I tried to get Sadie to leave the edge of the patch with me, but she was set on picking all the green and white berries she could to fill her carton.
Suddenly, I lost focus on the baby, the berries and the whole bit … because without even a warning buzz, I was being attacked by what I can only guess was a not-so-distant cousin of the greenhead fly—the bossy little species that show up on the beaches around mid-July. And bite. These fellas are not small, so you very clearly see them attach themselves to your body and just sink their teeth in. I was swatting, running, cursing. My pony tail was in disarray, I had dropped the berry carton. But the fly was relentless. (I’ve actually been scratching the bites on my arms and neck the entire time I’ve been typing.)
To escape, I had to rush-relocate our fun to the far reaches of the field, where, just as a friend had pointed out to me down at the general store, the best, brightest and biggest berries were hiding. I was able to forget the fly. Henry and I got pretty excited, lifting up leaf after leaf to find berries so red and enormous that they sometimes looked the size of three berries in one.
We’d gotten so caught up in fact that I neglected to keep a careful eye on Sadie. So when I finally skipped back to where she was sitting trading bites of berries for bites of the pretzels she’d brought—I discovered she was sampling all kinds of berries. Young tasteless green berries. Dirt-covered berries. Bug-ravaged berries. Berry hulls. Even the really unappealing berries (read: not even the bugs would eat these multi-colored treats). I dropped to my knees and pulled the carton away from her. She screamed at me in her usual furious babble while I sorted out the bruised and bitten berries. Then, I scooped her up once again and carried her along as we quickly filled the rest of our cartons with the berry boon we’d found.
When it came time to head back down and pay for the berries, I narrowed my eyes and stared down the long path to the store, wondering just how long it would take (and how painful it would be) to carry a baby, two full cartons of berries, a camera, a purse and a diaper bag all the way back. Then something amazing happened. Another mom noticed the worried look on my face and offered Henry and Sadie a ride back in her wagon with her daughter. I could have hugged her—in a really dramatic, tackling kind of way, too. All the negative energy that had been haunting me turned positive (even as I could feel and then see red strawberry guts and mud splayed in a circle on the knee of my pants). I was dirty, sweaty, tired, hungry, itchy but grateful—mostly grateful.
We made our way back talking about the kids and the farm. It was nice. Once we paid, we even got a chance to eat a few cider donuts and feed the handsome Red Star chickens in the shade of the coop. Turned out pretty great in the end. But I definitely learned a couple of important things today. Namely, when it comes to nature plus two kids, sometimes you need to tag team it. Also, don’t bring a hungry baby to the strawberry patch at lunch time.
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