Thursday, June 19, 2008

The Neighborhood Grouch

Remember when you were a kid, there was an old lady in your neighborhood that never talked to you unless she was yelling?

"Get off my grass!"

"What are you kids doing?"

"If I catch your dog on my property one more time..."

I might have turned into that lady. I don't mind when kids come over to play when my kids are out with them, but when I catch a half dozen boys up the walnut tree...

"Everybody down! Go play in your own yard."

And last night, when I caught a bunch of them red handed, picking my under ripe strawberries...

"Get over here! Don't you toss that berry off in the bushes. I SAW you pick it."

The problem is two fold. One: what kind of parents are letting their kids play in my back yard without knowing where they are? If one of the kids falls out of the tree, I'm pretty sure that's my fault. Two: (here's where the grouch comes in) I planted those berries, I tended them, watered them, weeded them and have been watching for them to turn red. About 3 more days and the first ones will be ready for tasting. Or-at least-they would have been. Now I'll have to wait another week or so.

I think what I'm discovering is that, while I like to share, I like to do it on my own terms. If I give food to the neighbors, I want to pick it, bag it, and hand it over with a smile.

Is this a pineapple story, where I'm trying to hang onto something that really doesn't belong to me? Or am I just eager to enjoy the fruit of my labor?

6 comments:

Sandi said...

Patty -- I'm a justice kind of girl -- a rule follower - if something seems unfair, it really gets my feathers ruffled, so I'm sympathetic to your strawberries getting picked before you get a chance to do it yourself. I think that I would do something similar.

It makes me laugh to think of quiet you yelling at a bunch of neighborhood kids. I can totally understand your frustration.

Anonymous said...

MY childhood was very interesting I can't remember these days > nice words and memories

Papa John said...

Everyone wants to help the Little Red Hen eat her fresh, hot bread, but sneaking it out of the oven and gobbling it up selfishly before it is really ready is totally wrong.

I'd get used to chasing away "boys" anyway, considering the most important crop you and hubby are raising.

No one questions your generosity, but that still doesn't grant any privileges to poachers.

Kristi Weber said...

This is one of those times when I would think, "I've become my mother."

I once had a bird swoop down as I was walking to the garden and pluck a berry I had watched for days, anticipating the moment it would be ripe enough to pick.

On this day, I bought half a flat of wonderfully ripe berries picked fresh this morning, so I have much sympathy for you.

Linda Judd said...

Go get em', Patty! SOMEONE has to teach them right from wrong. And that was just plain wrong.

Mmmmm. Strawberries from the Pacific Northwest - fresh from the field! I miss them. Ours, at the grocery stores are tasteless in comparison.

Anonymous said...

We have a "neighborhood grouch" in Juneau, too... your younger brother... Today I had to hold him back from yelling at the kids across the street. They were "hitting the mailbox really hard"!

Dana