Thursday, January 22, 2015

Nothing beats picking up pecans in the back yard


            After days of gloomy, rainy weather, the sun came out over the weekend, reminding me how much I'd missed a baby-blue sky and the warmth of the sun.

            The grandchildren immediately headed outside after arriving, and my eldest noticed there were still pecans on the ground. We have a native pecan tree in the yard, and those limbs have put out quite a bounty this year.

            Last year, we sold the pecans she picked to the Bailey Brothers in Fulshear, and Kylie enjoyed receiving money she earned through hard work.

            Noticing all the pecans on the ground yesterday, she saw dollar signs again and we all got to work. We put a big plastic bucket near the tree and 3-year-old James and 2-year-old Katherine helped their big sister drop small pecans in the bucket.

            While we worked, we talked about our favorite pecan treats – pecan pie, pecan cookies and pecans sprinkled on ice cream.

            I'm not a farmer, but I wondered if the pecans on the ground were still good after all the rain we'd had. So I suggested we open a few.

            Kylie resisted, as every pecan out of the bucket was less money in her pocket, but she agreed after I told her we might be picking up bad pecans and all that work would be for nothing.

            I remembered how my family used to crack pecans, and I grabbed a couple of small hammers out of the kitchen junk drawer. With a gentle tap, tap, tap, we opened a few, and they were perfect.

            As we cracked the shells and pulled out honey-colored pecan pieces, I thought about the satisfaction that comes from harvesting and then eating something that grows in your own back yard. It's sad so few children these days have the opportunity to grow their own vegetables or eat the fruit from something they've picked with their own hands.

            I remember the truck garden we had in our back yard one year. My dad challenged each of his seven children with having their own row to plant, tend and harvest. My brother, Joey, won the contest, but we all enjoyed vegetables from that little backyard plat and learned we could grow what we wanted to eat.

            Last year, my son and his family made over two dozen jars of jam from blackberries they picked growing behind where they were living. Their children loved searching in the bushes for blackberries, learning valuable lessons about wearing rain boots and looking out for critters lurking in the leaves and branches.

            They were so proud when they presented me with their jars of jam, and that only comes from, literally, the fruits of one's labors.

            My grandchildren love visiting nearby Blessington Farms in Simonton. Owners Lynne and Dave Johnson live in Fulshear but drew upon their memories of farming in Iowa to turn some acreage into a delightful destination spot for children and adults alike.

            Visitors get a bucket when they arrive and can pick their own blueberries and strawberries right off the vine.

            Recently added is a catch-and-release fishing pond where children can experience the fun of catching a fish, getting their picture taken and then watching the fish swim away to be caught again another day.

            Year round, children can enjoy old-fashioned activities such as the hay maze, giant slides and a petting zoo with barnyard animals. For youngsters wondering what a real farm's like, nothing beats holding a gentle hen as she clucks on your lap or listening to a rooster announce his presence.

            Blessington Farms' website has up-to-date information about hours of operation, and, weather permitting, plans are to open the gates this Saturday. Note they're closed on Sundays.

            There's a great lesson to be learned when one harvests nature's bounty and there's no greater feeling of satisfaction than seeing a bucket filled with blueberries, strawberries or native pecans that you picked with your own hands.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.  

              

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