Play Group Goes Apple-picking

     Wednesday was clear and cool, but sunny.  Perfect for picking apples, that most New England of traditions.  Since Idaho is almost as far from New England as you can get in the contiguous United States, both geographically and culturally-speaking, and since all the local apple orchards are more than a half hour away, inviting all sorts of bladder mishaps and hungry tummies and grouchy babies, Play Group picked apples at Tippy's house.
     New England's got nothin' on Tippy's house. (Tippy and her great-grandson, Ashton, are frequenters of Play Group). Managing to be comfy and elegant both, Tippy's place boasts a large backyard and apple tree laden with Red Delicious fruit.  The median age of Play Group is about 2 1/2, so we didn't use any ladders.  Which meant that the moms got a fairly intense tricep workout.

Most of us brought our own containers, ranging from the unusual to the quotidian.

  (After I caught up with Penny and Hazel at the gate, Penny, who is three, outsmarted me with her fabulous blue camera.)

     After picking apples for a bit, we found a sunny spot for some "Ants on a Log," or celery sticks filled with peanut butter and sprinkled with raisins.  Some people (like Cannon, 3) got really fierce with the celery.  Celery can be hard to munch, so sometimes you have to show it who's boss.

Rowan, abut 16 months, gave intricate displays of dexterity with the water and Dixie cups.

     

     Rowan's older brother, Killian, made off with a gallon jug of water and poured it all over the concrete driveway.  Like a herd of wild horses, the toddlers stampeded the puddle, stomping and chortling with glee.

      "Who dumped my water?!" I roared, making for Killian.  "Did you dump my water?!"

      "YES!" he shouted. "Ha-ha!  Ha-ha-ha!" And, grinning devilshly, as only a three-and-a-half year old can, he skillfully evaded my tickling fingers.  (Must be his red hair that makes Killian so rascally.  Sadly, I didn't get a photo of him.  I couldn't get him to sit still long enough.)

     "What about you! Did you dump my water?!" I asked Shar, 2 1/2.

     "YES!!" she shouted. Then she thought a moment, and said, "Oh. N-o-o-o-o-o." The tip of her nose and her cheeks were rosy from the fall air. 

     "Did you dump my water!?" I asked Flora, 16 months.  She looked at me like she had serious doubts about my mental stability.

Then she continued with her important work:

     "Clara! Did you dump my water!?"

     "Um-one dump water," Clara, 21 months, agreed, shrugging and turning her hands palms-up. "Mess.  Oh, mess," she lamented.

     "She didn't do it," Hazel said matter-of-factly.  Hazel is three, or "free," if you ask her. Her little face was very serious. 

     "And she didn't do it," Hazel continued, pointing to Flora. "And she didn't either," she said, pointing to Shar.  "He did it !!" Indignant and outraged, she pointed to Killian.

     By the end of the morning, Rachel, 2, had managed to keep her bucket completely empty (preferring to put apples in a grocery sack her mom held), and had successfully blocked the copious UV rays,

while Liam, 3, led his mother on several merry chases,

 and Clara found a new idol in Ashton, 4.

The next day, there were Tippy's delicious apples for lunch.