Oh Pioneers! Where's The Coffee?

For a Saturday, the alarm clock rang way too early.

Yawn!

Why was I in the shower before I'd even had a cup of coffee?

Why were we out of coffee? This morning, of all mornings? When I could have used the kick.

Why was N clanging on the doorbell, jangling on my raw, caffeine-deprived nerves, when she should have been at home sleeping?

Oh, yes. In a moment of insanity, we had volunteered to help with the quilting demonstration at Pioneer Days. Or rather, I volunteered us. I pointed out to N that she could have said no. But she has to be browbeaten into participating; she has a heart of gold and loves to help, but she dithers so much she makes me look decisive. So I have to bully her. She loves it.


She stands there wringing her hands, afraid she has woken the snoring ones.

"I tried knocking," she laments, "but you didn't answer! I was worried you might still be sleeping!" N worries a lot about stuff worrying isn't going to change.

"Shhhh! I'll be out in a jif!"

We wend our way across town, through the slowly waking world, to the nature center in the fields and woods where the Pioneer Days event is taking place.

We park and head towards the main clearing. Lots of modern pick-up trucks. But the people climbing out of them could be Amish, or stepping out of the past. There are bearded, aging hippies and women in long, calico dresses, Little House On The Prairie-style. The sun is climbing higher, and friendly "good mornings" ring out across the clearing.

We're wide awake now and glad we came. We join the other volunteers and prepare our display. We hang little quilts around our space and set out our little "quilt sandwiches" on our tables so children [and grownups] can try their hands at quilting. We thread a good supply of needles with colourful thread. We're ready when people start wandering in.

Children flock to the quilting demo.It's something they can take in their hands and DO. Even boys, some of whom are just as good, sometimes better than the girls! There are only six of us, so we're kept busy teaching, guiding, threading, untangling, rethreading, busy, busy. But we each get a chance to look around outside during a short lunch break.

These baskets are made by the lady in the picture:




Preparing apples for the apple cider press:





Weaving made from Spanish moss;




Some of Laura's friends:




Pine needle weaving:




Suzuki musicians......





Beeswax candles.....





Broom making........




Broom trimming......





Budding quilters......




Pioneer days shuttle.......






By four o'clock we were packing up, ready to leave.


N was moving slowly, tired and disoriented; in desperate need of a restorative cuppa. And worried now about how we'll find her car.

"Follow me," I command. And plunge into an opening in the bushes. She's tottering along, twenty feet behind me, not picking up speed.

"Oh Lord," she groans, "She's leading me into snake territory!"

"Have I ever been known to lead you into trouble, N?"

There's a derisive snort from behind. But she follows obediently . She knows that somebody knows where they're going, and it isn't her.

We emerge from the brush ten feet from her car.

Home James, and don't spare the horses!