The most bewildering of Claud’s recent attempts to tell us when we're "...ALL WRONG ABOUT EVERYTHING" was her
foot stamping, hands-on-hips huffing insistence that “APPLES COME FROM THE SUPERMARKET”. And this the 3 year old who knows her asparagus from her artichokes, and her hazelnuts from her walnuts. This irritant joined "THE DENTIST HURTS" (she loved the dentist who gave her a bunch of crocodile stickers and a cursory glance at her teeth) at the top of the list of the 'perils of kindy and the big-kid-gospel'. (great name for a band btw!).
Of little matter the apple tree in our garden; albeit elderly and poorly yielding of sour 'cookers'. “THAT'S A CLIMBING TREE. HUH”. Of larger matter that her father was raised in 'The fruit bowl ofCanterbury ’. “Right” he said, outraged, slamming down
his book to match her defiance, “WE'RE GOING TO MANDALA”. An escapee of Jamie Oliver defying Rotherham myself, I frogmarched her to the car.
Of little matter the apple tree in our garden; albeit elderly and poorly yielding of sour 'cookers'. “THAT'S A CLIMBING TREE. HUH”. Of larger matter that her father was raised in 'The fruit bowl of
The grass knee high, and bathed in slanting sun, the orchard was fairytale populated by greedy birds. Row
after row of stumpy trees sagged with rosy Pacific Rose
apples, unpicked, becoming pecked. Claud, full of wonder and hunger roamed, gorging on the go. Terry reminisced about his apple picking youth and lectured us on apple plucking technique, Fin on his shoulder squinting at the sun and the shadows. I chewed and salivated, plotting Loburn apples impaled on prunings, toffee dipped. You can take the girl out of Rotherham, but you can't entirely take Rotherham out of the girl.
I told a wide-eyed Claud the story of snow-white as the birds swooped and chased overhead, who choked on her apple because it was a rubbery on the outside/powdery on the inside cold-stored for goodness-knows-how-long, from-goodness-only-knows-where-in-the-world supermarket apple, who was saved only at the very last minute, by gasping out the magic words ..."...APPLES...GROW...ON...TREES...".
Parents 1 : Big-Kid Gospel 1
I told a wide-eyed Claud the story of snow-white as the birds swooped and chased overhead, who choked on her apple because it was a rubbery on the outside/powdery on the inside cold-stored for goodness-knows-how-long, from-goodness-only-knows-where-in-the-world supermarket apple, who was saved only at the very last minute, by gasping out the magic words ..."...APPLES...GROW...ON...TREES...".
Parents 1 : Big-Kid Gospel 1
