Pickle on a stick

[vaneramos]

Brenna at St. Jacob's Market yesterday

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Two years ago I took Marian and Brenna to St. Jacob's Market, probably the largest farm market in Ontario. It features a big flea market in one building and food in the other: several long banks of meat counters, preserves, homemade fudge, peanut brittle, and an upstairs devoted to quilts and other crafts. In summer the flea market spills across acres of parking lot. It's a great place to buy cheap clothes: socks, jeans, work boots, underwear, leather. There will also be a long aisle of produce, though it's hard to tell what's local versus imported. St. Jacob's is located in Amish country, so there's a barn where the horses and buggies can be tied. They sell apples, pies and maple syrup.

Looking for a snack that day we came upon a booth selling doughnuts, the kind fried in hot oil then dipped in sugar and cinnamon before your eyes. Next door someone was selling giant dill pickles-on-a-stick, which caught Brenna's eye. I asked the girls whether they wanted a doughnut or a pickle. Marian and I wanted doughnuts, and Brenna decided to go along with us. She sometimes lacks assertiveness, so it's hard to understand what she's thinking. But as we walked away downing our doughnuts, I observed a look of regret cloud her face, like she had missed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Halfway along the row of vendors I said, "Brenna, you know you could have a pickle, too, if you want."

One of the delights of parenthood is to see a nine-year-old's face light up at something so simple. We went back for a pickle, and Bren spent the next hour savouring every last millimetre of it. Now she is 11 but has never forgotten it, so this weekend we went back. It was pickle Mecca.

In the car I heard a 14-year-old Aretha Franklin singing gospel in her church in Detroit in 1956. It happened to be taped after her father was finished preaching, and was aired on CBC's Say It With Music. Talk about a religious experience. One of the 20th Century's great vocal talents had already found her voice.

It is nice to have opportunities to spend time alone with each of my daughters. Marian has lost interest in visiting Wings of Paradise, the butterfly observatory in Cambridge, but Brenna wanted to return. That happened Friday. I was puzzled to find the butterflies less active than on our previous visits. The day was sunny enough. We usually visit on March Break; I suppose that made a difference. Even though conditions in the greenhouse are constant, the insects go through seasonal cycles. Different species are prevalent at different times of year. Nothing was particularly prevalent this week, and with fewer visitors on a regular weekday (apparently it was not a PD day for public schools) the staff were not in evidence to answer questions. The facility has steadily improved though, with more to see and learn. Definitely worth the $13 admission for one adult and one child.

We had Sylvie and Sarah over for dinner last night: roast chicken, potatoes, carrots and a salad brought by Sylvie. Dessert was apples and pear slices with warm caramel sauce. Brenna started bubbling and telling stories the moment my lesbian buddies arrived, and hardly stopped for a breath the next three hours. Sarah adores kids and chatted contentedly with Bren in the living room while Sylvie and I caught up in the kitchen.

"She's growing up," remarked Sylvie.

It's almost time for me to drive Brenna home, and I'm feeling how preciously short a weekend can be.