Mary and I, and Copper the Wonder Poodle, moved 90 miles north of Spokane to a tiny waterfront town on the Pend Oreille River (that's pronounced Ponderay - it's a French thing.) The move has been a dream of ours for 16 years and last June we made it a reality.
Our dream home, only three blocks from the boat launch, is bigger than we ever thought we'd own, with lots of storage, enough bedrooms for a tidal wave of company, a large yard for Copper to roam, a white picket fence to keep him safe, a garage that fits both our cars AND Bob the Boat, two apple trees, and two pear trees.
The fruit trees excited us because we've always wanted a place with a tiny orchard. What we didn't count on, and what we're having trouble maintaining our excitement about, is the sheer volume of fruit coming off those things. We've spent almost every free moment the last three weeks picking, washing, cutting, slicing, dicing, cooking, pressing, juicing, freezing, and drying those things. Who knew that a good thing could be so much work?
This evening i stood at the counter slicing more pears for our dehydrator and grumbling about the size of our harvest. Suddenly, like a lightning bolt from Heaven, I understood why the Israelites grumbled when the Lord sent all the quail to them in the Wilderness. Not wanting to incur the same fate as the disgruntled Israelites, I changed my tune and began praising the Lord for his bounteous love.
Fruit growing in abundance in our own back yard, without any effort on our part - that's what God's love looks like in Metaline, Washington. Or, as we who live here call it, God's country.
