Cranberry Harvest Festival 2010 and a message.

 I took Carlie and Cricket to the Cranberry harvest Festival this past Saturday.
We had to park about a half a mile away from the enterance of the festival, at the edge of a cranberry bog.
It was actually a beautiful walk that I would have never have known existed otherwise. We walked to the festival through the bogs and down a winding dirt road through the woods.  It was a beautiful crisp clear day and we were but two of what seemed like HUNDREDS of people who wanted to enjoy the festival as well. The walk reminded me of some sort of pilgrimage.

Carlie and the big pig

Face Painting

warp speed crafting

The Festival is held on a bog here in town and the entire thing is contained in two tents. One containing crafts to buy and crafts for the children to participate in making...And the other was mainly food. It was nearly impossible to walk through either of these tents without getting hip checked, bumped into or pushed. It was rediculous. I think they underestimated the amount of people heading to this festival.   Carlie got her face painted, saw a big pig and made a construction paper cranberry scoop with some woman who was on warp speed mode...They taped a dum dum lolipop to the front of it, which time and again I watched  children finish the 3 second project with the warp speed lady, turn around, rip the lolipop off the craft they just completed (or actually was completed FOR them) and throw the thing in the nearest trash bin...seriously.    Once I finally gave up trying to see anything in the tents, (since each table was about 10 people deep)  I scopped up my dog under one arm, grabbed Carlie in the other and just shoved my way out of the tent.
 Carlie then decided she wanted a hot dog.  The line for the hot dogs was about 50 people long. Of course.  While standing in the line, I asked my daughter about 10 times if she was SURE she wanted a hot dog...I even tried to lure her away with the promise of a Happy meal...no dice. She wanted a hot dog.  The people behind me and in front of me kept making jokes about what if they were out of hot dogs by the time we got to the front of the line...My response was I would probably fling myself into the bog.  15 minutes of standing in line and it was our turn. Carlie  actually got the LAST HOT DOG!! That was close, although the man behind me was  a pretty good looking fire fighter, and had I been forced to fling myself into the bog, I would have probably been rescued by him...Maybe I should have fallen behind a couple of people in line...Oh well.   We bought the hot dog, got some ketchup on it and turned to find a place to eat. Carlie opened her mouth to take a bite and dropped the entire thing upside down on the ground. We both just stood there looking at it and then at each other. Carlie picked it up, wiped the obvious dirt off it and ate it. And I let her...because A.) You have to eat a pound of dirt in your life and B.) If she didn't, I would have...Because GOD DAMMIT I was not about to let that last hot do go to waste!
We decided to leave after that.
  We walked back to the truck and enjoyed talking with the people who were walking the same way. We met up with some that we knew, made fellow dog lover friends...and enjoyed the fall scenery along the way.  Just as I got to the truck, out of the corner of my eye I noticed what looked like a wallet laying in the grass. I walked over and grabbed it, noticing there was some paper sticking out and figuring someone dropped it out of their car as they were leaving. Once I got everyone secured in the truck, I took a good look at the wallet. It is a brand new Vera Bradley wallet and there was nothing inside except for a poem on warn paper tucked into the back pocket. This is what it said.

                      The Journey

                       -By Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew what you had to do, 

and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice-

though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles.

"Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. 

You knew what you had to do. 

Though the wind pried with it's stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their

 melancholy was terrible, it was already late enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little,

as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own,

that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world,

determined to do the only thing  you could do

-determined to save the only life that you could save.

I instantly thought that this was a message for me. Carlie asked me what it was, and my answer was "A message from my guardian angel". And I truly believe that that is what it is.
So I am going to keep this in my own wallet and make sure that I read it often. And when I get to the end of the road that I have recently turned onto, I will put the poem back into the wallet I found it in, and leave it for someone else to find.