On a fall September morning, I was working in the kitchen. I did a lot of canning in the early fall during our child-raising years. The valley where we lived contained many orchards, so I canned peaches, pears, applesauce, apple pie filling, apple butter, and berry jams. There’s nothing quite like opening a jar of luscious home-canned peaches in the middle of winter to take off the chill and remind us that summer will return.
While I worked, the children played happily in the front yard. Ours and the next-door neighbor’s homes were the only houses on our street with sidewalks. Our children loved to cycle, or pull the wagon, or make a train by attaching the wagon to a tricycle or bicycle, riding back and forth on the sidewalk. With the neighbor’s permission, they were allowed to execute u-turns in their driveway. I checked on them periodically through the front room window. This activity kept them busy for quite some time.
On one of my checks, I noticed a city police car slowly cruising down our street, the officer looking at our yard. During this time, my husband was in the process of building a new fence. In this small town of about 5,000 people, the police checked to see if building permits had been posted. A city employee was supposed to do this task, but it hadn’t happened yet. I figured the police officer was looking for the permit.
I went back into the kitchen to wash my sticky hands. By the time I returned to the front room, the police car was parked in front of our house. I went out the front door and turned left, heading to the new fence, but no officer. I turned around to observe all three of my children chatting in the driveway with the friendly policeman. I greeted him and asked if I could help him with something.
He proceeded to tell me that an anonymous complaint had been received that my children were running wild in the street during school hours. I explained that they weren’t in the street, that they know to stay on the sidewalk and driveway. I also explained that we homeschool our children, so we are not on the same schedule as the public elementary school, (which was located at the end of our street). He listened attentively and then said,
“I understand, ma’am.”
“You do?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I was homeschooled.”
Just in case you have the impression that Arizona is all desert, I leave you with a photo taken on Mt. Lemmon, which is the tallest peak of the Santa Catalina Mountains.