In full swing

... with all the fabulousness of summer in Minnesota. We do an awful lot of compensating for long harsh winters by living outside as much as possible during summer. And we're manic gardeners.

Last week was unseasonably cold, so the promised trip to the waterpark never did arrive. But we did several playdates, flew kites, took long bike rides, and generally ran ourselves ragged. The highlight of the week: our annual pilgrimmage to pick blueberries at Rush River Produce, in Maiden Rock, Wisconsin. We wouldn't miss it for the world; sometimes we even go twice.

A little backstory:

The best part about my job in hospice was meeting patients and families and being entrusted with their stories. People generally die as they lived, so for some it is a very gracious and social time - and relationships are uniquely intense and very honest, in the shadow of limited time together. This whole dynamic was thrown off by my pregnancy and impending maternity leave; patients would joke about outlasting me just so they'd find out if their predictions were right... There is something especially compelling about pregnancy - the beginning - in the face of hospice dynamics. Patients and caregivers alike welcomed the distraction. Boundaries be damned; my belly got patted an awful lot.

We don't have favorite patients - or at least we're not supposed to. But I do have a top 10.

Frances was always the hostess with the mostess - from working at Bridgeman's for 30+ years, raising two wonderful daughters and most of their friends, zipping around in her flashy convertible, and being the heart and soul of her South Minneapolis neighborhood, on Minnehaha Parkway. This was attested to by the constant stream of visitors who came to pay respects to this remarkable woman but always left with the impression that they'd received so much more comfort in return than they'd been able to offer. My daughter was born a month before Frances' birthday - which pleased her immensely. I was invited to her birthday party, and her home was packed with folks to celebrate her. She still took time out to gurgle and coo at the baby - at one point getting down on the floor to be on eye level with the baby carrier. Not bad for 90.

Her decline started quickly after that, and one of my coworkers let me know that Frances had been sent to residential hospice because her time was near. I went to go see her, to say goodbye. She was a bit confused, and it felt like she had already started her journey away from us. She died a few days later.

In her sunny, welcoming kitchen there was a large picture of her daughter Terry in a glorious flower garden on her farm. Frances beamed when she talked about helping them during berry season, and her pride and joy in her grandsons. I worked pretty closely with Frances and her family; the whole team did. The first July after Frances' death, the chaplain Kath and nurse Lisa and I made our first pilgrimmage to the farm, with a 5 month old squalling Lily.

We drove along lovely Lake Pepin and up into the hills, where Rush River Produce sits at the end of the road. A lovely farmhouse, unbelievable gardens, and rolling hills of blueberries, currants, and raspberries made it a heaven on earth. Walking up to the fruit stand, daughter Terry sees us and comes running - hugs and tears all around. The connection with Frances' spirit was palpable through this vivacious, fabulous couple and their own bountiful Eden. And it remains so to this day, seven glorious summers later.

Do check them out at www.rushriverproduce.com; it's about an hour and a half drive from the Twin Cities. It takes a couple of hours to pick (and eat) so bring a picnic and bask in the gardens and the hospitality of the Cuddys. It's a family tradition.