When the Garden Goes South

It started innocent enough; longer strings of cool weather yielded a nice extended harvest of greens and spring crops. Then the wild ride began; heavy rain; flooding; sheer and tornado winds. Now repeat all of that in cycles for a few months and you have the current disaster that is my garden. :0


This shall be the summer of the snail. Continued damp conditions alternating with intense heat and humidity have opened the door to a diabolical army of slimy voracious snails. They are on everything: kale, green beans, tomatoes, and even the squash. I tried picking them, squishing them, feeding them to the ducks.. then there was some herbal chemical application; today we must accept it; the majority of the garden has gone south!


When you can't beat them- heat them. Beds that have become overrun to the point of no return are currently being pulled out, fed to the flocks, and covered for the rest of the season. It's time to solarize the soil and hope for the best next time.


Solarizing the beds offers the garden a chance to fight back as naturally as possible. Beds can be emptied then covered with a black or clear covering allowing the heat of summer to 'cook' the impurities out of the soil. This intense heat can kill out pests, their eggs, and weed seeds that have taken up residence in the bed.


In addition to solarizing, we are considering adding new beds to the area. This will increase our ability to rest and rotate more efficiently next season. The greenhouse is due for some attention as well; the outer cover is split and the doors are bowing from weather and wear. Maybe the decrease in garden needs will lend me time for that task.


Today I take a deep breath, straighten up tall, and remember that fall will be here before I know it. Cooler weather will bring a renewed hope for the beauty of growing things.


Maybe I can get some of my closets cleaned out too?

Sometimes....

Sometimes things just break. No matter how hard you feel you have been trying to do the right thing, it just keeps falling apart.

So when do you know it's time to walk away?

What effect will this have on other aspects of your life?

When do you accept it?

We easily see things from our point of view and struggle to see things from another's eyes.

How do we know when they are right?

What is the response to it?

Today.. it all falls.

Sometimes things just aren't okay,

and the right response just isn't obvious.

Sometimes,

you need a revelation.

A Walk in the Garden

Walking through the garden last night I tried to calm my mind; to find the peace that is lacking. I'm not good at stillness, but rather find busyness more my nature. Between the rows there were young hens picking at the fresh cut grasses, kittens poised for a chase, and dear Ben at my side wondering at my mood. My hand brushes over the herbs releasing their precious oils- I breathe deep in natural response to the action.


Eventually I found myself picking green beans- something I have been doing since I was old enough to know how; something I have done with my own children since they were old enough to be taught how. My mind wondered over the memories of how we did this together- a somewhat dreaded task. Mosquitoes hiding under the leaves pester us as we rush to find every hidden one before the sun sets. Talk of our day would ebb and flow to help us pass the time.


Stopping to stretch I realize it completely boggles my mind to think one of my children will be so far away in just a short time- in a place he really wasn't hoping to go. The military is like that though. His call challenged me as I respectfully tried to find ways to listen and yet lessen the hesitation he had. It will be and adventure for both of us; he will see a whole new world and I will find my new place in this one.


It is amazing how a walk in the garden allows you to sort through the 'boxes' in your heart- those places where we tuck things away so we don't have to deal with them at the time. Things will be okay. It will all work out. Life will move forward and a new adventure will begin.


Thank God for the garden!

A Mother Overlooked

For many, this weekend was filled with beautiful luncheons, dainty teas, and pretty pastel flowers. Some reflected sorrowfully over mothers long gone, or their own painful mother experiences. I propose there is another scenario often forgotten by the general consensus: the mother overlooked.

This woman is a busy woman. She is behind the scenes rushing about to get everything in order- everything in place. A program director, teacher, hostess of the day this woman has spent days- maybe even weeks- preparing for others to enjoy the gift and joy of their experience.

I celebrate this woman who drew no attention to herself and most likely received no recognition for her efforts. Today she goes on about her work, knowing full well that another holiday responsibility is just around the corner and if she is going to make it happen she needs to start preparing now.

Bless this dear soul in the shadows. May we look for her there and offer a sweet smile of acknowledgement for her humble and gentle strength.

Finding My Feet Again

Sometimes our best laid plans just don't make it.

That is how I sum up this year so far.

Empty nest. Wacky weather. Travel. Floods. Computer virus and one crashed. Full time job. Full time homestead.

I keep thinking, one of these days I am going to get it figured out.

That day hasn't arrived yet- but I'm working on it.

Right now- one computer is functional. The rain has stopped. Water has receded. Job is moving along at a varied pace. I am still alive and in the upright position.

Until you homestead without your children, you never really realize how much they did. It never occurred to me how well delegated responsibilities were until I stood at the feed storage area and saw empty bins! Who normally handles that? The past four months have been a crazy roller coaster of sink or swim- in which there were days I am pretty sure I drowned. Time to get it together! After all, my children would be ashamed of me making such a failure of this life we built together.

Today- I find my feet.

Plans are drawn and laid out- revisions and changes are on the horizon in an effort to streamline and conquer. The problem, I realize, is that I kept trying to do things the way we were doing them together...but we are not together! Time to take ownership of the mess and make it work for me. Once a week I will assess those feed storage bins and actually not run out!

There will still be gardens, and chickens, goats and a fussy donkey.

I will find the floor of the quilting room and once again let my creative juices out of their box.

Miss K and I will paint and plan and play.

My short arms and stubby legs will manage to start and work the push mower.

Meals will be made *I had no idea how hard it was to cook for one (my husband and I work different shifts).

As I find my footing, I tip my hat to all you wonderful farm girls out there who do this day in and day out.. alone.. with outside jobs... with that empty nest. You ladies rock!

May I learn from you!!!

Some how, some way this is all going to be okay.

Weekend Wilding

I am an outdoors soul with an intense need for sunshine and fresh air. While my job does afford me opportunity for outdoor exposure, some weeks do find me inside more than out. This week was hit and miss- and with the sun warming the soil, the ability to be inside was quite a strain! That is what weekend wilding is for!!

Friday finds me fidgeting and fussing for the five o'clock hour- that magical moment when I can strip off the constrictions of professional life and don the clothing only nature can appreciate. The emotional and mental strain of the week has drained my energy reserves bringing a need for immediate immersion in the wild world. My fast fix is a walk.. at the wooded park, among the gardens, or even along the country road I live on. Getting myself away from media, social mayhem, and the demands of bureaucracy is a number one priority and that walk kick starts the process.

From there, it is time to steep myself in the habits and happenings of homestead farming. Ben and I stroll the pastures and commune with the herds and flocks, catching up on the musings of the hens as they cackle their complaints about rations and roosters. We find ourselves in the garden breathing deep the fragrance of herb and soil all the while nibbling tasty bits of this and that. Settling in the outdoor chairs, warm coffee is sipped as Ben checks every nook and cranny for any naughty beastie, eventually settling himself at my side (or on my lap). Birds sing us into a soothing mood, offering gentle meditation in the presence of God's handiwork.

End of day finds me at the kitchen sink watching the sun set through the window. There is food to prep, dishes to tend, and laundry to sort, but the setting sun never looks the same twice so those things can be done as soon as darkness falls. This painting by God's hand is meant for us, yet so often we miss it. Weekends are for sunset watching.

It is true, there are a bounty of chores to be done on the weekend- especially in the spring..yet, there is also time for stopping to gaze up through the tree tops at the beauty of filtered sunlight. Time must be founds to nuzzle soft muzzles and scratch furry ears. Before I know it Monday will find me.. for now, my weekend intention is to steep myself in the beauty of wild things and breath in the wonder all of nature holds.

Getting Back to Me

Hello, my name is Michele. It has been over a month since my last post.

Already this year, this small life has had so many not so small changes. I'm not sure why these particular changes have been so challenging- change happens all the time. For some reason, this season of change tipped my bucket and set me off my course. 

Enough already. Enough letting things tip my scales and topple my blocks. It is time to get back to me- to the things that make me tick and push my drive; to the things that feed my soul giving me the charge to function. I have had enough moping and bemoaning the changes. 

Starting today I am getting back to...

                        

Teaching! I am an educator by nature and there is no way to hide from it- but I was trying. These days I have a full time job which offers me the opportunity to teach a wide range of beautiful souls a wide range of subjects I love. 

Cooking! Yes, my job involves cooking- but I mean the ebb and flow of taste and trial.. the experimentation of flavor, texture and color. Do you know how hard it is to cook when there is only one or two to feed?

The Barn Things! Little chirps and peeps- fuzzy baby goat noses- it has been far too long. There are two does ready to pop and I am very ready to cuddle me some babies!

Gardens! Three sad, neglected gardens long for love and spring is a great time to jump in. As the days get a bit longer, hopefully I will be able to rewild myself after hours with some much needed soil and garden therapy.

Sewing! So many empty rooms in my house are calling to me for useful rearranging, one of which is the sewing room. My fabric stash is overflowing- all I need is time/ My son is going to need a manly quilt to keep him warm when he finishes basic training.. and my grandbaby will need a bigger quilt to cuddle. I need to get busy!

Blogging- believe it or not, ,,my mind wanders over posts yet to be written, stories yet to be shared, and the many untold dramas that daily life holds. The only thing keeping me away from here has been me and my anxious, noxious self- pitifulness. Time to get over it.

Today is a new day in a new season of life. It is long past time to let go, leave behind, and move on. It is time to get back to me. Let's walk this path and see where the trail leads us. Come join me!

Sometimes He Just Gets Me



 

Shopping is not my forte; or my husbands. We absolutely would rather weed the garden than shop- especially during the holidays. Anyone getting this? Not only do we not shop, but - honey, we do not shop together. Last December found us outside our right minds, shopping together, in stores we never visit with each other.. like World Market.

 

He was rushing me to get the last of our shopping done before our get-together's got underway when I decided to bite the bullet and drag him through World Market for a few items I had in mind and couldn't find anywhere else. I had it in my head he would most likely sit in the car, circling the parking lot like he had at the last 'female-type store' we hit. He didn't. With a groan, we went in.

 

I am all for going to what you need and getting out the door, but he has a much more advanced condition known as 'get it and run." Meandering in a way that drives him to the nine degree of crazy found me gazing longingly at a whole section of beautiful mortar and pestles. I would surely be a real herbalist if I had a whole mess of mortar and pestles in my herbal kitchen. My mind drifted through barefoot fantasies of picking and snipping herbs; drying bunches all over the house; blending this and that in a mortar just the right size. Until he disrupted my daydream with 'are we done?'- uhg. He did offer to buy me one- but, one- how do you choose one? I declined. We left.

 

Much to my surprise every one of those mortar and pestles showed up in my kitchen the morning after Christmas. He had stayed later than the farm boy for their trip to the lease to sneak them onto the counter and leave me a note. Why? Because, every once in a while he just gets me.

 

It took me a less than a year to complete two herbal certifications, find a mentor, and start getting real about natural practices. Long before that one of our daughters built an herbal garden, which I took over after she moved to college- furthering my desire to study and practice. He was my constant reminder to study, test recipes, use them, and continue. The guy has tolerated my ramblings about what I learn and the shock that often comes from reading about modern medicine. Sometimes, he just gets me.    

 

There in my kitchen I stood speechless- not easy to do. I later learned he went and found that market place after his gym and before work the day after our outing. Hiding them, he had not wanted to give them in front of everyone, but save them- he knew what it would mean to me and that we wouldn't want this moment lost in the jumble. He knew how long it had been since one of us just 'got it' and did something totally irrational and out of character. He knew I would get it, too.

 

Every time those mortars catch my gaze I am reminded of that moment alone with them in the kitchen, when I remembered what drew me to him all those years ago, what keeps me grounded to him all these years later, and what gets us through everything life has handed us. Despite it all, I get him... and sometimes he gets me, too.  

What on Earth am I doing?

The garden is a hideous mess-

poor plants are struggling to produce amid the weeds.

Our house is undergoing some, well, purge-

less kids at home, less things we need, way less time to clean it.

Goats are growing-

does are producing-

babies are weaning.. the barn is a mess.

I sit on the floor, rather defeated and wonder-

what am I doing?

I am:

adjusting to changes

facing challenges

struggling to simplify

and

drowning in the process.

Anyone relate?

     I don't know about everyone else, but it seems I can't remember how it is that I use to get everything done? We have had all of these chores, closets, cabinets, and pantries for years- why can't I seem to get it together? Who knows. Maybe it's the lack of 'hands on deck' to assist with all the 'to-do's', or the fact I now live with two men (men use to having me home to do it). Maybe it is because I am working outside the home, but I always had other things to do. Maybe it's hormonal, empty nest syndrome, or getting 'older'- wait, nope.. I threatened to hit the next person who mentioned those things (note, punch self).

     You see, I sat in the middle of a disorganized mess this weekend and just lost it. I love my garden, herd, flock.. my herbals.. home made/hand made life. Yet, I love the kids that cross my path.. the parents that bump into me at the store.. sharing their stories and experiences.. challenging my creative chaos. I just don't yet know they fit together.

      Either way, this home is under renovation.. as is this blog.. this shop.. this terribly flawed life. I am under construction.. as is my routine, my schedule... my sanity (and my hormones). Yes, I will still homestead- still sew- still teach- still drive my family and coworkers insane. I'm just not sure how it is all going to fall together. Please bear with me as I dig up, clear out, hunker down and find my place.

Just a Chat

    Good afternoon, and how are you? Hot coffee or iced mint tea? Come sit and join me, won't you? In the whirlwind of such busyness I though we would just sit and have a chat. The last several weeks have seen fits of rain and an occasional thunderstorm, though today found us at 82 degrees. Can you believe it? Muggy and uncomfortable mosquito weather..that's what 82 is.

    It seems like month after month I ponder the flurry of days and hope the next month will be calmer; that hasn't happened yet. From Master Gardener classes, to internship..spring kidding and the rush of planting..its seems no end in sight. One activity passes and three more take its place; busy is what we are..plain busy.

     May brings with it the promise of summer; one daughter's birthday and another's graduation. Menus are written, invitations are sent..a few gatherings will happen here on the little homestead. Before the company arrives we hope to have some decluttering done near the barn and the stepping stone porch complete in the herb garden; we'll see about that.

     Quilting has been quite a challenge to work at..so many pressing issues outside. Warmer weather does give me time at middle of day to sit by a fan and work some stitches in. The Janome and I are becoming more familiar with each other churning out baby quilts for summer little ones. My poor hand quilting frame has been a bit neglected..the jungle baby quilt may never get finished.

      In the fury of such busy things we all must take the time to stop and ponder the coming and going of things. After all, my second child will leave the house soon and my youngest is starting to stretch his wings a bit. Part of my busyness is keeping my mind from aching over it. They were tots at my heels now they are teens with wheels. Can you believe I am the mother of a twenty year old?

      A blessing in it all..afternoons alone..just my husband and me. Time to reacquaint and find ourselves again. In the garden, in the barn, even the coop has been a place we chat and work side by side..something we don't often do. He even helped in my last quilt design..how wonderfully strange that was. A cup of coffee on the bench as we share ideas and plans..that has been a true gift in these busy days.

     Time gets away from me..I could truly visit with you all afternoon, but the goats are bellowing to be milked and no doubt Doc will call for me soon as well. It was such a nice little visit, don't you think. Maybe we can do this again sometime. 

Wondering in the Wind

   It has been such a long long time since the dancing of a windmill could be heard around here. I can't even recall the last time laundry wasn't hanging limp on the line. This past week was stirred with whipping, whirling winds carrying with them a slight nip of chill. Morning chores actually required a hat and gloves while glittery frost made an appearance on the empty corn field.
   Coming around the corner of the barn I was tackled by a gust of chill that nearly knocked me off my feet. I stood there smiling at the memory of prairie winds sneaking up on me from around a building. Those gusts would drag my hair right out of its braids and tangle it in knots that would plague me for a good hour..once my grandmother saw them. Winds that pushed and pulled at you while you trudged to the barn and tore the mail right out of your hands. Wild prairie winds whipped clean clothes from the line, sending us chasing them across the pasture. Winds that howled in the night sending chills down your spine.
    Here I stand wondering in the wind..wondering those wonderful days when the scariest thing known was the basement and grandma's evil cat. A sigh escapes me..how much I miss them all. Farm boy calls me from my wondering; he's desperately in need of some hearty breakfast. That's okay. The wind's visit isn't yet over leaving me many more days to stand and wonder.

It Has Been a Year

   One year ago my body changed and brought me to a place I had never been before. Pain brought with it nausea, migraines and weight that just would not leave. I went through doctors who refused to look past the weight to address the problem wanting only to dull the symptom and send me away. It has been a year since a doctor was found that truly listened.
   I have been on the path of ovarian/uterine tumors for a year now..medication, surgery, diet and exercise brought me to this day. There have been ups and downs on this path, but the path has not come to an end. It is time to face the doctor for another look at the situation..determine how we are doing after a year.
   With hesitation the appointment will be made for unfortunately my symptoms, which resurface on occasion, have not subsided this time. The classroom portion of my Master Gardener's course is nearly complete freeing up my schedule.
    Admittedly, I have put it off as much as possible hoping once again it would settle giving me relief; it may still. So here we are, one year later, hoping the diagnosis will be okay and the solution simple. It is so hard to believe it has been a year. 

A Drizzly Rainy No-Good Day

 

   Grey clouds shrouded the sun bringing drizzle and drear to this nippy Monday morning. I don't do drizzle and grey is not a color..it's a depressant. Zero energy left me in an ugly frump and I just don't have time for that.

    In an attempt to combat the bad weather blues I brought out some green- shamrock green. My free motion quilting project that had been glaring at me from the design wall finally had my attention. A practice sandwich went through the needle first; wiggly clovers were the motif for today. Machine quilting is not my thing, but I am learning..and I am getting more comfortable with it.

 

   Another item needing completion was a little pinwheel sampler. I made these blocks for practice..there was a prayer quilt to complete..this pattern and I needed to get acquainted. The extras were placed together and free motion quilted to practice my floral design. Each pinwheel has a flower swirling around it now.

  

   The family painter sent me a few water color samples to work with..our new family project- art quilts. Here I have ready for basting the cherry blossom tree- set to be quilted with some landscape, breeze swirls, and some accent bark and cherry blossoms. We'll see how it goes.

   Another gloom buster was a trip to my greenhouse; tending little seedlings is such good medicine. My poor critters were just as upset to have such a dreary day. Their calls from the stalls ensured we all heard their plight.
   Tomorrow is set to be just like today- a drizzly, rainy, no-good day, but I won't be home for most of it. Three more days of classroom instruction before the 'in garden' portion of my course starts. Maybe the images of beautiful growing colors will distract me from the dreariness outdoors.
    Hope you are all dry and warm..and able to find some brightness in your day.

Working Toward a Week's End

   Another week of classes down in history...one more week closer to completing my course. The change in routine has been a challenge, but this week was much easier than last..to my relief. Soil microbes, fertilizer and pesticide uses and organic gardening methods were the hot topics we dipped our toes in. My mind is on information overload..don't know how I will ever process all this information.
    At week ending we suffered an attack on the herd. Very little evidence left behind makes it quite difficult to determine the culprit. We are reviewing fences, housing and safety measures to prevent future incidents. Unfortunately, predators are part of life and this sort of thing not only happened, but will most likely happen again at one point or another.
    Preparations are under way for some future projects: Prairie Tots are coming together, two more Prairie Dolls are ready to list, two mini quilts are on the table. I have some outlines scribbled out for hand quilting posts as well as more serving topics.
    All this busy work has left me worn out and ready for a hearty day of rest. That said, I invite you to join Simply Jenn on her websight for some tasty treats and beautiful handwork. Hop on over to Simply Jenn for a glimpse at my daughter's new and improved inspirational blog.
   

The Reality Is...

   The reality is..we're sick. A nasty viral crud has hit our house and been joined by a secondary infection. Two doctor visits and a call to the vet left us with vaporizers, meds, and a strong need for nourishment. To bring health and comfort to my weak charges, hearty bone broth has been bubbling on the stove top..just what the doctor ordered.
    I have been asked several time how we make our broths and let me say it is ridiculously simple. Beef bones or a picked over chicken are the key players..set in a dry roasting pan and let work for an hour at 350 degrees. This gets the bones smokey and flavorful. Once done, they are placed in a stock pot or crock pot with plenty of garlic, onion, celery and carrot..a sliver of ginger root and horseradish root..one cayenne pepper..and a splash of apple cider vinegar. Left to work on its own for at least four hours and even better overnight, the minerals and nutrients meld with the tasty flavor of the vegetables for a hearty and quite nourishing treat. For added nutritional value add some carrot tops and herbs the last thirty minutes. We like thyme and parsley in bunches dropped in and let work until they are hardly recognizable.

    When it's time for soup, I strain the broth through a fine sieve or some cheese cloth. The hearty broth can be sipped as is to nourish when feverish or congested. For the hungry one in recovery, root vegetables and barley are simmered in until tender. In this week alone we have consumed three stock pots of this healthful warm comfort.

   On the in between, I have managed to steal a few moments at the design table to work a little on Prairie Tots. One tiny gal is almost ready..and has shown me a few flaws in my design. Notes were taken for next time to ease the work along. Hopefully she will be ready to see soon.

   There are also piles of flannel characters gracing my sewing tables. It's my turn to share a story with the children this week and it seems they have quite a heart for my flannel board...time to transition the box from the birth of Christ to his boyhood.

   Then there is June... the reality is..she just isn't making progress. She went from the lively goat in the picture to a frail and very weak baby and she just isn't improving. Consulting with the vet, we are working with her and some meds, but it doesn't look good. I feed her probiotics and bits of feed, holding her and soothing her.. she drinks fine, but just isn't getting going. We shall see.

   Right now, I plan to sip some warm tea myself and take some immune boosters in an attempt to stay healthy during this nasty touch of junk.

Slow Saturday...

   This week's preparing and gathering have left us in a fog..desperately in need of a slow day. Today, a bit of quilting and a little coffee sipping before another week of frenzy begins. Have a blessed and slow Saturday!

Of Apples & Orchards & A Favorite Recipe

   Apples..these crispy fruits and I have a long-standing relationship..we love each other. Beautiful memories are tucked away deep in my soul..of trips to the local orchard. Several miles from the big prairie farmhouse was a farm stand and orchard; trips were made their yearly for bushels and bushels of crisp, delicious apples...but apples were not the best part.
   There in the market, made right before your eyes, were the best apple cider slushes; oh the love. Standing there at the register waiting for the opportunity to order this amazing delicacy was simply torture; and my family knew it. Time and time again they waited until the last moment- often 'forgetting' the desired delight. Playful teasing nearly killed me as I yearned for the long awaited treat. The long ride home was so much more bearable with my sweet distraction.

   Once home from the orchard trip the farm kitchen filled with aunts and grandmothers all gathering to sort their goods and 'put up' the extra. Pie filling was my most remembered item- possibly the one I recall using the most...for the women in my family have a way with pies; well, most of the women in my family.

   Pie crust and I have a long-standing relationship as well..we despise each other. Years of my life have gone in to the desperate plight of beautiful, flaky crust. My mother can make a pie that looks straight out of a bakery window- I, on the other hand, barely manage a humble edge. It is a sad admittance, but my daughters make better pie crusts than I do. It probably has to do with patience and delicacy..of which I have very little.
   When it came to memories of delightful apple recipes, Apple Dumplings were one that just kept coming to mind. Due to the need for plenty of dough and rolling..I kept putting it off and ignoring the nagging need to conquer the beast. Today I yield...my family prayed as flour and Crisco scattered about the kitchen. Pie dough and I- we meet again.

Family Favorite Apple Dumplings

The crust:

2 cups flour

1 teaspoon salt

3/4 cups shortening 

1/4 cup ice water

The filling:

5 apples, peeled, chopped, cored

1/4 cup sugar

2 tablespoons cinnamon

Toss the salt with the flour before cutting in the shortening. Gently add only enough water for the dough to 'come together'. Wrap in plastic wrap and chill.

Prepare the apples and toss with cinnamon and sugar. 

Divide the dough into 5 portions. Roll one out in a circle (about 6 inches). Place approximately one cup of apple mixture in the center of the dough circle. Fold the edges around the filling to form a ball- I left the top open for venting. Place in a buttered 8" baking dish and repeat with remaining dough.

Butter the top of each crust and sprinkle with extra sugar.

Bake 350 degrees 50 minutes or until apples are tender and crust is gently browned.

   I survived the process, but my dumplings were anything but beautiful. As I groaned and struggled with the mound of dough, my husband determined that the emotion was one sided--the crust didn't feel a thing. I beg to differ-- the crust knows my plight and mocks me with its silence. Either way..

   My family payed no mind to the homely lumps, but devoured them vigorously..topped with ice cream. Farm boy had quite an interesting expression when I mentioned my father's favorite way to eat them- warm with milk poured over them. I never quite developed a taste for that..whipped cream is my accompaniment of choice. Despite their lack of beauty..none were left over at the end of the night..but a warning went out from where I sat--these will not be made on a regular basis. My war with pie crust is seasonal and rare!

  

In the Night

   Night time walks to the brooder draw me into the dark places where I generally dare not tread. Tonight I paused but a moment to breath deep the sounds of night: a frog in the distance, nearby crickets in chorus..the rusting sounds from stalls. Funny how the familiar changes in the dimness of moonlight. In this deep and strange moment my heart longed for home..and was reminded of the familiar unfamiliarness that comes in the night.
    Nightfall was always an eerie time on the wide open prairie. A silvery moon quickly seem to cast ghostly shadows stirred about by the howl of coyotes in the distance. Stillness crept over me and not even the faintest breeze would calm me.
   There in my bed the silence overwhelmed. I would strain to hear even a faint chirping cricket, but find none. A night like this found even Buffy, the Siamese cat, restless. The heaviness of the day's burdens carried over into a restless night. Slipping from my covers I would creep to the door and listen for signs of movement in the house. Ever so quietly my tip-toes traveled down the dark hall.
   In the kitchen I often found my grandfather sitting quietly at the table. The faint light of the oven revealed his face drawn and tired. Burdens of the day weight heavy on him in the night. With a ragged breath he spied me and offered his soft smile; an invite for me to join him.
   There in the night we sat alone in the big farm kitchen. Often on this sleepless night we share a late night treat; a favorite snack. Crunchy, salty crackers stacked with slices of hard cheese topped with the best part of all- tangy summer sausage. Together, in the deep dark of the night there were no words, just him and me and our late night treat putting to rest the heaviness of the day and the restlessness of the night.
   Nights like these I long for that familiar comfort- that time of quiet sharedness. Sitting here, in the dim light from my own kitchen, I miss peace that came as a child...peace from a loving soul...peace that came there in the night.

Laying Under the Table Dreaming...

   For some reason my mind just wouldn't stop wondering today; reminiscing days gone by. A walk through the garden did little to sway me, but instead made my yearnings stronger. I slipped off my boot and nestled my toes deep into the soft earth..just to connect to those 'little girl' days. Eyes closed I breathed deep the fall breeze and listed to life all around me as my mind traveled back...back to my prairie.

 

   It was a long standing battle between my grandmother and me whether or not shoes should remain on my feet. In my prairie home flip flops were just for swimming pools; tennis shoes or boots were made for farm feet. Yet, whenever my soul found its way near the soft fertile soils of home, temptation would get the best of me..and I would undoubtedly end up with dirt between my toes. 


   Basket loaded, shoes on my feet, I head away from the big farmhouse off to the far fields to find my grandfather. Over the dusty roads I ride as fast as my petals can turn..my hair tears free from binding braids as the sun warms my skin. The blue farm truck is spotted just ahead.
   I pull up to the truck and climb in the bed..stretching tall I have wildly with hope he sees me from the combine. Standing there my eyes close as I breathe deep the scent of the fields: rich nutrient dense soil, nutty stalks of grain, the heat and oil of massive farm machinery. Breath.
   My ears soak up the sound of birds singing from the tree lines..they're just waiting to swoop down on the grain fields. The combine's steady hum; its blades whirl over the stalks. Wind swishes and whirls scattering dust.
   Grandpa startles me from my wonder ready for the afternoon snacks I brought. The tailgate is lowered for us to sit together and share jars of iced tea and a melon fresh from the garden. His handy pocket knife swiftly slices the melon as he sends me to the cab of the truck for the pepper shaker. Never in all my days have I ever seen anyone ruin a melon like Grandpa....pepper scatters over his piece of melon like a blanket. My scrunchy expression makes him laugh - puts hair on you chest- well, that settles it for me...I don't want pepper or hair on my chest.
   Here in the fields we are free..free to spit melon seeds as far as we can...free to dangle our legs and swing them with reckless delight...free to giggle and chatter in the open prairie. Grandpa's eyes twinkle; his smile as big as the sky...he understands a farm girl.
   I shed my shoes hopping down from the tailgate. Jump and run and twirl with delight! Standing at the edge of the field I dig my toes deep into the soft cool earth..soil and sun...and earth between my toes!

There is where my heart kept going..there is where my mind could not keep from wondering..there, at the edge of the field. There is where I found myself as I lay under the table dreaming.

A Few of My Favorite Things

Luna moth caterpillars climbing on trees..

The crunch of leaves beneath my feet.

Warm cups of coffee

Beneath the blue sky..

Cackles and chirping from way up high.

The fresh aroma of warm bread..

My husband's chest under my head.

Little goat nuzzles..

and the bray of dear Doc.

The welcome of my covers at ten o'clock.

Have a blessed weekend.