Evolution

This morning Thomas and I drove to Odessa.  He had an evaluation.  I had an eye doctor visit.  I also had a list for Sam's a mile long.  And a motor that wasn't quite perfect that had to be returned. 

A few years ago, I walked out of Sam's Club in Roanoke and swore I would never cross that threshold again.  I was disgusted by the box store.  At the time we were raising our meat, our dairy, our fruits and veggies, milling grain and baking breads, and bartering for soap and wine and coffee. 

I felt privileged and lucky to throw away my Sam's card.  I felt a bit superior.  Special.  As if I were a part of the REAL club. 

Well.  Just like the rabbit in Winnie the Pooh, I am a bit humbled.  A bit put in my place.

I got a new Sam's Club card a few months ago.  It has my picture on it. 

I typically drive the two and a half hour drive to Midland/Odessa once a month, whether I wish to or not.  A combined population of over 200,000 people, with all the stuff that tiny towns like Alpine do not have, like specialty doctors and specialty equipment.

And when I do, I grab the card, the great big cart, and go shop.

True confession:  last month the girls and I were on a mission to buy parts for the broken down mill.  We ran into Sam's to get the laundry detergent, dish detergent, dog food and yeast.  We had to pass by the electronics section to get to the good stuff.  As we passed by the tv's, I thought about the Christmas gift from Judith and Ned.  We used part of it to buy needed clothing for kids, and a pair of shiny red high-heeled shoes for me.  But the other part was being held aside for us to go horseback riding at Big Bend Ranch State Park.  However, everytime I called the park to schedule our ride, we were unable to sign up.  The drought means that the price of hay is exhorbitant, so the horses are out to pasture (well, out to desert) and are not being saddled up for tours.

When we wished to watch a family movie, we would huddle on the futon, (thanks, Terri!) and crowd around, kids on laps, elbows in ribs, to try to watch a dvd on my tiny laptop.  Great for family togetherness.  Sort of.  But when I suggested the kids invite friends over to watch a dvd, they would decline, saying it was just too crowded. 

Seeing those tvs drew me in like a magnet.  With all the other problems that were unfixable, they seemed like a beacon.  One thing I could offer. 

We conferred in the aisle and agreed upon a 32 inch Vizio.  Who knows how it rates in the Consumer Digest.  All I know is that when we set it up in the library, I think the kids realized I might have flipped my lid.  The boys were speechless.  And that next night, as we hooked it up and watched a movie together, we thanked God for Judith and Ned and their Christmas gift, and trusted that the horseback riding would happen eventually, but probably the corporate movie watching would offer longer lasting joy. 

So, tonight, after a very long day and over five hours of driving, Thomas unloaded the car and I prepared a nice meal.  With food purchased from my old nemesis.  And I had to chuckle to think about evolution and adaption and dealing with the life we have to lead under different circumstances.  We appreciate our farm-raised pork and freshly milled grains and creamy, raw milk.  But we are having to compromise in a lot of areas these days and I trust that as we do, the kids are learning lessons of gratitude and grace. 

Legalism is not so nice, is it?  And adjustment comes in many different flavors. 

PS We still don't have the tv hooked up to real tv.  Netflix and dvds are bad enough.  But who knows?  One of these days I might break down and get cable.  But I doubt it.  The kids would really know I had lost it if I were to stoop so low!  (HAHA)  We will enjoy it when we go visit our other dear friends and be thankful for their cable tv. 

Friday Night

Yesterday was a long day in the bakery.  I finally got around to developing a recipe for healthy, delicious gingersnaps, made with freshly milled hard white wheat, yummy, local farm eggs, organic coconut oil, sucanat, sorghum, and double the spices.

Not only did they smell heavenly, they tasted great too!

My customers have led me to believe that man cannot live on bread alone, but needs a few goodies on the side, like cookies, chocolate cupcakes and baby spelt pound cakes.  Even though I do not have a sweet tooth, I am happy to accomodate these wonderful folks with my healthy version.  Which pleases my children to no end.

By the time the bakery products were packaged, the counters washed and dried, the floor swept, it was quite late and I was quite warm.  A cool breeze outside drew me to the glider in the backyard. 

Have you ever felt that magic moment where the air feels delicious?  I wanted to drink in the breeze as I rocked in exhaustion.  Stars twinkled.  Tree leaves rustled.  Nightime town noises murmured. 

It was kind of weird.  All of a sudden I felt so connected to God and the universe, sitting there in the glider in the backyard in the dark in our little town.  I prayed for my children, then so many faces came into my mind and as I prayed for them, a deep love flowed through my heart.  I prayed for them to know how much they are loved.  For each of my children and the dozens of other folks, friends, family, acquaintances, randomly appearing on my mind, to be able to be who they were created to be. 

I wish I could somehow express how magical it felt to be surrounded by sweet breezes, starry sky, fresh, healing air, loving dear ones all around the world, through tender prayers.  But I am running late and need to head to the Farmer's Market.  I figured if I jotted down a few notes it would help trigger the memory for me in the future when I need something to savor.

Milk and Honey

I know you guys must get sick and tired of me writing about how much I love my customers, but the truth is, every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday I end my day tired, but thankful. Thankful for local economy. Thankful that enough people come to buy bread and cookies and grain and granola to get my basic bills covered.

Do you remember the Bible story about the widow and the oil? When I am tired and sad, worried about things that are beyond my ability to change, I fear that I will run out of strength or that I will run out of ingredients or that I will run out of customers. But every time, there is just enough. Just enough strength. Just enough ingredients. Just enough customers. Just enough money to pay the bills and get more ingredients.

I bet that biblical widow lady must have felt a similar wonder as she, exhausted, stressed, worried, kept on filling up those oil bottles, jars and vessels, and managed to keep her son fed.

Have you noticed how much of life is a miracle? And how many miracles require a significant amount of work? Okay. I will try to get back to blogging about other things. Besides my sweet customers, who buy their daily bread and freely give out hugs. Thanks for bearing with me and the sentimentality. I really can't help it. I am very grateful, and there are days when I realize the ability to be grateful is a pretty big miracle. At least for a grouchy old mama like me.

If you were living here in the Chihuahuan Desert, you would be enjoying lots of flowers. The claret cup cactus is one of my favorites. Desert willow is blooming down south and should be opening up here in Alpine in a few days. The temperatures are brisk in the morning. 47 degrees when I took the kids to school. 80 by the time they headed back home.

Occasionally the wind blows violently, but today she was calm. Trees are glossy green with leaves and they make my eyes feel better.

Vinegar. You Have to Taste it to Believe it.

I began to write a post about our Seder, but then had to go take care of kids and got distracted and the post never got finished.

It is a worthwhile post, so I hope to eventually get to it.

But tonight it is all about the vinegar.

Which is actually a pretty good metaphor, considering that many associate bitterness with vinegar, but in my experience, in a rather holy and mystical way, somehow the bitter times are always tinged with a sweetness that make it possible for me to keep on getting up to mill grain into flour, bake bread and greet the world.

My dear friend, Stewart, you know, the one with the husband who used to help me butcher chickens and stitch up our wounds at the kitchen table?

She knows me. The other day we got a care package in the mail, filled with goodies that are attached to other stories. Precious goodies. But the one featured in tonight's blog is the slim bottle of elixir. Date Balsam Creme Vinegar- she discovered in a shop, Oil and Vinegar on Barracks Rd in Charlottesville, VA.

Having enough emotional resources to cook up a Sunday dinner is a pretty good indicator that things are beginning to look a little brighter around here. Not perfect, but better.

Before leaving for church, I put on a pork shoulder roast to braise. This is a roast from the hog I purchased from our milk suppliers, Z-Bar Ranch a few weeks ago and Daddy helped me butcher. Pan-seared it, then put in a dish with onions, carrots, celery, garlic, lots of thyme, sea salt, a few juniper berries, a bay leaf, some red wine and water, covered, stowed it in a hot oven (500 degrees) for 15 minutes, turned the temp down to 350 while I showered and dressed, then to 275 when we headed out the door to St. James.

Is there anything that makes a person feel more loved than the smell of an herby roast in the oven when coming home?

I roasted up some sweet potatoes, sauteed green beans, then remembered the bag of greens. The one given me by a lady who wished to barter for bread at the farmer's market. I pulled it out of the fridge and discovered fresh parsley, celery,a bunch of chocolate mint, kale and swiss chard. The parsley and celery went into the meat juices with a slug of vermouth to make a nice au jus, boiled down until thick. The chocolate mint was rinsed and placed in a jar. I poured boiling water over it to make a nice iced tea for our dinner. The rinsed greens went into the wok with loads of garlic and a bit of oil. A great big pinch of sea salt.

I pulled out cream and cheese, thinking about the children. You know their preferred way to eat greens is smothered in cream and cheese. Which is pretty darned good.

But a little niggly voice on the inside reminded me about Stewart's gift of vinegar. Hmm. Thick, earthy, just enough twang to remind me of its origen, but sweet and rich, right for Sunday dinner. I then remembered the bartered pecans from the fellow at the market who really likes my Almond Raisin Granola.

Oh yeah.

So, while the greens simmered in their juices for a couple of minutes, I threw a handful of chopped up pecans in another skillet to toast. When they were done, I placed the greens in a serving dish, generously drizzled them with the Date Balsam Cream Vinegar, then dumped the pecans unceremoniously out of the skillet, right on top.

Raymond even ironed the tablecloth and napkins, which was a unique treat at our table, as most of my friends know, I don't iron. We haphazardly gathered, guests helped set the table and fill up the glasses and carry the food. Maggie grabbed the toast out of the oven. We prayed and gave thanks and food made its way to the plates.

I cooked up a huge bunch of the kale and swiss chard and can you believe? Not a bite leftover. When everyone else left the table, I grabbed the serving bowl and slurped up some of the remaining vinegar, but don't tell anybody, because then they will know the truth that I am an uncultured slob. But I bet there are a couple of you out there who would have done the same thing. At least if no one was looking.

Thanks a lot, Stewart. Thanks to you, we are now addicted to a specialty treat that can't be found here in Alpine, Texas. Unless you send us more. Or we figure out how to make some ourselves. Which is a pretty good idea, because I am thinking that there are a few folks out here who might be happy to add that to their weekly bread order! For those of you who are in the Charlottesville area, I highly recommend you rush over to Oil and Vinegar in the Barracks area. You might need to drizzle that magical substance over fresh strawberries. Or peaches in season. Or use it on all those greens you keep getting in your CSA and don't know what to do with them.

I am so very thankful for Sunday dinners. For that hungry feeling you get in church, knowing there is something good waiting at home. For the smell of roast that takes me back to childhood. For lots of food at our table, maybe not all grown by us, but brought here directly from other peoples' hands, via friends of the farmer's market. Leaving our Va. farm meant leaving a lot of things behind. It is a comfort and joy to see that with some effort, we are able to keep the important things. Sunday's dinner was a helpful reminder.

Pressed Down, but not Crushed, Troubled but not quite in Despair. At least not yet!

I hope to be back soon.

I miss blogging and sharing community here in blogworld.

The last few weeks have been veiled over with gray and dark for me. Which is ironic, seeing as the leaves are bursting forth, the blossoms have been blooming and the days are growing longer.

I have enough energy to barely run the bakery, tend to business and kids. But not another ounce for anything else. I can't remember when I went so long without writing anything. I am pressed down, wrung out, and terribly concerned about some matters dealing with a child.

It is shocking how many of you check in on me. You are dear to me, and I appreciate you.

Yesterday I reminded myself that the Lenten season is a good time to feel one's weakened state. To feel needy.

So, as we near the end of this season of hunger, I pray we would all be filled. That as we witness the resurrection in the world around us, birthing life and color and green, we would be restored, refreshed and renewed. (I'm guessing there must be at least one other soul out there feeling like I do!)

My Customers-I love them!!!

Today one of my customers brought me some of her raw, seedy crackers, filled with flax and other good stuff.

YUM!

On Valentine's Day, some other customers brought me roses and a bottle of wine.

Other customers freely share hugs when I need them. One customer brought me a great big bag of pecans from her family in Mississippi. Oh, my, goodness. They were so good, I ate the entire bag all by myself, one handful at a time.

Some customers left me the name of their favorite poet today as I shared with them mine (Donald Hall). We share recipes, grief stories, joys of new grandbabies, smiles, tears, and more often than not, prayers, and a few gripes as well.

I have a hard job, that requires very long hours standing on my feet, lugging around big bags of grain and tubs of dough. I use a big oven and have the scars to prove it. Sometimes at the end of an eighteen hour long day I want to cry. And sometimes I do.

But then I think about the many lives of folks who have entered my life because of freshly milled whole wheat and spelt and I give thanks for my job. It seems like a miracle that I am able to get the bills paid by milling and baking bread. I can genuinely say that I am one very blessed gal, with a terrific job.

Happy Valentine's Day, Friends

I get up bright and early to bake.

Dark equals coffee. I walk, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen, fill the kettle and set it on the stove, wash hands and move towards the bakery to begin milling the hard white wheat. After getting the first load running, I return to the kitchen, grind the beans and pour the boiling water into the french press. Pull out the mixer bowl and hot water and yeast and start the Italian peasant bread dough. Grab milk from the fridge to warm for milk and honey bread. Realize that I ran out of the Robert's cream and have to drink black coffee again for the third day in a row. Oh well. Won't kill me.

About the time three-fourths of the bread dough is rising for the second time, it is time to wake the kids for school. I set out strawberries and yogurt and toast for them and basically ignore them as they get ready and I work.

Three cups of coffee later, I drive them to school. Except for Patrick and Thomas who are still biking, even in the 30 degree mornings.

Valentine's Day.

Rachel and I talked on the phone as I kneaded loaves, as we do almost every single morning, except on the weekends. I work. She nurses Marlena. Thank goodness our tradition continues, even though we are hundreds and hundreds of miles apart. The biggest difference is that on those bad afternoons, when nothing will work to make kids happy, I would, in the past say, "Load them up and come over and let them play outside while we have a cup of tea or a glass of wine(depending on before or after 5)."

It is dreadful to be so far away that they can't all pile in and come over for hundreds of slices of milk and honey bread and games with the kids and chasing after Patrick. But thank God for Alexander Graham Bell!

So the bread happened, the bakery opened. A dozen roses arrived from my dear one. Made me thankful to have such sweetness in the middle of moments of raw.

I purchased the ingredients to make the tradition continue.

Fourteen years ago, we had Jersey Momma staying with us in our rambling house on 1418 Elizabeth Blvd in Fort Worth. I had little Thomas and toddler Patrick and infant Maggie. Jersey Momma had a broken arm, hence the long visit. Valentine's Day came along, and I wondered how we could celebrate, our little extended family?

Knowing my mother-in-law's continental tastes, I opted for French Bistro, remembering a recipe in a Belgiun Cookbook for Pommes Frites, and you probably already know how much I love red meat and fried potatoes and a really good excuse for a glass of red wine.

True Pommes Frites are hard to beat. I remember in Europe, at night, we would walk around and there would be trucks set up, here and there, offering cones of crispy, golden, salted deliciousness for mere euros, and I was in heaven. For years I would try to make french fries, and the limp, greasy sticks of potatoes were okay, but not really great. Well, not really good. But then I read that great cookbook, EVERYTHING TASTES BETTER IN BELGIUM (btw, who has that book? I loaned it out to somebody and wish I had it back...) and never looked back.

And the rest is history.

The secret is in twice frying the potatoes in a good, hot, clean oil, preferably peanut, since it is suited to high heats and high heat is necessary.

Well, we loved that meal so much that I have made it every single Valentine's Day since. For 14 years.

After baking in the bakery all day long, I didn't feel like making a gourmet French bistro meal for a bunch of kids, but all these years past, the special part of Valentine's Day is setting the table with all the pretty dishes, the tablecloth, the napkins. Putting out candles and flowers and candy hearts to let the kids know that they are worthy of fancy dinner party. Without grownup company.

For a part of the day I hurt, grieving different things I guess. But at some point, I took the time to read in my devotional, which reminded me to consider each day a new adventure, to reach out to experience it. And while that seems like a very trivial thing, it completely turned my attitude around, and I decided to rejoice.

All of a sudden, it was a privilege to bake fancy Queen of Sheba cakes, one for us and one for Raymond to take home since he couldn't stay for dinner. It was a joy to cut up potatoes and to heat the oil, anticipating the salty crunch of fattening carbs that would bring joy to our family.

Serving customers in the afternoon made me happy and thankful and as we sat around the table, remembering many things this evening, I was made glad.

We couldn't remember last Valentine's day at all. I think the boys were gone. I remember shopping for trinkets for the girls, but can't even remember sitting at the table with them. Isn't that weird? So maybe grief pain isn't quite as raw this year as last. We spent some time at the table, after the dinner, before the Queen of Sheba, praying for our dear ones. For friends with babies. For friends with illness. For blended families to knit together. For us to love each other. Then dessert.

We asked God to tell Philip hello for us and to tell him we are thankful for him and how he showed love to us. Then we thanked God for the dear new friends who have entered our life.

In grief support group we would talk about traditions and what we felt like we ought to keep.

Today I wondered about this tradition. I don't know what next year will bring. Thomas is about to turn 19 and hopes to graduate from Alpine Highschool and go to a program for special needs kids in Roswell, NM. He might not be with us next year. Things are changing around me every minute. Who knows if we will all be able to sit around the candles and the roses and the sweetheart candies next year, enjoying our steaks, done rare-medium rare, with creamed spinach and pommes frites, me with a glass of red wine, they with sparkly fruity stuff?

But tonight, I rejoiced in the moment.

So thankful for my family. For the kids around the table. And for tradition, ever-evolving, yet tasting the same.

Happy Valentine's Day. I pray that you will each know how much you are loved, just as I pray the same for me and my children.

PS please try to make some homemade frites sometime. A lot of work, but worth it. And remind me to share the recipe for Queen of Sheba cake, the healthy version. I think I posted it last year. It is still every bit as good. Yumm. And the freshly milled whole wheat, no white sugar version is decadent and worthy of Valentine's Day.

Sunday Evening

The gas logs burn away and I look at them, grateful I don't have to ask the kids to go get another load of wood before we go to bed.

The lightening flashed and thunder cracked and cold, cloudy night-time skies released their gift of raindrops. We are in need of days and days of rain, but will be thankful for the showers.

A train cries out in the distance and I wonder where it is going? El Paso or San Antonio?

Running Water and other little blessings

Yesterday the shower in the kids' bathroom wouldn't stop running. Full blast. Patrick turned the water off outside the house once we filled up lots of pots and pans and half gallon jars.

I found a bolt embedded in one of the car tires. And worse, found out that one of my friends was in the hospital.

Got an uncomfortable, unfriendly phone call, and decided I should call it a day.

Since the plumber couldn't make it to the house yesterday, I broke down and ordered pizza for the kids, who were delighted to eat a bunch of white flour and chemical laden sauce and pepperoni! Too hard to cook up all our delicious veggies with no water for pots and pans.

Have you ever reached the tipping point, when you realize it is humorous, how many things can go wrong in one 24 hour period?

I went to bed, watched a movie, and slept hard, waking at 7:30am, nice and late. Which was fine because the kids were home with a day off from school.

Suddenly energized, I decided to mill and bake anyway. We had set aside several gallons of clean water for coffee, pot washing, hand washing, and I put on some Emmylou Harris. Things are not going in my normal order. The plumber came much later than he thought, but all is working now, and the bill wasn't astronomical. Some bread will be baked before the day is over. The sun is shining, and seems as if the rain has passed us by. Girls have been playing happily together with their toys for hours.

All my problems haven't faded away, but I feel much better today. Yesterday's devotional in Jesus Calling (thank you, Dixie Farmer!) reminded me that my life journey would not be an easy road, but it would be a delightful treasure hunt if I would keep my eyes open. That hardships, a necessary part of this journey, would be "meted out ever so carefully, in just the right dosage, with a tenderness you can hardly imagine."

I still haven't figured out what those treasures are in the middle of my paltry, trivial annoyances and the great big significant trials. But I am trying hard to keep my eyes open. The joy of running water after having to do without for 30 hours is delightful. And makes me think of those people who are far from running, clean water. I pray that running water would be accesible to all people, especially mothers with little babies, as I think of the people I met in India who not only didn't have clean water, but lost their homes, possessions, churches and many loved ones.

A Little Note on Grief

I feel a bit embarrassed to expose my whininess to the public.

There are many people with significant problems and mine are microscopic in comparison. But I have noticed that this time of year is brutal, with grief muscle memory coloring a lot of our experiences. Perhaps if I share some of our pain, others will feel less alone in their own private battles. Lest anyone worry about us too much, we are self-prescribing the things that grief experts suggest help one to get through the dark days.

Less sugar and white flour.

More sunshine and a bit of exercise.

More water, more water, more water.

Vitamins.

Social time, for me, in the form of Bible study and a course up at the college.

Sharing my grief story with others instead of bottling it up inside.

Remembering sweet moments with Philip and the kids.

Finding opportunites to serve others who need help.

You may have your own grief issues. If not, I believe you probably know someone with significant loss. It is rather shocking how long pain can endure with the loss of a spouse or child. That doesn't mean we don't experience moments of true joy and pleasure. But the pain gets woven up into all the other experiences and brings a unique color to life. Please be patient with yourself and others if it seems like a person is hurting longer than you think they should. I have noticed that beauty is more beautiful to me, now that I know pain. And joy is even more rich, now that I know pain. There are treasures scattered all along the journey, but sometimes it takes wading through some deep waters to get to them.