The morning is like a soft cotton batting rolled over our little valley. Gray white fog fills all the nooks and crannies and makes things look soft. Our friend, the heron, is back in the pond. The pond that is not quite filled up and running over, but definitely looking better than it did yesterday morning. This morning is the first time I have seen the heron for awhile.
Cool temperatures are lovely. Grass looks green. Thank God for rain.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
Rainy Days and Mondays
The morning began dark and misty. I am not sure when, but at some point the raindrops began to fall.
I began my morning as per usual, coffee in the french press, plenty of Coco's cream and the green chair by the west window in the dining room with the Book of Common Prayer and my old tattered Bible.
This morning's Psalm was Psalm 25. Feeling overwhelmed and alone I read David's words with tears, lifting up my soul, trusting in my Creator, asking him to let me not be humiliated or be put to shame. As I thought of the list of unfinished things I asked God to show me the right way and to lead me and teach me.
In verse 15 David cries out to his creator, "Turn to me and have pity on me, for I am left alone and in misery. The sorrows of my heart have increased; bring me out of my troubles."
It felt right and good to read and cry and ask to be lifted up out of my own misery.
My aloneness.
I then remembered the lectionary from yesterday, taken from Deuteronomy 30, a blessing offered to the followers of God to have prosperity in their land, their fields, their flocks. Prayed for God to bring prosperity to our farm, and our neighbors' farms and friends' farms. None of us care much for money, but we do wish for fertile fields and good soil and bounteous gardens and rich milk and meat and eggs. Enough to live a decent and simple life.
The rainy grey day felt good for tears.
And then I got my room cleaned and a couple of floors swept then sat down to work on accounting and retail sales tax and doctor bills. It wasn't pleasant work, and believe you me, I would rather shovel manure or dig weeds all day long instead of making business phone calls and dealing with numbers. But the rain was good motivation for business, especially since our dear Rachel Banks drove little girls to Vacation Bible School and helped Thomas deal with the dead ewe. I took my scribbled priority list to my office/bedroom and hibernated with piano sonatas on Pandora radio.
This afternoon we said goodbye to dear Rachel and then I had to cry again because she is such a dear girl and we love her so much. But the girls remind me that we don't need to be too sad because Rachel always comes back. So we look forward to her next sweet visit and thank God for her being such a blessing to our family.
To celebrate finishing up a stack of paperwork I made what I wanted to eat for supper. Curried vegetables and venison.
Some friends gave us some eggplant, cauliflower and peppers. I cut up one of our onions and sauteed it in a bit of oil. Added the peppers and eggplant, two or three of the asian kind, halved and sliced. Sauteed the veggies for a few minutes then added some Pensey's Balti seasoning and some Sweet Curry powder. Threw in three or four minced cloves of garlic. Half of a chopped up cauliflower. Two or three tomatoes from the garden, chopped up into chunks. Once the tomatoes started to cook down into juice, I threw in some of Quigg's venison, precooked and chopped up. Added Redmond's Real salt and covered everything for a few minutes. As everything cooked it smelled so good, but seemed to be missing something. I dug around in the pantry and found just the right thing: a can of coconut milk. We opened it up and added it to the mixture and let everything cook down into a silky, spicy stew.
Perfect for eating on the deck in the cool evening air.
Nora took a pass, but everyone else loved our supper. I was especially glad that Rose didn't care for her eggplant as she gave all hers to me. Yum. Summertime vegetables make for very delicious curry. We didn't even make rice since I had no energy for one more pot.
Eating our dinners during the summertime is such a special thing for me. Every bite of food has a connection to our friends. Pastor Quigg, the mighty deer hunter, Paul with Thistle Dew, our farmer's market neighbor, Raymond, our master gardener friend, Jonathan, our other market pal, and especially Julie, our supplier of exotic spices!
Dinnertime seems like the perfect ending to a Psalm. David began many of his poems with lament and agony, but ended with gratitude and grace. Kind of like my Monday.
By the way, the pond is not full, but much of the cracked mud is covered right now and I am grateful. Songbirds in the woods seem grateful this evening as well. So do the sheep, who are cool and fresh and happy to graze.
I began my morning as per usual, coffee in the french press, plenty of Coco's cream and the green chair by the west window in the dining room with the Book of Common Prayer and my old tattered Bible.
This morning's Psalm was Psalm 25. Feeling overwhelmed and alone I read David's words with tears, lifting up my soul, trusting in my Creator, asking him to let me not be humiliated or be put to shame. As I thought of the list of unfinished things I asked God to show me the right way and to lead me and teach me.
In verse 15 David cries out to his creator, "Turn to me and have pity on me, for I am left alone and in misery. The sorrows of my heart have increased; bring me out of my troubles."
It felt right and good to read and cry and ask to be lifted up out of my own misery.
My aloneness.
I then remembered the lectionary from yesterday, taken from Deuteronomy 30, a blessing offered to the followers of God to have prosperity in their land, their fields, their flocks. Prayed for God to bring prosperity to our farm, and our neighbors' farms and friends' farms. None of us care much for money, but we do wish for fertile fields and good soil and bounteous gardens and rich milk and meat and eggs. Enough to live a decent and simple life.
The rainy grey day felt good for tears.
And then I got my room cleaned and a couple of floors swept then sat down to work on accounting and retail sales tax and doctor bills. It wasn't pleasant work, and believe you me, I would rather shovel manure or dig weeds all day long instead of making business phone calls and dealing with numbers. But the rain was good motivation for business, especially since our dear Rachel Banks drove little girls to Vacation Bible School and helped Thomas deal with the dead ewe. I took my scribbled priority list to my office/bedroom and hibernated with piano sonatas on Pandora radio.
This afternoon we said goodbye to dear Rachel and then I had to cry again because she is such a dear girl and we love her so much. But the girls remind me that we don't need to be too sad because Rachel always comes back. So we look forward to her next sweet visit and thank God for her being such a blessing to our family.
To celebrate finishing up a stack of paperwork I made what I wanted to eat for supper. Curried vegetables and venison.
Some friends gave us some eggplant, cauliflower and peppers. I cut up one of our onions and sauteed it in a bit of oil. Added the peppers and eggplant, two or three of the asian kind, halved and sliced. Sauteed the veggies for a few minutes then added some Pensey's Balti seasoning and some Sweet Curry powder. Threw in three or four minced cloves of garlic. Half of a chopped up cauliflower. Two or three tomatoes from the garden, chopped up into chunks. Once the tomatoes started to cook down into juice, I threw in some of Quigg's venison, precooked and chopped up. Added Redmond's Real salt and covered everything for a few minutes. As everything cooked it smelled so good, but seemed to be missing something. I dug around in the pantry and found just the right thing: a can of coconut milk. We opened it up and added it to the mixture and let everything cook down into a silky, spicy stew.
Perfect for eating on the deck in the cool evening air.
Nora took a pass, but everyone else loved our supper. I was especially glad that Rose didn't care for her eggplant as she gave all hers to me. Yum. Summertime vegetables make for very delicious curry. We didn't even make rice since I had no energy for one more pot.
Eating our dinners during the summertime is such a special thing for me. Every bite of food has a connection to our friends. Pastor Quigg, the mighty deer hunter, Paul with Thistle Dew, our farmer's market neighbor, Raymond, our master gardener friend, Jonathan, our other market pal, and especially Julie, our supplier of exotic spices!
Dinnertime seems like the perfect ending to a Psalm. David began many of his poems with lament and agony, but ended with gratitude and grace. Kind of like my Monday.
By the way, the pond is not full, but much of the cracked mud is covered right now and I am grateful. Songbirds in the woods seem grateful this evening as well. So do the sheep, who are cool and fresh and happy to graze.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Sunday Night
This morning Patrick milked Coco for me so I could make a cake for Maggie before we left for church. After church we gathered with a few friends at their pool to celebrate Maggie's birthday. I was thankful to have goat cheese and smoked trout in the fridge and bread in the freezer to make some quick snacks for her erudite friends with great taste.
We got home late in the afternoon and Nora and I took a walk to inspect the beginnings of the hay harvest. 15 round bales and more to come. But unfortunately we found a ewe breathing her last breaths as we walked round the corner of the barn. She was the girl who delivered the twins in early summer.
She hadn't been looking too great in the heat. She isn't one of the young ones, so she must have been vulnerable to the severities of the winter and summer. I was deciding that I should try to find a way to end her misery as we walked up to the hay field and was relieved to see that she had quickly slipped away (died) in the time it took us to walk 25 acres and back down. I don't think there was a thing we could have done to save her, but I felt pretty low, anyway. Felt like a failure as a shepherd since I was not able to keep her alive. She was looking a bit rugged this season, but had been out grazing with the flock as normal. Unfortunately Fridays and Saturdays are so busy for me that I didn't notice her at all. I wondered if I had noticed her could I have done something to save her.
Made me think of Philip being sick in the middle of February. I wanted to take him to the doctor on Valentine's Day. He didn't want to go. I wondered if I had insisted, would he be alive? Probably. And over the weekend I have been thinking about that a lot. I think that he would still be in serious pain and in suffering, but alive and we don't know for how long, and he didn't want to spend his last days and years in and out of hospitals.
It is hard to avoid second guessing in life.
I think that I may have made some mistakes in managing the care of this ewe who just died, but there isn't anything I can do about it now, at least for her. I need to shear all the sheep and haven't been able to find a shearer who will come. I guess today makes me realize that I may need to find some equipment and learn how to do it ourselves so we can inspect all the sheep, take care of their maintenance and make it easier for them to endure the heat wave.
The orphan lambs are crying tonight. The flock has surrounded them, but they miss their mama.
Thomas and Patrick loaded the carcass up in the back of the truck and I will take it to be disposed tomorrow. No cremations due to burn ban.
On another note, I got to practice spearing big rolls of hay and moving them around the field. We still have more work to do, but will wait until the end of the week. Maybe we will get some rain early on this week. I am thankful to see plenty of green leafy grass in the field. More than I had imagined. What a relief. I am so thankful to know we are able to harvest winter food for the animals. May it be nutritious for them. Hopefully we will be able to harvest some food for the human animals for winter this week as well. More potatoes, beets, green beans and onions.
Life on the farm is full of ups and downs. It is hard. I wish I were better at this life and knew all the right things to do. As I sat down, a bit discouraged, I was reminded that there is a pretty steep learning curve on the farm and all this hard stuff is training me. We may need to make some mistakes for a few years before we figure out what works for this farm in our little valley. Animals get old and weak and die. It isn't always fun.
But our life gives us moments of joy and meaning. Like the moment I heard delight in Maggie's voice today as she looked out the window and noticed the huge bunch of guinea keats following their mamas out in the field. And the chance to see Rose cook up ground venison and spaghetti sauce for supper since I had to work on the tractor. Not even 10 years old and she was able to help me out. And the feeling of the cool evening air on my skin as I watched the sky turn pink and dark blue and watched the fireflies come out while I plugged away in the upper field.
We have some very good moments in our life.
We got home late in the afternoon and Nora and I took a walk to inspect the beginnings of the hay harvest. 15 round bales and more to come. But unfortunately we found a ewe breathing her last breaths as we walked round the corner of the barn. She was the girl who delivered the twins in early summer.
She hadn't been looking too great in the heat. She isn't one of the young ones, so she must have been vulnerable to the severities of the winter and summer. I was deciding that I should try to find a way to end her misery as we walked up to the hay field and was relieved to see that she had quickly slipped away (died) in the time it took us to walk 25 acres and back down. I don't think there was a thing we could have done to save her, but I felt pretty low, anyway. Felt like a failure as a shepherd since I was not able to keep her alive. She was looking a bit rugged this season, but had been out grazing with the flock as normal. Unfortunately Fridays and Saturdays are so busy for me that I didn't notice her at all. I wondered if I had noticed her could I have done something to save her.
Made me think of Philip being sick in the middle of February. I wanted to take him to the doctor on Valentine's Day. He didn't want to go. I wondered if I had insisted, would he be alive? Probably. And over the weekend I have been thinking about that a lot. I think that he would still be in serious pain and in suffering, but alive and we don't know for how long, and he didn't want to spend his last days and years in and out of hospitals.
It is hard to avoid second guessing in life.
I think that I may have made some mistakes in managing the care of this ewe who just died, but there isn't anything I can do about it now, at least for her. I need to shear all the sheep and haven't been able to find a shearer who will come. I guess today makes me realize that I may need to find some equipment and learn how to do it ourselves so we can inspect all the sheep, take care of their maintenance and make it easier for them to endure the heat wave.
The orphan lambs are crying tonight. The flock has surrounded them, but they miss their mama.
Thomas and Patrick loaded the carcass up in the back of the truck and I will take it to be disposed tomorrow. No cremations due to burn ban.
On another note, I got to practice spearing big rolls of hay and moving them around the field. We still have more work to do, but will wait until the end of the week. Maybe we will get some rain early on this week. I am thankful to see plenty of green leafy grass in the field. More than I had imagined. What a relief. I am so thankful to know we are able to harvest winter food for the animals. May it be nutritious for them. Hopefully we will be able to harvest some food for the human animals for winter this week as well. More potatoes, beets, green beans and onions.
Life on the farm is full of ups and downs. It is hard. I wish I were better at this life and knew all the right things to do. As I sat down, a bit discouraged, I was reminded that there is a pretty steep learning curve on the farm and all this hard stuff is training me. We may need to make some mistakes for a few years before we figure out what works for this farm in our little valley. Animals get old and weak and die. It isn't always fun.
But our life gives us moments of joy and meaning. Like the moment I heard delight in Maggie's voice today as she looked out the window and noticed the huge bunch of guinea keats following their mamas out in the field. And the chance to see Rose cook up ground venison and spaghetti sauce for supper since I had to work on the tractor. Not even 10 years old and she was able to help me out. And the feeling of the cool evening air on my skin as I watched the sky turn pink and dark blue and watched the fireflies come out while I plugged away in the upper field.
We have some very good moments in our life.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Saturday Night on the Farm
We had a great market day today. Not too busy. Just enough customers to sell out almost every loaf of bread with a loaf of baguette left over for Nora.
It was nice and fresh, not too hot. We left the market with a cooler full of goodies: nectarines, explosively ripe, three heads of cauliflower, a bag of eggplant, some more baby beets, and corn on the cob.
I got home late this afternoon and was happy when a not too far down the road neighbor came over to check out our hayfield. On Thursday he bought a loaf of bread from me and we chatted about haymaking. I told of my dilemma and he suggested we take a look. After taking a look he offered to help cut and bale on the halves.
What an answer to prayer. I had been praying about haymaking for weeks. Actually months. Had given up. I know the hay is not the most excellent of hay, but what we need is adequate hay. And if we bale it now, there is quite a bit of green leaf undergrowth that will make adequate hay.
Sometimes it is hard for a former perfectionist to make do with adequate, but farming has been a wonderful therapy for me. I want to make great hay. I read books about making great hay. But life gets in the way and I find that a great deal of life is about letting go of a few expectations so you get some adequate hay in the barn.
The neighbor started cutting this afternoon and will continue tomorrow. This is an occasion where working on Sunday is a good thing as we have some warm weather that should allow the hay to dry quickly. I will take the kids to big church and help with Maggie's 13th birthday party then hope to get home in the afternoon to help rake hay.
Have I ever mentioned that making hay is one of my favorite things?
Of course I would prefer to cut it with a team of a dozen with scythes and rakes and enjoy the machinery of our bodies working sans dependence on oil, diesel, etc, but for now I will be thrilled to turn on the tractor and harvest our organic grass mechanically so we will have food for the animals this winter.
My dad will be so glad. He called to tell me the other day that he was concerned that I was mowing down all our hay and wished we could get it baled. Yeay for neighbors.
By the way, Patrick got home today from Boy Scout Camp. Whew. I am so relieved to have everyone home under the same roof for awhile. He learned to be a mountain man and had a great week, but I think he is happy to be home. I hope he stays that way as I have to get him to help figure out a chicken containment system for our terribly large flock of chickens who have figured out how to find our garden. Egg mobile?
Speaking of chickens, I wondered to Rachel if our hen setting on a clutch of eggs in the barn had any news for us this weekend. She went out to check and the proud mama hatched out a dozen adorable little babies. Another hen came to me earlier this week with her cute little newborn. Chickens everywhere!
PS For dinner we enjoyed corn on the cob, curried cauliflower, sauteed zucchini and sauteed round steak from Moose. After dinner Rose put on funny glasses, stood on a chair and told jokes. We laughed so hard. She was a bit annoyed because occasionally we laughed at the wrong time, but I could see that the girl has a future in comedy and performance. If you ever need a laugh, get Rose to tell you jokes. Some of them are pretty funny. I love to hear her laugh.
Nora made me laugh pretty hard hearing her practice telling knock knock jokes. But then I grew tired and had to retire. Perhaps I will dream of silly knock knock jokes tonight. The girls remembered how Philip would tell them funny jokes and do the silly belly dance for them, one time making Maggie laugh so hard she threw up at the dinner table. Not too many dads can have that claim to fame!
Now all is quiet except for the summer evening noises of whirring bugs and settling down animals. It is still, with the inside noises of a couple of fans blowing. Dark sky with a few faint stars, moist air and cool. The fireflies are out, but not in the droves of late May and June. Even the frogs seem subdued right at the moment.
Maybe I will read for a few moments, or sit outside on the deck and feel still. Hmm. Decisions, decisions. Good night.
It was nice and fresh, not too hot. We left the market with a cooler full of goodies: nectarines, explosively ripe, three heads of cauliflower, a bag of eggplant, some more baby beets, and corn on the cob.
I got home late this afternoon and was happy when a not too far down the road neighbor came over to check out our hayfield. On Thursday he bought a loaf of bread from me and we chatted about haymaking. I told of my dilemma and he suggested we take a look. After taking a look he offered to help cut and bale on the halves.
What an answer to prayer. I had been praying about haymaking for weeks. Actually months. Had given up. I know the hay is not the most excellent of hay, but what we need is adequate hay. And if we bale it now, there is quite a bit of green leaf undergrowth that will make adequate hay.
Sometimes it is hard for a former perfectionist to make do with adequate, but farming has been a wonderful therapy for me. I want to make great hay. I read books about making great hay. But life gets in the way and I find that a great deal of life is about letting go of a few expectations so you get some adequate hay in the barn.
The neighbor started cutting this afternoon and will continue tomorrow. This is an occasion where working on Sunday is a good thing as we have some warm weather that should allow the hay to dry quickly. I will take the kids to big church and help with Maggie's 13th birthday party then hope to get home in the afternoon to help rake hay.
Have I ever mentioned that making hay is one of my favorite things?
Of course I would prefer to cut it with a team of a dozen with scythes and rakes and enjoy the machinery of our bodies working sans dependence on oil, diesel, etc, but for now I will be thrilled to turn on the tractor and harvest our organic grass mechanically so we will have food for the animals this winter.
My dad will be so glad. He called to tell me the other day that he was concerned that I was mowing down all our hay and wished we could get it baled. Yeay for neighbors.
By the way, Patrick got home today from Boy Scout Camp. Whew. I am so relieved to have everyone home under the same roof for awhile. He learned to be a mountain man and had a great week, but I think he is happy to be home. I hope he stays that way as I have to get him to help figure out a chicken containment system for our terribly large flock of chickens who have figured out how to find our garden. Egg mobile?
Speaking of chickens, I wondered to Rachel if our hen setting on a clutch of eggs in the barn had any news for us this weekend. She went out to check and the proud mama hatched out a dozen adorable little babies. Another hen came to me earlier this week with her cute little newborn. Chickens everywhere!
PS For dinner we enjoyed corn on the cob, curried cauliflower, sauteed zucchini and sauteed round steak from Moose. After dinner Rose put on funny glasses, stood on a chair and told jokes. We laughed so hard. She was a bit annoyed because occasionally we laughed at the wrong time, but I could see that the girl has a future in comedy and performance. If you ever need a laugh, get Rose to tell you jokes. Some of them are pretty funny. I love to hear her laugh.
Nora made me laugh pretty hard hearing her practice telling knock knock jokes. But then I grew tired and had to retire. Perhaps I will dream of silly knock knock jokes tonight. The girls remembered how Philip would tell them funny jokes and do the silly belly dance for them, one time making Maggie laugh so hard she threw up at the dinner table. Not too many dads can have that claim to fame!
Now all is quiet except for the summer evening noises of whirring bugs and settling down animals. It is still, with the inside noises of a couple of fans blowing. Dark sky with a few faint stars, moist air and cool. The fireflies are out, but not in the droves of late May and June. Even the frogs seem subdued right at the moment.
Maybe I will read for a few moments, or sit outside on the deck and feel still. Hmm. Decisions, decisions. Good night.
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Rain is Raining
Thunderstorms hit last night as I drove home from the Catawba farmer's market. I felt hopeful that the rain would fill up the pond, but it didn't. We got lots of lightning and thunder but very little rain.
It was enough rain to fill up our little valley with misty fog early this morning.
I made the executive decision to change my baking hours this week. Starting at 3am means for a very wonderful early start and a very exhausted baker. I never could figure out how to go to sleep early enough. As of this week, the baker's hours have moved to 5am. I figured if I could work from 5am to 8pm I would be able to get everything done plus get a decent night's sleep.
The baking and wrapping got finished up at 8:30 tonight. I didn't do quite as much as I might have wished, but even so, have six dozen loaves of bread, a dozen spelt pound cakes and almost 50 pizza crusts. I start with milling the grain into flour, then make big batches of dough. After several rounds of rising and punching down, each loaf is hand-kneaded into its proper shape. Pizza crusts are rolled out and everything gets popped into the very hot and wonderful convection oven.
Lots of coffee is consumed and even more water on days like today. I put up curtains on the doorways into the rest of the house to keep from heating everything up. It worked well. The rest of the house stayed around 78-82 degrees. The bakery hovered in the 90 degree range.
As I baked, Rachel drove the little girls up to Stuart's Draft to purchase our non-GMO animal feed. Maggie washed laundry and swept up and Thomas dug up some potatoes, moved chicken house detritus out to the garden and cleaned his room.
We got a nice afternoon shower, but the pond still wasn't even halfway filled. As I finished up the bread wrapping to go milk the cow another rain started to fall. I am giving it a few minutes to stop, then shall join Coco for our evening chat.
I will fall into bed tired, but not as exhausted as I have been in weeks past. It did help having Rachel come home and volunteer to wash up a big pile of dirty dishes, God bless her! I hope that she is rewarded greatly for all her service to me.
I never thought that sleeping in until 5am would feel like a break to me!!! Well, the rain has paused, so off I go to milk the dear cow. Good night!
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Thank God for Tractors and People Who Know How to Fix Them
Today was hot. Triple digits in town, high nineties here in our little valley. Not good for much more than hanging out clothes on the beautiful clothesline that Wheeler and Ross built me. So we took care of other essential tasks, like picking up butcher paper and going to the pharmacy and Goodwill and Thomas's appointment. Then we came home to see Larry working over the tractor and bush hog.
It is hard to imagine the man hours given to me toward fixing the tractor. Will at Blue Ridge Diesel has taken a machine that probably deserved to be hauled to the dump and turned it back into a good tool. Larry has tweaked this and that and did who knows what to the bush hog to make it work. I don't even know who all has worked toward helping us have a tool that is terribly necessary on the farm. Even our dear 4th of July friends worked to move very heavy cabinetry out of the tractor shed before our party so we could store the tractor out of the elements.
This evening I came in, finished cooking the supper that the girls began and then headed out to check on Larry and the tractor. I made the mistake (?) of hopping on and taking a loop around the field to make sure I remembered all the right things to do with all the gadgets and levers and gears and clutches.
It was such satifying work that I sort of got addicted and went round and round the bottom field, bush hogging down the high grasses.
For a moment I felt sad that we weren't able to make hay this go around. Then I realized that more importantly was the work we are trying to do to improve the soil of our fields and figured that one way or another we would find hay for this winter. Getting the grass and weeds cut down now is important for soil health. We will spread manure on the fields later on and hope for rains to fall to give us a good harvest next year.
The smell of the cut field was sweet. I kept going round as the fireflies turned on and the dusk fell. When it grew too dark I parked the tractor and headed in, satisfied to have accomplished at least a fraction of our mowing chores in the nice cool of the evening.
Thankful for all the hands that are helping me accomplish my tasks, step by step.
May the Lord repay each and every one of those generous friends a thousandfold. Even dear Rachel Banks who helped finish other chores, washed the dishes and said goodnight to the girls.
It is hard to imagine the man hours given to me toward fixing the tractor. Will at Blue Ridge Diesel has taken a machine that probably deserved to be hauled to the dump and turned it back into a good tool. Larry has tweaked this and that and did who knows what to the bush hog to make it work. I don't even know who all has worked toward helping us have a tool that is terribly necessary on the farm. Even our dear 4th of July friends worked to move very heavy cabinetry out of the tractor shed before our party so we could store the tractor out of the elements.
This evening I came in, finished cooking the supper that the girls began and then headed out to check on Larry and the tractor. I made the mistake (?) of hopping on and taking a loop around the field to make sure I remembered all the right things to do with all the gadgets and levers and gears and clutches.
It was such satifying work that I sort of got addicted and went round and round the bottom field, bush hogging down the high grasses.
For a moment I felt sad that we weren't able to make hay this go around. Then I realized that more importantly was the work we are trying to do to improve the soil of our fields and figured that one way or another we would find hay for this winter. Getting the grass and weeds cut down now is important for soil health. We will spread manure on the fields later on and hope for rains to fall to give us a good harvest next year.
The smell of the cut field was sweet. I kept going round as the fireflies turned on and the dusk fell. When it grew too dark I parked the tractor and headed in, satisfied to have accomplished at least a fraction of our mowing chores in the nice cool of the evening.
Thankful for all the hands that are helping me accomplish my tasks, step by step.
May the Lord repay each and every one of those generous friends a thousandfold. Even dear Rachel Banks who helped finish other chores, washed the dishes and said goodnight to the girls.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Mileposts
Seems like we have a very tight knit family here.
I guess I didn't quite realize how close we were or how many family activities we shared.
Now that every two weeks or so goes by and we hit another milepost in our grief, I realize I took a lot for granted.
Our family has always celebrated 4th of July with friends. When we moved here we invited our first farm helpers to bring their young friends out and we grilled burgers, made icecream and shot off fireworks. Each year the crowd would be oddly similar, with church friends, old farm interns, homeschoolers, fellow farmers, milk and bread customers, neighbors and random strangers who would inevitably show up.
The bounty from the potluck would always weigh down the table. Children and big kids would run and scream on the yard, chasing and catching, carrying and tumbling. Meaningful conversations would take place on the deck, on the front porch, on walks in the pastures, under the willow tree. Dog would hide in the bathtub and as the sun set, the fireworks would be gathered up and Philip and others would manage to set them off.
The diversity of the crowd, the mellow air, the joyful spirit, the giant American flag all created the perfect image of our country. Philip would be silly, pretending to auction off the many cars and minivans lined up by the barn. He would then create an elaborately choreographed dance with sparklers, each year more outrageous than the last. We would clap and laugh until the tears rolled and he ate up every drop of the audience's appreciation.
After his performance the little children and the young adults would then line up to grab their lit sparklers and like the fireflies, or rather, like a troupe of electrified fairies, they would leap and fly around the front yard, way too late for the little ones and the older ones, but fly they would, anyway.
This 4th of July I didn't invite friends. I let them call and just the right ones showed up. Even so, the cars lined the driveway, we used stacks and stacks of plates were filled and refilled with a weighted down table filled with the most amazing of locally grown gourmet treats. A Texas BBQ brisket from our farm along with one of our legs of lamb, roasted with rosemary and garlic and dijon. The BBQ was for me to have a taste of home comfort food. Of course we made our traditional salt potatoes, thanks to Dawn for the recipe. There was couscous with veggies, pasta salad, red pepper salad, homemade goat cheese, the most amazing stuffed sunburst squash, thanks to our farmer's market neighbor's recipe, roasted summer veggies, and who knows what else.
We feasted.
Then we ate homemade icecream and cake and apple crisp.
As we gave thanks for the blessing of our gathering and the food, I remembered Philip.
I cried.
No one minded.
We remembered how lively Philip made our gatherings. How his absence is felt deeply. The kids and I gave thanks to our friends who have blessed us with their help, their money, their food, their stuff, most of all their love and prayers.
As we ate, we were able to share stories and laugh and enjoy one another. Then Serge engaged the potato cannon and oversaw the fireworks display. Thomas and James did most of the lighting and we ooohed and aaahed. When it came time for Philip to do his dance, I cried. And was happy to watch the little ones and the big ones flit like fairies across the front lawn as I enjoyed the company of former young interns, now real adults, some of them married and even with a baby. Friends cuddled here and there, mamas nursing babies, daddies telling stories, toddlers running in circles, adolescents growing by the minute, all twirling around in our new life, oh so similar, yet everchanging and evolving.
Can you believe that with all those people, all those plates, I didn't even wash a single dish? Those kids (are they still kids? I guess so. That makes me kind of old, doesn't it?) washed every single dish, gathered up every beer bottle, firework paper, sparkler wire and other detritus that seems to appear when you have a gathering of 40 or more people. Some of them camped in tents and we all shared coffee in the morning.
I guess I didn't quite realize how close we were or how many family activities we shared.
Now that every two weeks or so goes by and we hit another milepost in our grief, I realize I took a lot for granted.
Our family has always celebrated 4th of July with friends. When we moved here we invited our first farm helpers to bring their young friends out and we grilled burgers, made icecream and shot off fireworks. Each year the crowd would be oddly similar, with church friends, old farm interns, homeschoolers, fellow farmers, milk and bread customers, neighbors and random strangers who would inevitably show up.
The bounty from the potluck would always weigh down the table. Children and big kids would run and scream on the yard, chasing and catching, carrying and tumbling. Meaningful conversations would take place on the deck, on the front porch, on walks in the pastures, under the willow tree. Dog would hide in the bathtub and as the sun set, the fireworks would be gathered up and Philip and others would manage to set them off.
The diversity of the crowd, the mellow air, the joyful spirit, the giant American flag all created the perfect image of our country. Philip would be silly, pretending to auction off the many cars and minivans lined up by the barn. He would then create an elaborately choreographed dance with sparklers, each year more outrageous than the last. We would clap and laugh until the tears rolled and he ate up every drop of the audience's appreciation.
After his performance the little children and the young adults would then line up to grab their lit sparklers and like the fireflies, or rather, like a troupe of electrified fairies, they would leap and fly around the front yard, way too late for the little ones and the older ones, but fly they would, anyway.
This 4th of July I didn't invite friends. I let them call and just the right ones showed up. Even so, the cars lined the driveway, we used stacks and stacks of plates were filled and refilled with a weighted down table filled with the most amazing of locally grown gourmet treats. A Texas BBQ brisket from our farm along with one of our legs of lamb, roasted with rosemary and garlic and dijon. The BBQ was for me to have a taste of home comfort food. Of course we made our traditional salt potatoes, thanks to Dawn for the recipe. There was couscous with veggies, pasta salad, red pepper salad, homemade goat cheese, the most amazing stuffed sunburst squash, thanks to our farmer's market neighbor's recipe, roasted summer veggies, and who knows what else.
We feasted.
Then we ate homemade icecream and cake and apple crisp.
As we gave thanks for the blessing of our gathering and the food, I remembered Philip.
I cried.
No one minded.
We remembered how lively Philip made our gatherings. How his absence is felt deeply. The kids and I gave thanks to our friends who have blessed us with their help, their money, their food, their stuff, most of all their love and prayers.
As we ate, we were able to share stories and laugh and enjoy one another. Then Serge engaged the potato cannon and oversaw the fireworks display. Thomas and James did most of the lighting and we ooohed and aaahed. When it came time for Philip to do his dance, I cried. And was happy to watch the little ones and the big ones flit like fairies across the front lawn as I enjoyed the company of former young interns, now real adults, some of them married and even with a baby. Friends cuddled here and there, mamas nursing babies, daddies telling stories, toddlers running in circles, adolescents growing by the minute, all twirling around in our new life, oh so similar, yet everchanging and evolving.
Can you believe that with all those people, all those plates, I didn't even wash a single dish? Those kids (are they still kids? I guess so. That makes me kind of old, doesn't it?) washed every single dish, gathered up every beer bottle, firework paper, sparkler wire and other detritus that seems to appear when you have a gathering of 40 or more people. Some of them camped in tents and we all shared coffee in the morning.
C'est la vie
The brief cool front is long gone. We enjoyed the nights that dropped down to 48 degrees! Now the temps are soaring into the mid 90's and we are toasty. The grass on the lawn and in the field crackles when you walk on it. The clover is burned up in the sunny spots. I watered a couple of things in the garden this evening, but thankfully things look reasonably strong, due to the deep mulch.
Today I picked some cherry tomatoes, more beets, onions, green beans, a couple of eggplants and our first big tomatoes. The potatoes are ready to be dug so I will start that project tomorrow, maybe. We all enjoyed eating apricots that Rachel and Rose gleaned off our neighbors' tree down the road.
I noticed that our young pear tree is loaded with lovely pears this year and so is the damson plum. They won't be ripe for a month or so.
This morning after milking the goats, Rachel and Maggie moved the goat herd and all the cattle, minus Priscilla, Tenderloin and Coco into a training lot. We are training them to respect electrical fencing so hopefully in a week or so we can begin managed intensive grazing up on the upper fields. After they did that, Maggie assisted me in giving a shot of high powered dewormer to Tarkheena, one of our Jacob ewes. She has been looking rather peaked the last week or so and I noticed that the backs of her eyes were white, a sign of anemia and parasite overload. We lost one of the older ewes last week, and I think that parasites were the culprit. The very wet early summer was terrible for parasites. Not to mention the the flooded barn.
Thankfully the good aspect of the drought and heat is that it cuts down on parasites, who especially like to live in moist warm places. Our efforts on the barn have appeared to be successful for the moment and that makes me feel a bit more on top of the problem. Now I have to watch the flock very carefully to see if any other of the sheep show signs of distress. I see Tarkheena out grazing this evening, so that is a good sign.
Rachel Thomas and I were chatting on the phone this evening about the loss of one of their doelings. We wondered that many of the books we read about sustainable farming and homesteading don't spend much time talking about losing animals to illnesses or accidents. We lost a duck the other day to bully ducks. A chicken got caught in the new electric mesh fence and was strangled. I had to deal with the dead poultry myself (I cremated them) and had to ask for help from friends to take care of the very large dead ewe, as the ground is too hard to dig a big hole since we are so dry.
Before Philip died things like a dead ewe or moldy cherries on the tree bothered me a lot. After Philip died, those things seemed so trivial, I found it much easier last week to shrug my shoulders and say, "C'est la vie." Or rather "C'est la morte."
Don't get me wrong. Not that I am rejoicing that we lost that ewe. It made me sad for her little lamb to stand by her dead body and cry. But now the lamb hangs with the rest of the flock and adjusts.
And even though we aim for all organic, I asked Jason to run to Tractor Supply to buy the Ivermectin to dose the weak looking animals to give them a chance to live. And we work all the harder to get the pasture rotation and fencing up and running.
Today I picked some cherry tomatoes, more beets, onions, green beans, a couple of eggplants and our first big tomatoes. The potatoes are ready to be dug so I will start that project tomorrow, maybe. We all enjoyed eating apricots that Rachel and Rose gleaned off our neighbors' tree down the road.
I noticed that our young pear tree is loaded with lovely pears this year and so is the damson plum. They won't be ripe for a month or so.
This morning after milking the goats, Rachel and Maggie moved the goat herd and all the cattle, minus Priscilla, Tenderloin and Coco into a training lot. We are training them to respect electrical fencing so hopefully in a week or so we can begin managed intensive grazing up on the upper fields. After they did that, Maggie assisted me in giving a shot of high powered dewormer to Tarkheena, one of our Jacob ewes. She has been looking rather peaked the last week or so and I noticed that the backs of her eyes were white, a sign of anemia and parasite overload. We lost one of the older ewes last week, and I think that parasites were the culprit. The very wet early summer was terrible for parasites. Not to mention the the flooded barn.
Thankfully the good aspect of the drought and heat is that it cuts down on parasites, who especially like to live in moist warm places. Our efforts on the barn have appeared to be successful for the moment and that makes me feel a bit more on top of the problem. Now I have to watch the flock very carefully to see if any other of the sheep show signs of distress. I see Tarkheena out grazing this evening, so that is a good sign.
Rachel Thomas and I were chatting on the phone this evening about the loss of one of their doelings. We wondered that many of the books we read about sustainable farming and homesteading don't spend much time talking about losing animals to illnesses or accidents. We lost a duck the other day to bully ducks. A chicken got caught in the new electric mesh fence and was strangled. I had to deal with the dead poultry myself (I cremated them) and had to ask for help from friends to take care of the very large dead ewe, as the ground is too hard to dig a big hole since we are so dry.
Before Philip died things like a dead ewe or moldy cherries on the tree bothered me a lot. After Philip died, those things seemed so trivial, I found it much easier last week to shrug my shoulders and say, "C'est la vie." Or rather "C'est la morte."
Don't get me wrong. Not that I am rejoicing that we lost that ewe. It made me sad for her little lamb to stand by her dead body and cry. But now the lamb hangs with the rest of the flock and adjusts.
And even though we aim for all organic, I asked Jason to run to Tractor Supply to buy the Ivermectin to dose the weak looking animals to give them a chance to live. And we work all the harder to get the pasture rotation and fencing up and running.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
They're Home
Thomas, Patrick, Maggie and Rose were invited to join other kids in their grief group to share a week at Ridgehaven Camp in North Carolina. Once a month these kids get together with Martha Furman, a counselor who works with Gentle Shepherd Hospice to allow kids a safe place to grieve the loss of a parent or other immediate family member. They share pictures, tell stories and laugh and cry together. They all loaded up in a big van and went to the camp for a week of intense fun and work.
I knew it would be hard for me to let the kids all be gone for a whole week. That meant I had to take care of the baby chicks, the turkey poults, carry heavy feed bags, untangle goats from mesh fence, chase after errant cattle, deal with sheep, and not have any kids to help with farmer's market prep. You can imagine why I haven't been writing very frequently. Too darn busy taking care of every one's farm chores.
As I cleaned the barn and worked on manure detail I was so thankful to know the kids were in a great place, having a break from the daily duties, being nurtured and loved on by people who are trained to help kids be brave enough to grieve.
They went rafting, climbed towers, swam in a pond (must be a lot nicer than our almost dried up pond), hiked, and also shared stories and wept and remembered and talked about anger and guilt and sadness and fear. They broke a pot and glued the shards back together. They listened to stories about Jesus healing the paralytic. They had a pillow fight. They made friends. They had awesome counselors. They didn't even miss home. At least that is what they told me. They said that if you live on a farm and have to work all the time that it keeps you from being homesick when you visit a place where you get to play all week long.
I certainly missed them, and not just because of the extra work! Nora was with me most of the time, but she got lonely for other kids and went to spend a couple of days with the Thomas kids. I love our farm, but what I realized when they were gone is that I love our family even more than the farm.
Way more than the farm.
I love the way their voices echo around the farm.
I love to see their heads bobbing as they traverse the fields.
I love to share labor with them, using our muscles and minds together to overcome challenges.
Even the conflicts and sibling issues are a part of the package deal.
The house feels normal tonight.
We shared a late supper of pork chops, from the farm, of course, broccoli and cauliflower from our market friends. We also had cucumbers from some friends, drenched in ranch if you are Rose and Nora. Milk from Coco and rice from the store. For Rose.
Tired, but not too tired to fix a dinner for my precious returned ones.
And to add icing to the cake, we have Dear Rachel Banks back in our home for a nice long visit.
Wow.
Most of you probably remember dear Rachel Banks, our intern from a couple of years ago, who sort of turned into part of the family.
I was planning on writing about the great joy I get from Farmer's Market, how I love our community, the camaraderie we share with customers and fellow vendors, and the amazing economy that sends me out in the morning with a load of bread and milk and brings me back home with money and lots of amazing fruits and veggies to fill up a cooler. And stories and belly laughter. And hugs. Dear hugs.
But right now, I am pleased that children are home. Relieved that even in our not normal world, we have some moments of comfort.
And REALLY relieved to have some help with the chores!!!
Home.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
July the First
We had a great farmer's market at Catawba today. Sold every loaf of bread and pizza crust. It was not terribly busy, so we had enough space for a meaningful conversation here and there and that was very pleasant.
The best thing about today is the cool front. It was 50 degrees this morning on the farm. Brisk. No humidity. Even this afternoon was tolerable after such a horrible heat wave. I came home from the market and took care of the chickens and baby chicks and turkeys. Gathered eggs. Moved the cow. Cooked myself some of Jonathan's red fingerling potatoes with garlic, a jalapeno, cumin and a big bunch of his cilantro. Sat on the front porch all by myself to enjoy them. It was pleasant, but a bit lonely, so I prayed. Called my sister. Had a good heart to heart. Grateful to speak to a grownup.
Baking went pretty well today, despite little farm glitches. The bull and a steer and the two little heifers managed to get into the bottom hay field. The bull and steer went all the way down the field and through the woods to the electric fence separating them from the neighbor's cows. I had to pause my baking to walk the forty acres, cross through the marsh in ankle deep water (oh, why, oh why didn't I wear my work boots instead of my beautiful new red shoes?) to herd the naughty boys back to our fields.
I think the walk did me good. Maybe. The shoes are well made, so I hope they survived. The best part of the walk was the patch of wineberries with a hand full of ripe jewels, ready for me to harvest as I trudged through the briars to get those galoots.
Tomorrow is another baking day, so I had better get to bed. Thankful for the respite in the weather. Thankful for our amazing customers who make the effort to buy from us and help support a local farm. Thankful for grace and peace in the middle of the loneliness. Thankful for a job. And very thankful for a comfortable bed with blankets and a very comfortable pillow and clean water and plenty of food. Praying for the widows in India and Haiti who are lonely and need a clean place to sleep and clean water and a job. Thankful for Nora who helps me to remember to pray for them.
The best thing about today is the cool front. It was 50 degrees this morning on the farm. Brisk. No humidity. Even this afternoon was tolerable after such a horrible heat wave. I came home from the market and took care of the chickens and baby chicks and turkeys. Gathered eggs. Moved the cow. Cooked myself some of Jonathan's red fingerling potatoes with garlic, a jalapeno, cumin and a big bunch of his cilantro. Sat on the front porch all by myself to enjoy them. It was pleasant, but a bit lonely, so I prayed. Called my sister. Had a good heart to heart. Grateful to speak to a grownup.
Baking went pretty well today, despite little farm glitches. The bull and a steer and the two little heifers managed to get into the bottom hay field. The bull and steer went all the way down the field and through the woods to the electric fence separating them from the neighbor's cows. I had to pause my baking to walk the forty acres, cross through the marsh in ankle deep water (oh, why, oh why didn't I wear my work boots instead of my beautiful new red shoes?) to herd the naughty boys back to our fields.
I think the walk did me good. Maybe. The shoes are well made, so I hope they survived. The best part of the walk was the patch of wineberries with a hand full of ripe jewels, ready for me to harvest as I trudged through the briars to get those galoots.
Tomorrow is another baking day, so I had better get to bed. Thankful for the respite in the weather. Thankful for our amazing customers who make the effort to buy from us and help support a local farm. Thankful for grace and peace in the middle of the loneliness. Thankful for a job. And very thankful for a comfortable bed with blankets and a very comfortable pillow and clean water and plenty of food. Praying for the widows in India and Haiti who are lonely and need a clean place to sleep and clean water and a job. Thankful for Nora who helps me to remember to pray for them.
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