Thunderstormy

August. Hot, steamy days. Thunderstorms rolling through.

The thunder is rolling, echoing, promising. The willow tree waves in anticipation. At a little past 8 it is almost dark. Flashes of lightening decorate the ridge. I think I will have to go sit on the porch and watch.

By the way, the moon is hiding these recent evenings. But the big dipper is not. I have enjoyed catching a glimpse of that most lovely and recognizable of constellations, hanging towards the north.

Random Chat

Had coffee early. Mattie's Mountain Mud. Usually we barter with Star City Coffee, which we love and adore. Local roasters out of Salem. Mattie is out of New Castle down the road, and both roaster do free trade organic specially roasted coffees. I felt almost like a traitor drinking a different coffee since our paths crossed Mattie's before they crossed Star City's.

After sitting down to a delicious cup of amazing coffee, enhanced, of course, by Coco's heavy cream, I decided that I was one terribly lucky girl to have the opportunity to drink the absolutely best coffees in the region roasted by people I consider really cool friends who like to enjoy our breads, pizza crusts and meat and other farm products.

After milking and doing some laundry and working in the garden for a bit, it was time to take the girls in to school to take their assessment tests. They were a bit nervous, but not I. Sure enough they did a fine job and are ready to go into first grade and fifth grade. We are excited about their new adventure. Dropped off more papers to the highschool and middle school. Whew. I can't wait to be done with paperwork.

I should mention that Serge and James brought over a new chicken tractor they built. It is a beautiful work of art. I am so excited to imagine that eventually our chickens will be free-range but with boundaries. Aren't there books written about boundaries and relationships? I don't foresee how my relationship with those chickens is going to last if we don't get a few boundaries established. I noticed as I picked garden today that we would have had boxes of tomatoes if the chickens hadn't found them.

Darn chickens.

And I noticed an interesting conundrum. The chickens have an uncanny ability of scratching up all my flowers, but manage to leave all weeds intact. Wow. Amazing.

So thanks to Serge and James for building the prototype off of Jason's plans from the tractor he built over 16 years ago.

BTW, a chicken tractor is not a mechanized vehicle used for plowing fields. It is a portable coop, designed to be moved daily to allow chickens fresh, clean grass for grazing, within certain safe parameters. The tractor gives the chickens the opportunity to eat delicious bugs and green stuff but keeps them safe from predators and women farmers who get tired of losing tomatoes and flowers. And it makes egg hunting a little less dramatic that Easter. We want Easter egg hunting once a year, not everyday.

This evening Tim came back with the mill. We are still trying to figure out if the motor is back 100%. Maybe we need a larger motor to handle the load? I am so thankful for our friends who give of their time, a most precious resource, to help us with our troubles. Really, it is very hard to receive so much help. I wonder how I can ever repay all that time and energy. Then we pray. Pray for God to repay Tim and the countless other friends back. In time, money, resources, rest and joy. What a blessing is our community.

Speaking of community, it was ladies' Bible study night. We didn't spend much time on Bible study, as it seemed more important to catch up on each others' lives and pray for each other. I don't know what I would do without the support of that group of women. So strong, each one of them. I read somewhere the other day that someone thought that prayer to some deity contributed to anxiety and that we were fools for even thinking that it was worth the while.

I would never even begin to want to try to convince anyone else to believe what I do. Seems like that would not be worth the while. But the peace that comes to replace the anxieties during our prayer time is amazing and wonderful. Each woman who comes has a different strength and personality and something to offer the others in our group. I love those gals and am so thankful that they are willing to come enter our crazy farm life, with dirty dishes and eating kids and typically a few piles of laundry shoved in the hallway. They don't even mind chasing the cow out of the garden when the gate gets left open. Although I have to mention that Coco does mind getting chased out.

Well, for your information, August is here. Hot days, very hot. Mid 90's but the evenings are cool enough. We did turn on the air conditioner for a few hours this afternoon and I was thankful. Before you know it we will be sliding into fall, my favorite. But in the meantime, we enjoy all the bounty this summer heat brings us, like corn on the cob and tomatoes and peppers and green beans and zucchini.

Chocolate Brioche

In the middle of milling and baking Friday I went into the dining room for a quick snack and 5 minute break for lunch. Sat down and looked at a picture of me and Philip. Pain welled up from my gut and spilled out in the form of many tears.

I missed him so very much.

Sometimes his pictures don't hurt. Sometimes they do.

On Friday, it hurt.

I cried for a moment, thinking no one was looking, then noticed that Nora saw me. Gave her a hug and told her I was missing her dad. And as we hugged, all of a sudden I knew I needed to make some chocolate brioche for the market.

Brioche is a french-inspired bread made with lots of eggs and milk. Very tender crust. Last year I frequently made little baby brioches out of freshly milled whole wheat or spelt flour, farm eggs, Coco's milk, honey from up the road, and wrapped the silken dough around organic dark chocolate. The rolls look nice in appearance, rather unassuming, with their egg yolk and cream glaze. Nice, but not that special.

UNTIL that first bite. Tender roll embraces molten chocolate.

Definitely special.

So, it was so weird that as I wiped the tears from my eyes I was inspired to make the brioche.

The kids often request it and so do customers, but making these little gourmet breakfast treats require preparing the dough the night before then getting up before 4:30am to knead and form the rolls and bake them before we leave. They require extra love and joy, and frankly I haven't had it in me.

I stirred up the batter and marveled at the orange color our farm eggs imparted to the dough. The milk and honey and the freshly milled wheat smelled heavenly. Next morning I hopped up and without even thinking about it, began the ritual of forming the rolls as my water heated for the french press full of coffee. The satiny dough felt like therapy to my fingers as the lumps became smooth packages of surprise.

The children woke up and Nora ran downstairs asking if it were true that I was making brioche. She could smell the distinctive aroma from her upstairs bedroom. I assured her it was true and she ran for her sample.

We quickly loaded up the baked goods and milk, grabbed our cashboxes and signs and headed out the door. One of the baby brioche fell out of the pan and I decided it was a sign.

As I brought the roll to my mouth, I wondered why in the world I felt inspired to bake those treats again, right in the middle of a very sad grief moment.

Then I took a bite.

The rich whole wheat roll, with only the essence of honey, tender and good, bursting with the fullness of the dark chocolate tasted like a kiss and a hug. It tasted like commitment and joy and love and forever and warm embraces to me. It felt like a message from Philip and God to me that I was still loved.

All that in a silly roll? What can I say? You might try it and it might taste like sandpaper to you. But to me it was rich and full of goodness and meaning. It made me think of our marriage. Not always sweet like a doughnut or a candy bar. But rich. Like dark chocolate and tender dough and just a touch of real honey, not the fake corn syrupy stuff.

It made me cry just a little, but in a good way.

The kids asked me if I would make the brioche every week now and I said probably not. I like to bake special things when specially inspired. But I am happy for the inspiration. If you want a great recipe, I will give you mine and you can make your own chocolate brioche. Just maybe if you brew up a very strong pot of good coffee, add some of Coco's heavy cream and sit down with one of those rolls fresh out of the oven, you will feel very loved.

Saturday night with the kids.

Fresh whole trout from Jimbo at Big Pine Trout last night. Roasted with garlic and peppers and onions in olive oil. Along with some fingerling potatoes from Ojai Farm. And fresh corn on the cob that we picked yesterday evening. Nora ate freshly milled whole wheat baguette. The kids had to shuck the corn, but we didn't even have to gut the fish! And all the food so very fresh. Real food really is better, folks.

Instead of writing about the continued trials of the mill, and Tim and Amber Wilborne spending their entire Saturday taking the machine apart, pulling out a pound of putrid old flour that had accumulated in and around the stone, and putting the thing together, as a blessing to me, and instead of writing about chocolate brioche, and instead of writing about the two loads of seasoned and split white oak that Katie's husband's coworkers gave me and Katie's husband brought over, I decided to read two chapters of Charlotte's Web to the girls on the deck after supper.

Reading great books aloud to the children is one of my very favorite things.

Thursday Evening

I was grateful to be able to mill and bake today. The feed corn helped to clean the mill a bit. Not perfectly, but better than before.

We had several drop-in customers. One was a friend from our homeschool coop. As her children hunted eggs with the kids and played down by the creek she encouraged me and I made bread and rolled out pizza crusts. Her words of blessing toward me and the kids and our new public school adventure were just in time.

The day was hot and thunderstormy. We staked our tents at the farmer's market this afternoon, but when gale force winds and rain arrived, we still had to hold on for dear life. Signs were flying everywhere. A few tents were blown over and destroyed. Tables were dumped. Goods were drenched. Everyone worked together to make the best out of a challenging situation.

The wind and rain stopped. Drenched vendors rearranged and all of a sudden the sun returned, the skies cleared and those of us who could went back to business. I was so thankful that we managed to sell most of our breads and pizzas.

Sean and Julie dropped by. What a surprise! Their visit made the end of the market a real treat. It is hard to believe that this sweet newlywed couple, young and happy and on vacation down the road would want to spend time chatting with the former "farm boss!" I love them so much and am grateful for the amazing friendships that have come about, all interestingly linked to the farm.

After supper and dishes, (ugh, all the bakery dishes) Nora and Rose and I went out to the front porch to read our chapter in the dusk. It was the chapter in Charlotte's Web about crickets singing the song of the end of summer. Our crickets sang along with the story and as the sun set considerably earlier than last week I knew the song was true.

I must hit the sack and get ready for another bakery day tomorrow, but I have to mention that one of the sweetest sights I saw all day was Coco, standing at the fence in the front, lovingly kissing Duncan the bull through the wire. Cows are so tender toward one another. Even the calves like to give each other a gentle lick on the side of the face as a greeting or gentle gesture. Duncan gave her a kiss and they stood quietly, facing each other for a very long time. It made us smile.

Fleeting.

This morning I asked Thomas to do a feed inventory after I milked Coco.
Sure enough, one bag of non-GMO dairy cattle food left. The laundry was washed, way too hot to work in the garden, seemed like a perfect day to run errands. We loaded up the paperwork, dropped some off at a couple of schools, ran to the NEW Goodwill in Daleville (Yeay! We love Goodwill.) Didn't find the loaf pans I was hunting for the bakery, but both Thomas and I found a couple of "new" books and I found a cute outfit.

Then off to Stuart's Draft for a feed run. I enjoyed singing with the pop radio, Nora napped and Thomas and Rose read books. We were thanking God for the a/c as the temperatures crept up to 96 degrees. I usually try to do most of the shopping at Goodwill, but hadn't had any recent luck in finding the right size loaf pans so we made a stop in K Mart and found 12 the right size! I bought them all. Along with some lipstick. (So I am vain. A girl has to have a little fun!)

We ate some short ribs we left cooking all day long and tried to work through some farm management stuff. I wrote out a list and asked the boys to make sure the feed got off loaded and placed in the right places. Then the sky darkened, a cloud descended on our valley, and an awakening electricity replaced the sluggish calm. We ran out to the truck. The boys began to unload but we realized we were too late. They cleared a path and I parked in the milking area. Thankful to have a spot out of the rain!

The girls and I grabbed Charlotte's Web, intent on reading in our favorite spot, the cozy chairs on the front porch.

"Boom! Crash! Splash!"

The storm descended with a fury, twisting the willows in a furious dance. The rain chased us off the chairs and into the door frame. We couldn't bear to enter the house, it was so fresh and alive outside and so hot and sticky inside. We watched the flashes, counted the seconds, thrilled in the shower, and merrily watched the stream form as the happy water rushed from the National Forests, the road and our barn roof toward the stream.

As the wind shifted, the rain quit hitting us in the face and I commenced the reading.

Tonight we read one of my favorite chapters in Charlotte's Web.

"Dr. Dorian"

Fern's mother, Mrs. Arable, is quite concerned with Fern's behavior. She wonders why Fern shows no interest in her own friends and would prefer to pass her free time in the barn cellar, making up stories about the animals. Especially her bottle fed pig, Wilbur.

Dr. Dorian doesn't seem a bit perplexed by Fern's behavior. In one very brief visit he calms Mrs. Arable's fears and covers some pretty amazing territory in regards to miracles, faith and developmental psychology.

I especially like his thoughts on Charlotte's web:

"Well, who taught a spider? A young spider knows how to spin a web without any instructions from anybody. Don't you regard that as a miracle?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Arable. "I never looked at it that way before. Still, I don't understand how those words got into the web. I don't understand it, and I don't like what I can't understand."

"None of us do," said Dr. Dorian, sighing. "I'm a doctor. Doctors are supposed to understand everything. But I don't understand everything, and I don't let it worry me."

We ended the chapter. The storm passed. The evening is cooler for the moment.

Patrick is going to milk for me so I can go to sleep and get ready for an early morning of baking, thanks to Tim and the new motor. I think I will start extra early since tomorrow is supposed to get extra hot.

August. Summer is nearing her end, but not without a flash of steamy personality and a few scorching glances. Yesterday evening Rose and I walked the driveway to say goodbye to our visitor. As we walked back to the house in the dusk, we remembered the days of shoveling and shoveling snow in the driveway.

Was that a hundred years ago?

Tuesday Already?

It is a good thing I worked so many hours in the garden yesterday. It was pleasant and fresh.

Not today.

Rose and I left the house bright and early today to belatedly celebrate her 10th birthday. We breakfasted at our favorite birthday breakfast locale: Thelma's Chicken and Waffles in Roanoke.

Fried chicken and waffles and fried potatoes all in one meal. With coffee.

Wow. I have many favorite foods. Fried chicken is one of my very all-time favorites and I have to say it is hard to find a good piece of fried chicken anywhere these days. Unless you stop in at Thelma's.

Rose and I both got the Fried chicken tenders and belgian waffles and side of fried potatoes. We talked about the mileposts of her 9th year. She had been reading for a few years, but this year she became a book worm. Her piano playing skills have improved significantly. She can milk a goat all by herself. She learned how to make an omelet. She got to take on a week of dishes duty this past year (not a real highlight for her, but definitely happy news for the older siblings.)

We were a bit teary as we talked about the most horrible thing that happened in her 9th year. We laughed at some of Philip's antics and missed him.

It was a good date.

After we got home we worked on house chores for a bit then headed out to the garden. I was worried about consuming so many simple carbs in one meal until I began to sweat continuously for two hours. Working in the garden is a much more pleasant task in cool, low humidity. Oh well, I still was satisfied to have my fingers in the dirt.

This afternoon Tim came over and replaced my burned out motor with a new one. Suggested we take all other appliances off that electrical outlet. Suggested we put on a thermal overload. Suggested we perhaps upgrade to a stronger motor at some point.

A friend came over and we all traipsed out to see Patrick's bridge and let me enjoy the wildflowers. They are so pretty. Jewel weed, cardinal flower, Queen Anne's lace, flowering mint, so many others, made a beautiful bouquet for our dinner table, courtesy Patrick.

For dinner we had one of our favorites: pork and cabbage stirfry.

Onions from our garden, garlic, Jonathan's cabbage, our carrots, our pork, olive oil, sesame oil, soy sauce and sesame seeds. So tender and sweet. Perfect with a side of Japanese cucumbers. We slice the cucumbers and dress them with a mixture of 2 TBSP vinegar mixed with 2 TBSP organic sugar. Top with sesame seeds. Yum. We were fighting over them.

Tonight we had the weird yearly phenomenon of these annoying little flying insects. Once a year they pop up out of nowhere, bigger than fruitflies, smaller than houseflies. I wanted to sit outside, but they crawl on your arms, on your face, in your eyes and ears. Ick. Thankfully they don't stick around for long.

Anyone know what those crazy creatures are?

August. I hope a thunderstorm is in the forecast. I believe tonight I will be sleeping with a nice wet bandana to keep cool. Too many bugs to sleep outside. Where is that mosquito netting when we need it?

The Garden

Oh, the poetry that is written in a crisp ear of Silver Queen corn.

Today I got up, started the laundry, milked Coco, drank my coffee and enjoyed the morning's readings. Got the kids moving then went out to tend the garden.

The morning wasn't cold like the weekend, but drizzly and cool. Soft and gray. Perfect for garden weeding.

I felt like the garden was mildly reproaching, like a neglected lover. The last couple of weeks have been filled with livestock chores and the garden has been an afterthought, a quick run grab something for supper and pull a couple of weeds while running back to the kitchen.

I said my "I'm sorry's" and got down to business. Started with the green bean rows. Worked around the okra. Got Thomas to bring me some more hay for mulching. Deep mulch only works to prevent weeds if you make sure and pull the errant ones and smother the other ones. Tackled the tomato rows. Oh, my, goodness. We staked a few, didn't the rest. I think the tomatoes are aliens from another country, working to take over the country, unstaked garden by unstaked garden.

Pulled mounds and mounds of weeds around the corn. Threw down more mulch. Opened up one ear, wondering. Would tonight be the night? The night of the first corn?

Yeah, I know. We have eaten corn already this year. But it was market corn. Definitely better than supermarket corn. But I guess we are spoiled.

There is nothing, no, nothing, like corn picked from your own garden, shucked by little girls and dropped into boiling water right then and there. And of course smeared lightly with Coco's butter and sprinkled heavily with real salt.

Crispy. Crunchy. Juice squirting. Face smearing goodness. Packaged in lovely green wrappers, tucked here and there on dark green stalks of promise. What used to be a dried up kernel, tucked into dark soil by young persons hands, what managed to survive hungry goats and cow, flood and drought, sun and weeds, brought us a gourmet seasonal gift. No sugar could be more satisfying than the sweet of that Silver Queen.

I ate 4 ears. So did Rose. I think Patrick ate 5. It went well with a little side of green beans and venison and leftover mashed potatoes.

I didn't finish the work in the garden. But she is feeling a bit better about our relationship. And so am I.

Have I mentioned that working in the garden is one of my favorite things? Dirty and sore, I better grab a shower. Then I will dream of alien cherry tomato takeovers. And the Silver Queen.

Sunday

This afternoon Nora, Rose, Brownie and Blackie and I walked up to the far pasture to bring back Coco so we could separate her for milking. The middle pastures are too steep for mowing for hay. The grass is tall. The cows are happy to graze up there. It was a nice hike. Cool. Damp. Feels like my very favorite season of the year, fall. I know we have plenty more dog days to come. But the earth is turning and we are nearing the end of the summer season. The end is in sight.

Thank God for the seasons.

I took another nap early this afternoon. Why am I so tired? I have hardly worked the last two days. It was a sweet nap. Zaccheus, our cat, climbed up for a cuddle. Since Philip died she rarely comes to our bed. She was a comfort to me this afternoon.

I had emails to write and laundry to wash, but it seemed good to rest.

After my nap and our hike the girls and I sat out on the front porch to read our evening chapters. We are reading Charlotte's Web, one of my favorites. I sat in the rocker with Nora in my lap, Rose was in the ratty old blue wicker chair. Coco munched on grass in the front yard. The mama hen and her babies followed along, snagging their supper, cackling and cheeping. The guinea tribe hunted bugs up along the driveway and their babies peeped and screeched, doing an amazing job of keeping up with the grownups. Sheep made their way into the barn, goats maaed to one another.

Even though I feel pretty lonely without Philip this weekend, I wondered at how content I am here on the farm. Crickets chirp. Rocker creaks. Girls giggle at the part in the story when Fern's brother tries to get Charlotte with a stick, trips, tumbles and falls on Wilbur's trough, breaking the rotten goose egg. They have smelled rotten eggs before. They can imagine the fumes.

As overwhelmed as I get with farm responsibilities and parenting responsibilities, and as sad as I get about Philip's death, it is odd that I can feel that life is good. What a paradox.

Fall?

A cool front came in on Saturday. Can you believe it? After days in the dripping 90's we were only 58 degrees this morning. It felt like October. I wanted to pull on a sweatshirt, but didn't. I did wear a cardigan to church.

I also told the kids that summer is not over and please don't pack away your summer clothes. August is upon us and that means plenty more hot.

Nevertheless, the cooler temperatures are a welcome relief. A gift. It drizzled off and on all yesterday. Not enough to add to the pond or to make the stream run, but enough to green up the grass.

Strange thing about grief, when I have a lighter work load I feel the grief so much more strongly. It was great not having to bake on Friday. I filled out forms for school, washed dishes, cooked meals and ran to the DMV to turn in some license plates. After waiting in line for quite a long time I felt a bit disconnected and alone. The car drove to the cemetery and I found myself sitting down in the shade by Philip's grave. A surge of grief washed over me and I wept. A lot.

I didn't even know I was so sad. I told Philip I missed holding his hand. I missed feeling his strong arm tucked around me. I missed our wrap up the week or the end of the day chats late at night. I missed being his loved one.

After a good cry I headed for home and fixed a nice end of visit meal for our guests. It was so nice not having to market over the weekend. It gave me margin to enjoy our company. Kathryn and I shared red wine and chopped veggies. I roasted some chicken wings, teriyaki style with green beans for the non-red meat contingent. I made an improv almost ratatouille, sauteeing some onions from the garden, garlic from the Thomas's garden, tomatoes and peppers from our garden, a couple of runt eggplants out of our garden and thyme. Cooked up pork chops and steaks for the big meat eaters. Thomas boiled up a bunch of potatoes from our garden to make mashed. He wanted to add lots of garlic and onions, but I requested the simple version of butter and cream for the younger set. Sliced cucumbers from the garden and a little salad made with our cherry and golden tomatoes tossed with our goat cheese made for a feast. We lit candles and gave thanks for many things.

Next day, instead of hurrying off the market, I got up early and drank coffee alone and read the Bible. Then milked the cow and sold the remainder of our bee hives to a gal. Was thankful to make some money on a weekend when the mill was down. Some friends worked on electrical stuff. Kathryn and Thomas delivered milk. Then we walked down the field to see Patrick and Max's project.

They had built the most beautiful bridge over the creek. I was so impressed I cried. A few years ago Philip cut down a tree to cross the stream and cut off the rounded side so the kids could easily scamper across. Max and Patrick carried out lumber in the back of the truck and added on to make a very impressive bridge. Maybe someday I will figure out how to put in a photo because it was so lovely. They also began building a hall, A-frame style, up on the ridge.

I don't very often go walking in the woods. It was good to walk in the cool, early afternoon, marveling at the handiwork of those clever boys, sliding around the damp leaves, grabbing onto saplings to keep from falling down the hill, smelling earth and enjoying ferns and moss and bark.

After a late lunch with our dear friends, we said our goodbyes. Teary. Anticipating the next visit. I wearily fell into bed for a nap. Soft rain cushioning the afternoon. What a good weekend for a motor to burn out.