Hot Sun

Hot sun tries to deceive us. She tries to tell us that summer is never going to end. That we will sweat forevermore. She tells us that no matter what the calendar says and the moon says and the farmer's almanac says we will never more see rain or cool breezes, but I know the truth!

Fall is here and cooler weather is coming.

Soon.

Thank goodness.

By the way, despite glaring sun and sweat and squinty eyes, farmer's market was great, as usual. I know I say this every single week, but I love going to market. We have made amazing connections with our community. We feel loved. We feel like milling grains and milking cows and making bread is a worthwhile endeavor that truly makes a difference in someone's life. Getting to barter with our other farmer pals and take home a cooler full of other people's amazing food to enjoy around our table is a spiritual event. Really.

I am one lucky woman to have such a great job. But now that the dishes are washed, the counters wiped down and the suburban emptied, I think I better take a nap. Hope the kids can play quietly.

Fall is officially here. Welcome.

The kids and I have repeatedly determined that whoever invented the saying "Don't cry over spilled milk" never milked the cow or the goats.

While straining the milk, I dropped an entire gallon jar onto the floor, and let me tell you, one gallon of milk can cover a lot of territory. The kids rushed to my rescue, grabbing dirty towels from the laundry. Rose volunteered to mop after Patrick grabbed the bucket and the mop off the deck. We picked up broken glass, and didn't cry one tear, but maybe we should have!

Thank goodness for team effort.

The moon is full, it is the autumn equinox today. Hard to tell, when it felt like 90 degrees at the farmer's market today, sun toasting both the bread samples and the baker. I hear rumors that cooler weather awaits us next week. Yeay.

We had a nice market this evening, despite the heat. Slow, but that meant for lots of vendor interaction and bartering. We came home with lots of goodies: tamales, cookies, chestnuts and a gorgeous bouquet. One of our sweet customers brought us Spanish tortilla (a spanish omelet with potatoes.) It was so good I ate a quarter of it with my fingers, savoring each mouthful of tender deliciousness. Yum. What a gift. What could be better than eggs and crispy tender potatoes and olive oil? Well, a glass of red wine to drink along side. Perfect stand around the counter with the kids and the dirty dishes food at the end of a very long day. And I didn't have to cook it myself. That is true love! But next time, I vow to sit outside to watch the moon while I eat such a gift.

So the floor is mopped, the tortilla is gone, the glass of wine finished, the moon is up and time for kids and mom to go to bed. Tomorrow is another day.

Let's hope the coyotes take a trip to the other side of the mountain tonight.

PS Funny things that happen on the farm:

I was taking a shower to get ready for the farmer's market. Took my hair out of a pony tail to wash it. Found two big old burrs tangled in my tangled mess of hair. Wondered how that happened since I had been working indoors since 4am this morning?

Then I remembered that while I milked Priscilla and Coco this morning they both whacked me with their tails and the tails stuck to my hair like velcro. I guess that they both left me a present. BTW, we decided to take Priscilla away from the nursing calves who need to be weaned so we can have some extra milk in the freezer for winter months. Such a good girl. Both girls behaved very sweetly for me this morning. With the exception of the occasional tail whack across the back of the head. I hope the babies (not really babies, but very big adolescents) will quit their bawling.

Storm

Today was hot.

A hazy mist covered the hills. The sweat rolled as I worked on my tasks.

A milk customer reminded me that it was supposed to rain this afternoon, but I had a hard time believing it.

The boys were supposed to unload the feed from the pickup when they got home from school, but at some point I went into the bathroom and saw Blackie crouching in the tub. Certain sign of pending thunderstorm.

Sure enough, I ran outside and was able to move the truck into the tractor shed moments before the first drops of rain hit.

The wind became furious. The willow tree thrashed about. Dark clouds and thunder rolled over the Jefferson National Forest and onto our farm, delivering buckets of rain. I raced to the porch, but had to stand at the door. Finally settled on the couch to enjoy the storm while writing a letter. Kids got washed in off the bus. Lethargy turned into happy electrical energy.

Moments later the storm had passed, the rain had stopped and the thunder was a distant echo. But the cooler temperatures felt nice.

And the ducks enjoyed their bath in the temporary stream at the bottom of the driveway.

Twilight (on the farm)

Twilight happens a lot earlier these days as we rush headlong into fall.

As I milked I watched the sheep come down from the upper grazing field. All in a line. I imagined them carrying their jackets on one arm and an empty lunch pail on the other. "Tough day?" "Nah, same as usual." "Wanna meet me down at the waterin' hole?" "Sure."

They met in front of the barn and then re-formed their line to head to the pond and stream for the evening drink and switch to the western paddock.

Boaz (our Jacob ram) had decided he is a ram again. Most parts of the year he likes to pretend he is part of the cattle herd.

He walked over to Ophelia and gave her a gentle nip on the butt. She looked at him in scorn and disdainfully walked away. Unperterbed, he walked away and cavalierly approached Tarkheena. Who joined the other sheep as they meandered, in their orderly line, down to the field by the pond. Poor Boaz. I bet he and the ewes will work out their courtship season, all in good time.

The evening is still.

The willow trees are quiet, pensive, but an imperceptible breeze causes the leaves on the cherry tree to tremble. Like a very old woman, with thinning hair and an unsteady hand, she loses her leaves. One by one. Seems like yesterday she was still covered in leaf. She is clothed in dignity, unashamed of this stage of her life. But trembly nonetheless.

Now the sun is down, chickens go to roost and I am going to enforce and extra early bedtime for young ladies and gentlemen. The moon will rise, she is almost full. And before you know it, the alarm will sound and we will all rise again for another day. When sheep will put on their jackets, grab their lunch pails, and head up to the upper fields for another day of hard labor, turning grass into meat, wool and baby lambs.

Amazing.

Morning Glories

One of my favorite September flowers is the humble morning glory.

I know it is a terribly invasive weed, but it gives me great joy. When we lived in Japan for two years I studied The Way of Tea with a sweet sensei (teacher). It is a traditional green tea ceremony, with ritualistic ways of entering the room, offering hospitality and respect to your guests, calming your spirit and enjoying the subtle beauties of the seasons.

The tea is made with hot, almost to the boil water, dipped out of an iron pot with a bamboo dipper. Poured into hand-made pottery bowl, whisked into a mountain of powdered matcha (the powdered, emerald tea.) The steam rises, the fragrance of the tea fills the rice matted room. And each season the tea is accompanied by a different little treat, typically made of pounded sweet rice and bean paste. At first, the taste combination was very strange to me.

I grew up in Texas, eating lots of beans with garlic and onions, not pounded together with cups of sugar.

Isn't it wonderful how our palates can adapt?

The sweet red bean paste is the perfect contrast to the bright and almost bitter, but not quite, very pungent tea. Mmm. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Anyway, I was thinking of tea ceremony this morning as I milked Coco and enjoyed looking at the tangle of blue morning glories, wrapped around weeds and cosmos and mounds of shiso (a VERY invasive Japanese purple basil.) Seeing those morning glories brought to mind the taste of the most luscious tea ceremony treat I had, the last leg of our stay in Japan, mid-September. The silken pounded rice had been formed around the bean paste in the shape of a morning glory and had been colored to perfection. Like a watercolor.

That tea ceremony, with the morning glory treats, tasted like the bitter sweet end of a season, holding great promise for the more of the next. Milking Coco, I wished for the calm and meditation that the ceremony would give me. I think I will see if I can order some mid-quality matcha, pull out my bamboo whisk and try to remember. I doubt I can find Japanese treats anywhere in this region, but my sensei always reminded me that The Way of Tea was not about getting everything just right, but about putting our hearts in their proper place.

Sunday

Fall may be coming, but the temps were in the 90's this afternoon. I woke up chilly, but by the time we were almost halfway through our church service under the willow tree the sun had moved directly over my head and did a good job baking me.

I was happy to celebrate Sunday with our friends this morning. Things felt just right as we gathered around for the opening hymn and processional and the strong, masculine scent of billy goat wafted over the altar. Not exactly the kind of incense I would expect for a worship service, but it did seem to fit, in an organic sort of way.

Cliff, a nigerian dwarf buck is over for an extended stay. The female goats are quite happy to see him. Stinky billy goats are a necessary thing on the farm, if for only a short visit, to make certain we will have baby goats and a milk supply next year.

My favorite part of the lectionary today was Psalm 138. We discussed the many reasons David gave for worshiping God and fleshed out the scriptures. I am a teacher, not a preacher, and enjoyed the opportunity to tease out the meanings of certain words. So many words we take for granted.

Church under the willow tree isn't perfect. But I think that there is something perfect about imperfection. The more I read the scriptures, the more I notice the amazing story about all the imperfect people, working it out in imperfect ways, with a God of grace, mercy and compassion, lovingly helping them all along.

After reading to the girls, getting them to bed, I sat down to work on a to-do list. Wrote out the different categories: bakery, home, farm, garden. The list was long. I felt overwhelmed. Then, like David in the Psalms, cried out to God to help me to know how to do the next thing. To remember the big picture. To trust that imperfection on our farm, in our home and church are part of a lovely reality.

One thing at a time.

This evening I took a walk around the garden before milking Coco. The moon was starting to rise. I noticed more okra. Green beans are done. Cherry tomatoes are blooming. The eggplant are still surviving, those poor runty plants. We haven't exactly had a bumper crop, but we have enjoyed a few nonetheless. Peppers might produce a few more. Don't know. It certainly is dry. The ground is looking terrible. Pond is half dried up again. Let's hope for rain!

Well, time to sit outside and enjoy the moonlight for a few minutes before bed. All is still and quiet. Tomorrow is another day. Goodnight.

Expectant

Have to take a very brief pause from the bakery to mention that there is a gentle breeze blowing. An expectant breeze.

Not hot. Not cold. Not blustery.

Expectant.

I can imagine the turning of the leaves, the smell of smoke in the air, the shivery evenings that require a sweater.

Fall.

The willow tree turns up her silvery leaves and waves a gently greeting. Palette of green gives way to dusting of gold, here and there. Crickets chirp, all throughout the day, making certain to not waste a moment.

They know.

Alright, already. Back to the bakery. But I had to pause and feel for a moment. I hope you pause to breathe in and breathe out a few times and enjoy the turning of the season.

Vacation is Great, but there is no place like home!

Am back on the farm after a few days vacation in Texas. Found a spur of the moment Name Your Own Price flight to Austin, asked Mom to pick me up at the airport and take me somewhere.

Anywhere.

She grabbed me, we picked up my little sister, and we headed south to our family's favorite runaway place: Big Bend National Park. Stayed with our old friend, went hiking, tubing down the Rio Grande, more hiking, ate lots of delicious food, looked at the stars (the stars at night really are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas.) I tried desperately to lay aside the guilt, knowing that many many friends were involved making it possible for me to go away. Can't say that I was successful with eliminating the guilt every moment, but I can say that it has been a very long time since I had so much fun and relaxation. We didn't do every single long hike that I like to try to fit in, but we enjoyed long breakfasts and peaceful suppers.

Even more sweet was knowing that the children survived very well without me. I missed them greatly, but feel so much more rested and ready to jump back into farm life. I guess that the rest made me realize that it has been a very hard season and I am quite tired.

Breathing mountain desert air makes me feel alive and healthy and happy. But driving in to our driveway and seeing two little girls race to the car was even better medicine. Being away and then coming back made me feel so thankful to be loved. We sat around the table and everyone shared stories about their weekend experience. They were shocked that I went inner tubing down the Rio Grande.

"That just doesn't sound like you, Mom!" they all exclaimed.

Maybe they haven't gotten to see the fun version of their mom for awhile.

Temperatures dropped outside and I enjoyed cuddling with the little girls, reading our chapter for the evening. We accidently read two, we were having so much fun. Big kids did homework.

Peace reigned in our home last night.

Will try to regale you with more adventures later, but must get ready for the bakery tomorrow. If I forget, ask me about Jason and the chicken(s) who spent two days in our house. Let's just say that there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother, and that would be Jason. I came home to such a clean house.

Home, sweet home.

The computer needs to be put to sleep for a few days.

Dear Loyal Readers,

I am going to take a few days off from the computer. Will resume posting in a few days with lots of farm adventures to come.

Peace!
Ginger

Tough Luck

Coco kicked me in the knee this evening.

I was looking forward to milking this evening. Cool air. Bright stars. Chirping crickets.

Coco was sore from calves biting her. She would not let me touch her. It has been ages since she gave me troubles. I wonder if she is wanting to be dried up to be ready for calving this winter. That would make sense.

I was hoping to get at least another month to 6 weeks of milk.

We will try again at dawn in the morning. My knee doesn't hurt too badly. If she really wanted to hurt me it would be worse.

We ate a tough old rooster from the freezer turned into chicken and green bean soup this evening. He could have used another three or four hours in the pot. Good taste, but, let me tell you, those roosters are tough old birds.

Maybe tomorrow will be a sweeter day on the farm. Or maybe not. I read a weather alert that said wind would kick up. There is a fire ban. Fall is blowing in, despite the last ditch effort summer is making with these high afternoon temps.

PS Thomas and Patrick had a great brotherly bonding time on the deck this evening. Patrick shaved Thomas's head.

Great.

Right before school pictures.

I bet they will never forget that experience. Neither will I.