Less About Self

moving through this moment

this human experience

could not be less

about self

help

comes

to those who help

and joy, like love,

is not a noun

purpose and impact

only found

looking up, outward,

never down

love can be practiced

in picking green beans

and dreams

need imagination

to grow 

unafraid hands,

moving 

through this moment

the only way 

to stand

for what we believe

fear and exhaustion

cannot be conquered

by thoughts

not born

by action

indecisive hesitation

is not an option

for us ready

                to leave

existence 

               behind

and find

the eternity in our today,

understanding deeper 

each day

the way

to where

our purpose lives

is already

under our feet

and we 

must only keep walking

to see the next step

Starting with Gratitude, on the Way to Joy

Humbled by Simple Gifts Wrapped in Dirt and Weeds

Sometimes the smallest acts of kindness speak brotherly love the loudest, and make the biggest impact.

Wednesday night as we finished a late dinner of pasta and fresh garden greens with goat cheese, Farmer Husband worked on finishing the Fresco (fresh cheese) he was making, and in the golden light of pre-dusk I walked across the in-need-of-mowing-again-soon grass out to the garden, to survey the areas most in need of weeding next and formulate my plan for Thursday's work. 

 

Weed-free green beans!

I stopped and stared in amazement at the area previously recently known as "Weed Alley" - otherwise known as the five-foot wide row toward the back of the garden plot where I'd planted two types of carrot seeds this Spring - that now stood in weed-free glory! 

Taking their time to sprout (as carrots always seem to do), the area had become overrun with weeds soon on in the season, before I could clearly see any little carrot seedlings poking up. As time went on and the rest of the garden required weeding, and other projects around the farm vied for my attention, this one particular area quickly got out of control, with the weeds surpassing two feet in height, and my tedious efforts over parts of several recent days spent on hands and knees in the dirt revealing only a sparse sprinkling of a few spindly surviving carrot sprouts, over a roughly 5' by 15' area, with another 20' of the row yet unweeded.

 

But Wednesday afternoon one of our young farm volunteers came by and spent some time in the garden helping. She happily toiled away as I prepared dinner and Farmer Husband began the cheese-making process. She had said she would stop when she got about one quarter of the way across the roughly 20 feet that was left to weed, but apparently decided to surprise me by finishing the entire area. She stopped in the Stone Cottage to say goodbye, we sent her off with a quart of fresh goat milk, and it wasn't until after dinner that I walked out and saw the miracle she had made happen!

The area previously known as "Weed Alley"

Still in pleasant shock, walking back toward the front of the garden to grab a bucket and work on weeding another small area until the mosquitos came out or it got too dark to see well, I stopped in amazement again, as a completely weed-free been aisle greeted my gaze. 

I had made it only half way down that row weeding earlier in the day, before some friends who are helping us practice a CSA (community supported agriculture) on a very small scale for the first time this year had arrived. They harvested a large bowl full of the prolific green beans that arrived en force this week, a few small zucchini, and salad greens. Then while the young lady mentioned earlier helped me tie up some of our now gigantic, sprawling tomato plants, our friend said he would pull a few weeds before he had to leave. Little did I know that he would finish weeding the entire bean row while we were busy working with the tomatoes!

A section of hog panel fencing 

and some used bailing twine come in handy 

in MANY situations on the farm.

And, what is so remarkable about two of the many areas in the garden being weeded, that it would wind up here in today's blog, you may ask?

Since transitioning to full time farm woman in March, one of my biggest challenges has been making the best use of my time here to accomplish all those things Farmer Husband and I daydreamed about and discussed day after day, that never seemed possible with both of us working off-farm. But sometimes it seems like I get so caught up in just the daily tasks, that all those other projects we talked about aren't getting done, and I in turn feel like I am letting him down when he has to still come home and work on routine things instead of dreams-coming-true, or just-plain-fun things. And then it viciously comes back around the circle when I do set aside time to work on those projects, and see weeds growing in the routine tasks. "It's not enough, I'm falling behind..."

Looking again at the freshly weeded green bean row, and the now bare ground previously known as Weed Alley, laying clean and ready for a second try / fall planting of carrots (and maybe a couple other yummy things) I set an empty bucket beside me and kneeled in the dirt, pulling weeds from the sweet corn row as the dusk grew heavier, and my pride and frustration and overwhelmed exhaustion was uprooted by humble, refreshing gratitude. Greater peace ebbed in with every pull, until finally the dusk and mosquitoes nudged me back into the house, dirt-covered but cleaner of heart.

Ready for paint

Thursday all the same routine tasks presented themselves, and I met them with a renewed spirit, afterwards picking up a brush again and covering more of the walls in the Long Time Ago Was Soon to Be Again Milk Room with fresh coat of white paint. 

The afternoon brought a farewell to one of our goat kids, Super Nova, who went to live at his forever home as a new herd sire for a beautiful little family.

First bit of painting started

And still smiling every time I passed by the  newly weeded spots of Grace in the garden, I started chores early ahead of a mid-week evening out with Farmer Husband. Freshening up after the day's work, we headed into town for a night of deep fried food, carnival rides, and some rodeo watching, at our local county fair. 

As the Tilt-A-Whirl spun us ever and faster around, Joy circled back into my soul on the wings of Peace, and I again was humbled by the tremendous gift that our friends had given Wednesday night, wrapped in garden dirt and weeds. 

~~~

With the sun rising over a new day once again, let us not be afraid to get a little dirt under our fingernails, and a little sweat on our brows, as we show our love for those around us. A little help pulling a few weeds from their garden may be all those around us need sometimes to open the door to Joy back up in their hearts.

 For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”~Galatians 5:14

Keeping it on Manual Focus

 When it doesn't seem worth it, remembering our cause

And now for something a little different.

This morning Farmer Husband posted a quote that reminded me of a sermon preached  almost three years ago at our church: "25 Feet High & 20 Feet Wide - Get Your Camera  Off Autofocus." Flipping back through my old notebook, I found my notes from that message. Contemplating recent events on the farm, and where my heart and mind are this morning, those old notes seemed so fitting for today that I wanted to share.

The scriptures the message was based on included Joshua 6, in which God's people obeyed his detailed instructions and marched around the wall of Jericho seven days in a row, until on the seventh day the wall around the city - that was 25 feet high and 20 feet wide - came crashing down flat. Another passage from which the message drew it's point was I Samuel 17, where we see young, inexperience-in-battle David bring down a giant with a stone and a sling, in the name of the Lord.

Both stories relate mighty, miraculous outcomes to what appeared through the auto-focused view to be insurmountable situations. In Jericho, the strangest and most detailed method was followed by the Israelites, without question or complaint, to bring down the wall that was keeping them from defeating their enemies and claiming their promise. In the case of David and Goliath, the unlikeliest, lowliest of persons - just a boy - was used to bring down a giant of the opposing army whom all of the mightiest warriors in his country feared. If the key people in either of these events had remained on auto focus, seeing their situations from the generally accepted point of view, they would not have overcome as they did. Instead, they manually focused on their cause, and Who would overcome through them.

 

When we heard this message preached, in late December, 2012, the wall or Goliath we saw before us was the same old routine and commute that separated who we were from who we felt we were called to be - full time farmers. We woke up every morning and returned every evening to our own Promised Land, but the hours in between seemed never-ending, and futile.

Two and one half years later, here I sit authoring a new blog, chronicling what I am learning through full time farm work that began for me March 13th of this year. My commute is now from the Stone Cottage to the barn, my office is now this small 15 acre part of God's creation that we have been entrusted with as stewards. And as I continue to adapt to full time work here, giving all I have to fulfilling my purpose here, we stare down the next Goliath - the the roughly 11 months between now and when Farmer Husband will be able to join me in our full time farming pursuit.

Along the way from then until now, and likely from now until then, we have and will face many Goliaths. But each time, many times when we feel the weakest and most defeated, God reminds us of the shepherd's bag at our waist, full of smooth stones and ready to be put to the defense of our own personal Promised Land. And He helps us to overwrite every obstacle and heartbreak with victory and joy and positive impacts on those whose lives intertwine with ours. He softens the way with not only victories won, but plentiful gifts of time with those we cherish most, and new souls with which to share the journey.

Our job in it all is just to remember to keep our cameras on manual focus, and remember our cause, even when it doesn't seem worth it in the moments of trial.

But David said to Saul, “Your servant used to keep his father’s sheep, and when a lion or a bear came and took a lamb out of the flock, I went out after it and struck it, and delivered the lamb from its mouth; and when it arose against me, I caught it by its beard, and struck and killed it. Your servant has killed both lion and bear; and this uncircumcised Philistine will be like one of them, seeing he has defied the armies of the living God.” Moreover David said, “The Lord, who delivered me from the paw of the lion and from the paw of the bear, He will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine.” ~I Samuel 17:34-37

Heart Healing

 Promises Found Again Atop Dew-Painted Flowers

If staying busy is one way to help a hurting heart heal, then here on the farm we're in the midst of an intensive therapy session. 

The hay in the center pasture needs cutting and baling, as of last night three rows of green beans need harvesting, zucchini, peppers, and cukes are beginning to produce and begging to be eaten or put up for later, more stalls need cleaning, there's manure to be spread on the previously cut outer hay field, weeds need pulling.... and those are just a few of the "normal" We're-Now-in-Full-Swing-Summer tasks vying for the application of our busy hands. 

In the meantime, there's also a barn full of equipment to set up and rearrange ahead of two large events at the farm coming up in August - a family reunion, and the following weekend the second annual Church Service at the Farm, complete with potluck meal and fellowship afterward - and of course several other projects, soap-selling opportunities to arrange, cheese and soap to make, five young bucklings yet to sell..... And amidst it all, the fun, family, and friend-packed weekends of Summer. 

 Sometimes just the thought of it all overwhelms. But it does get easier, with practice and time, to just keep pulling on the muck boots and doing something each day to keep us moving forward.

What does not get easier, ever, is losing one of the beloved creatures who complete our farm family. We know the full cycle of life is "just part of life on a farm," and we fully realize, just like us, our four-legged, and some feathered, family members will not live on this earth forever. But it still jaggedly scars another portion of our hearts when we must walk through the difficult part of that cycle, especially with one as special to us as Spice, one of our original four goats.

We allow ourselves time to adapt to the new picture of life, and cry in both sadness and fond memories, but as the worn out cliche aptly expresses, Life does go on. Different now, true, but going on.

So, this morning as the golden rows of sunrise once again fell across the pasture until they lit up all of the life teeming there, and the last ribbons of the night's fog disappeared, I took a few moments to soak in the astounding beauty of everything shining under a fresh coating of heavy dew, and still, even now, ever reaching up, up, up with purpose and promise.

And I consciously surrendered the doubts and guilt and grief that would cripple, and thanked God for the myriad tangible ways He daily continues to confirm our place and purpose here on the farm in His plan for our lives.

And with honor and reverence for what was, Life began to move again, even in my healing heart.

This New Morning

Finding Words as the Sun still Rises

 
Early morning sunlight falls bright and quiet in a long, narrow band across the south end of the pasture, and breaks through the smallest of gaps in the treeline to the east, spotlighting small scenes in a dappled pattern around the farm yard. Songbirds and roosters join the sun in the announcement of a new day's beginning, a large, loyal dog lays at my feet, and I refill a coffee cup and put off composing the new week's To Do List as I still search for the right words to describe events from Friday until today.

Where is the best start, how does the middle fill in? What image can properly express? 

Phrases fight for the right to be uttered in answer. 

Feelings elude capture, ramble upward through a tight throat, and tear by tear both soften and sharpen the eyes that still look for the best apple branches and tenderest new sunflower shoot to pluck. 

Moment by quiet moment time continues. 

The single light stream now unites with enough others to flood all but the furthest north strip of pasture with golden proof of this new morning. 

The distinct scent of B vitamins still lingers, but the frequent quick glances through the stall gate now reveal what we don't want to fully accept, as we mechanically move through the weekend's morning and evening milkings. And so this morning, I delay.

Friday night we prepare for an evening escape, hurrying through chores and rushing to town to sit on church steps and watch tractors and American Legion and fire trucks and local high school band march by. The Sunflower Festival brightens our spirits as we scurry back home between parade and fireworks to finish the last of the day's chores, milking. 

We bring you leafy green tidbits and create a new stall buffet, but you are not hungry tonight. We help you stand and get blood flow to your tired legs. We speak softly as we tell you we love you, and we leave you to rest as we drive back to town to sit on the lawn across the street from the school and watch brightly colored sparkles boom and crackle and light up the darkness for somewhere around 40 minutes.

We return and bring you fresh water infused with electrolytes, and our hearts soar high on hope as you greedily drink. We fall asleep in the arms of new optimism.

Waking first Saturday morning, I tiptoe downstairs to start coffee and open the door for the dogs' morning romp. I brush my teeth and quietly slip out the door, across the yard to the barn.

I look for your determined dark eyes looking back at me as I enter the cool morning quiet of the barn. 

But it is only silence that returns my greeting. 

I fumble with the stall gate and gently kneel next to you. 

"I'm so sorry, our beautiful girl!"

Sobs threaten to awake still sleeping Farmer Husband even from across the yard, and I struggle to both let it out, and collect it, wanting more than anything to give even a few more moments of hopeful bliss to him. 

I sneak back into the stone cottage, but hear telltale sounds he has awoken. 

I can't hide it from my face as he enters the room, and he looks at me and knows. 

He holds me as the sobs shake my shoulders.

 We allow ourselves a cup of coffee as we summon courage. Without speaking, we let morning chores wait while the tractor is started and the hole is dug.

We know you'll rest best near the Rose Garden.

 And the weekend unfolds, and we move through chores and commitments that include a balloon launch from in front of our church as Sunflower Festival begins to conclude. We've signed up to bring baked beans and potato salad, but this month store-bought will have to do, and we leave the potatoes purchased earlier in the week untouched in the unopened bag, and find comfort in small moments as we join our brothers and sisters in comforting those in need in our community, like we do the third Saturday of most months.

But this is no ordinary third Saturday of the month, and as I photograph the balloons floating up and away at the launch, I let go of my own red balloon, and my heart whispers to you, "Goodbye." 

And I fight with denial that this perfect summer morning in July is when you had to leave us.

The tears mostly obey and acquiesce, except for when they do not, and I walk into the barn and free a few more of them as I look into your daughters' eyes. I look back through photographs that have captured some of the best moments we were given with you, and I know that your old buddy Rose will meet you and lead you to the best pasture beyond.  

And as the sun sets on the first day without your bright eyes looking up at us, the first of the delicate pink bee balm flowers open, the farm is blanketed in the cleanness of the early afternoon rain that fell, and I look for reasons to smile without guilt as life still baas and chirps and grows on across the farm.

Sunday morning comes, and now Monday.

The 26 other faces in the barn wonder where Momma is this morning as I sit, well past normal morning chore time, and try to write a worthy goodbye to you. It rambles on, as do the minutes, and the right words still elude.

I wonder how one black-faced spice-colored goat could have possibly made off with so much of my heart. 

And I look for courage and determination like yours, our beautiful Spice, as we decide to keep on moving forward, denying defeat a victory, on this new morning. 

Waking Up in Your Dreams

How Did We Get Here so Fast?

Time is sneaky, and has a way of moving so silently and swiftly as to leave us wondering how today could possibly be already. 

In the new dawn of this today, we splash across a farm yard being washed clean by a soft, steady rain, and find our old goat still determinedly fighting the odds  that would all try to intimidate her and us. She fights us a little as we administer her morning dose of vitamins, and we are glad for her spunk. And as we embark on the day's work, we stop and wonder at how today - Friday - took the lead over the rest of the week so quickly, as we realize we are already mid-month again. 

I make an effort at tidiness in the Stone Cottage, and light scented candles, as the sun rises behind the rain clouds and reveals the vibrant life of yard and field gladly soaking in every drop of life-giving rain. And I delay the morning's barn chores (perhaps a little too long) as the dishwasher hums, and in anticipation of a visit later today from a friend who became part of our family when I was just a girl, my mind entertains memory upon memory in flashes of what seem like complete other lifetimes they feel so long ago.

And as snapshots of days past shape my morning's pondering, I am once again - as happens quite often lately - amazed at the Today in which I find myself, and all the moments that have led me straight to now. 

Right now seemed to take a long time to get here when we were traveling through yesterday, and yet, all at once, here we are - right where we worked so hard to be. We have woken up and found ourselves in living in our dreams, that along with all those seemingly distant tomorrows, have somehow found a way against the odds to become Today.

Glancing at the clock, it reminds me that even as I reflect upon it, time is sneaking again, and I gather morning chore supplies and slip on muck boots, moving wide awake with gratitude into the next scene of this dream.

words like forever

isn't it funny
how we can comprehend
neither
anything but here and now,
nor life without end?

how can it be
we use words
like forever,
when so often
we cannot sever
reality from our feelings?

such thoughts
create a reeling
even as they're thought.

no, i cannot understand
all the mysteries
of God
and man,
and i do not know
how to accept
a forever
that hasn't happened yet
other than to trust
- whether i know how or not,
i must -
in the one who created
all i can imagine
and so much more

and when the door

before me
leads to
the life we cannot see
from here
i know i can
step through it
without pause
or fear
for what my mind
cannot grasp now

then, with all else,
forever
will at last make sense,
and as all at once
our fears are dispensed,
safe in the arms
of our Defense,
our opened eyes
will witness
eternity commence

Unseen Slow Growth of Fruit

Suddenly, there is harvest enough to share in the veggie garden.

We poured over the seed catalog, choosing what sounded like the best varieties for our climate and growing season. Tiny seeds of some long-growing items were prayerfully placed in potting soil inside the warmth of the Stone Cottage while winter's tale still wagged bitter cold outside. As Spring began to peek through the gray skies of Winter's end, we carefully prepared the plot and planted seeds and transplanted tenderly cared for seedlings.

And then we waited.

And weeded.

And watered.

And weeded.

And waited.

And weeded some more...

And now, as Summer saunters proudly across mid-2015, displaying the many-colored wonders of her blooming, growing, refreshing warm beauty like a peacock's tail, we all at once see more than just petunias blooming. Green bean bushes overnight hold up myriad dainty white flowers atop full, lush foliage; rampant green tomatoes hang from still flower-bedecked happy plants; lettuce, kale, chard, nasturtium, mustard, and herbs beg to become nightly salads; pumpkin leaves grow large and begin to crawl on eager vines across their beds, as upon them the first deep yellow flowers dance; peppers peak from behind rain-kissed stems; beat greens reach up and promise beautiful red sweetness beneath; and in a blink, the first baby zucchini emerge from their own orange-gold flowers, underneath a canopy of willing broad leaves.


 Steps from these unfolding miracles, in a peaceful stall in the heart of the barn, an old, stubborn doe nibbles an apple, takes a long drink of cool water, and begins to contentedly chew her cud, in a quietly grand display of the grace and moxie of goats. My heart flutters again with hope that continues to determinedly stare down fear with humble prayers built of faith.

And as as watermelon vines reach across their space in a warm greeting to their muskmelon neighbors, their growth a phenomenon that daily surprises the eyes with new green lengths marching toward sweet, ripe, delicious completion, I realize it may be slow and unseen, but fruit does come in it's due time, whether or not my limited sight can observe it as it does.

"Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering; (for he is faithful that promised;)" 

~Hebrews 10:23