Stone Cottage Consciousness: Filling Difficult Days with Thankful Hope

Gratitude Opens Our Heart's Eyes to Grace

My heart often doesn't like what my head has to say.

It's been an extremely difficult few days. My poet's soul has shied from sharing, and felt guilty at allowing itself to feel the slightest shadow of joy in those quiet moments of Grace that keep you from giving up.

A sustainable life on the farm is not always all the happy rainbows, tidy chic chicken coops, weedless gardens, and everything's-cheery-and-fine-bouncing-baby-goats-dance-down-the-yellow-brick-road that Pinterest and Facebook and all of social media would have you believe. Oh, it can be all that, but at times it can also be just hanging on to hope that sustains you when all of your efforts and research and blood, sweat, and tears seem to be no match for the obstacles that are rising in front of you.

Like the moment you hear the veterinarian say the words, "She has a 5-10% chance of survival..."
about one of the first three amazing, beautiful goats that ever made you fall in love with chilly mornings in the barn, the scent of hay and straw, and the honest eyes of your does looking at you with affection.

I have been absent from the blog for a few days as we come to grips with the reality that despite doing everything right, sometimes some animals in a herd will just not respond as well as others to the routine measures we take to ensure their well being. Sometimes the noblest of animals will fight so proudly against the challenges they face, their stoic nature will deceive you until you are wishing you'd understood the situation so much sooner.

This morning, as the sun rose over a misted pasture, and the air warmed around the myriad green things coming into blossom and reaching ever up, up, up toward their Creator, and the sounds of the animals - farm and wild - narrated a peaceful scene, we cautiously finished our first cup of coffee, and walked in guarded silence toward the barn. My heart cried out again to God, "I'm not ready for what my fear says could be waiting for us this morning!"

And then we walked through the door, gently switched on the light, and our Spice looked up at us from her snug stall. My heart dared to continue it's shaky grasp on hope.

Farmer Husband carefully gave Spice her morning dose of vitamins, and she got up on her feet in protest, sending another shot of hope through my weary veins. We left her in her cozy nest of soft hay and straw, surrounded by her own personal buffet of freshly picked greens, bucket of grain, water, and molasses water, and fresh hay, and tread quietly back to the house to officially start our day now that our hearts had been comforted by the sight of her fighting spirit.

We know the truth of the outlook, and my heart has been fighting with my head for the past couple days over the chances a blood transfusion would give her. It would mean a long, stressful trip and overnight stay in a facility for her, and involve taking two of our other healthy goats as blood donors. And there would still be no guarantees. My heart cries "Go! Go!", and my head pleads reasoning saying she is old, retired, and we are already doing everything within our power to save her.

Her resilient, striking beauty stares back at me from the faces of her daughters from this and the past five years since she has lived with us, and so much better capture her fighting spirit than any amount or style of words.

Dew dances in rainbowed drops across tender young kale leaves, one of her favorites of the treats we bring to her stall buffet. But this morning, it's half an organic apple, and several young sunflower leaves that she appeases me with by devouring.

And I warm the bottles of milk for her 1 1/2 half month old triplet daughters, who look up at me with eyes seeming to understand that Momma Spice needs her rest. I fill in the Momma shoes as best as I can, being human, with all effort in every movement and word to adequately express my love for them and their momma.

And I take photos of grace dripping in sun rays and dew across everything green, and growing, and new; I scratch furry chins, fill mangers and buckets, and hang on with all I have to the gratitude that fills even the most difficult days with hope.