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.

"The Lord is righteous in all His ways,

Gracious in all His works.

The Lord is near to all who call upon Him,

To all who call upon Him in truth.

He will fulfill the desire of those who fear Him;

He also will hear their cry and save them.

The Lord preserves all who love Him,"

~Psalms 145:17-20

Peace Framed by Hay and Freedom

A Free Fallin' Farm Girl's Independence Day Reflections

Here on the farm, as we closed out the weekend's formal celebration of another anniversary of America's independence, we found ourselves again exactly where we were when the holiday began - among the amber waves of the hay field, tired, dirt-covered, and free, with blessings, newly-made memories with some of those we cherish most, and the hope of an even better tomorrow weaving like the windrows across the pasture, peace across our hearts. 

And one thought continues to permeate: In the ancient windfall that was ours when the Creator made His plan for us before we were, we were given this specific slice of time and place for our lives, cushioned with peace, and made luxurious by freedom. 

We never stormed any foreign beach, fought through a jungle on fire, or braved death just to ride a bus or cast a vote, and yet here we are, free to live out these lives given us. We lie down each night in peace, and awake to each new day in peace, only by some grand and merciful stroke of Grace that seems to shine brighter than ever at times like this weekend when we pause to focus on and celebrate our freedom.

 

And this time, as we joined the well-fed, over-packed, privileged masses traversing crowded freeways and rambling back roads to our own definition of Up North, bound for sun-drenched good times with family, I wondered how many times I had taken for granted the spectacle and miracle of it all. So almost subconsciously I chose to this weekend pay grateful mind to each unfolding moment of freedom.

It wasn't just a two hour trip on our way to a long weekend of relaxation, it was a miracle upon miracle journey made safely from our abundant home to our own personal family retreat, where more miracles waited: Time free to soak up all the old stories one more time, and write pages into the new ones, letting laughter and ease drench our souls with refreshment; Warm air and sunshine and water and woods to surround and envelope us with scents and scenes and moments that cleanse the mind from all it's everyday routine and lethargy; Good food prepared with love to fill our stomachs and strengthen us for all the adventures in the making. And through each carefree moment, Peace, weaving thankfulness upon our hearts. 

And at the end of the day marking another year of our country's independence, we stood quietly on the dock at the end of the dirt road, as fireworks painted the dark sky and waves at every point in our view around the lake. Crackling and booming red, white, blue and every other hue, large and small, near and far, they surrounded us, and gratitude bubbled up out of my heart. 

"How blessed are we, that all of these explosions lighting up the sky are just beautiful, colorful fireworks, and not bombs going off all around us?"

The kind of tired that only a full day of languid luxury in wood-scented, fresh water filled Up North can produce, we fell asleep with ease as fireworks continued to punctuate the day's contemplation. Joining the refreshed masses traveling home, South, down those same crowded roads, we stopped for baling twine in preparation for Monday's work. Then baas and barks and meows and clucks and more sunshine and peace and freedom to welcome us home, and into the hay field to rake up another miracle - plentiful hay provided by that same Grace that continues to provide and permeate every moment of every day. 

And in Peace, I sent up humble thanks for our dreams-become-reality lives, framed by hay and freedom.

"Early Retirement" Sure is a Lot of Work

A short confession of a tired farm girl

I'm not sure how it's possible that I could be getting less done now than I ever did while I was still working full time off the farm prior to March 13 this year, but today it sure feels like that's the case. I look around at all that is unfinished or unstarted, and honestly just want to cry, or shout.

I truly am giving it my best effort - keeping a positive attitude, posting all things happy and sweet, and reminding myself not to stress, The List will still be there tomorrow if I don't get everything crossed off today.

But some days are simply harder than others, and when you're trying to carry the weight of the whole farm on your shoulders unnecessarily, it gets heavy.

And of course, being an easily distracted creative free spirit does not always lend itself to a keen ability to focus, at least for long on any one - ooooh! Was that a hummingbird?!

So, when I look at  it all --

• all the weeds that still need pulling in the garden, flowerbeds and herb garden
• the remaining stalls that still need cleaning
• the dairy and creamery that still need putting-together
• the soap yet to be made and marketed and sold
• the messages (email, Facebook farm page, phone, text) that still need answering
• the house that needs cleaning and laundry done
• hay that needs cutting and raking and baling and storing
• ...

-- on top of twice daily milking and tending to over 20 goats, 32 laying hens and 28 meat birds, while also keeping on top of finances and our (albeit limited) summer social life, it all feels a tad overwhelming.

(And so I think I'll start a blog in my spare time.)

...BUT, didn't you do all that before when you both worked full time off the farm? What's the big deal now, isn't it that much easier now that you're retired?

Actually, we do have numerous individuals who have been volunteering their time and labor to help with various tasks around the farm, and despite still working full time off-farm, my amazingly awesome husband still works his tail off around here, too.

So, days like today when it all seems to be weighing down on me, all I know to say is: This "Early Retirement" so many keep saying I've taken sure is a lot of Work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Folks, Respect your local farmers -- they are working their tales off, and yes, they know the hay still needs cutting, and that they have dirt under their fingernails.

when it rains

soft and steady
   the unforecast rain
falls
across the receptive earth,
green things large and small
   reaching up
      to accept every drop
with humble peace

and each
fear and worry and grumble
i held onto
yesterday
melts away
when i welcome
this overcast dawn
and move on
from pride's plans
to the gifts waiting

and You reveal
the choice -
to feel and react,
or listen and look and act
in sync with
what we can only see
when we let Your Love
open our inner eyes

quieting my thoughts
so i can hear You
speak to me
in blessings poured out,
i choose reach up
and accept every drop
when it rains,
and when i forget
and close my eyes,
to forgive myself
and reach up again

Blackberries are Best Fresh

Fresh country air, dirt, grass, hay and straw; sun or rain, warmth or cold, barn, yard, craft fair or cottage; garden, barn, household, finances -- this is my workspace, my work environment, and my work item inbox. 

Unfamiliar, this new found freedom for success or failure only limited by the size of our dreams, after 14 years in a grey chair, behind a grey desk, in a row of grey desks on grey carpet, surrounded by grey walls that held the pale faces of other willfully imprisoned persons like myself, who daily smiled and searched for something noble and meaningful amidst the mundane drudgery and at times torture of getting regular haircuts and working a "real" job. 

And, funny, the feeling of security that is coming with so much uncertainty, and such a leap into the unconventional. (But, that's another post in itself, for another day...)

Waiting tables, feeding plastic injection machines and measuring the end product with calibers, writing newspaper articles and feature stories, photographing local sports and events, checking in resort guests and schlepping baggage, setting type for invitations and announcements, tending bar, cleaning, sorting parts, stuffing envelopes, processing insurance audits, selling mesh satellite dishes door-to-door, wrapping gifts, and stocking candles..... Many and varied are the ways I've earned a dollar to keep bills paid, gas in the car, and food on the table over the (you'll have to guess how many) years since I was 17. 

And of course there was always, also, the constant domestic ToDo List to try and keep on top of in addition to working full time, college and community classes taken to enrich my knowledge and experience, and in fleeting, stolen moments, time for family and idle fun. 

Oh, I'm not trying to sound all-together and noble. I am well aware of how untogether I've been at more than one time throughout the aforementioned journey. 

But haven't we all, at some point, been trapped inside our own version of our life's unfolding, going about our busy business with such steeled faces, determinedly punching out an earning against that clock, and striving for a feeling of accomplishment that comes with checking off one more item on The List?

And, I'm not saying I'm completely free of the chains of that mindset yet, myself, even here on the farm. 

But, sometimes in the middle of one of these busy long days that are building this first summer of Farm Freedom since by Grace I was able to shrug off the claustrophobic confines of the cubicle this past March, as I swipe dirt from my knees and face, and try to decide which task to tackle next, I get reminded that blackberries are best fresh. 

This afternoon, after another hour kneeling in the dirt I had made it halfway down the long double row of red beets, leaving a neatly weeded path of fragile, small beet seedlings in my wake. Needing a break to stand upright again for a while, I paused to go retrieve the mail from the ragged box on the other side of our dusty dirt road, and along the way spied the first ripe blackberries of the season, that we have been awaiting impatiently with anxious taste buds. 

Transferring the junk mail from the mailbox to the trash can inside the cottage, I picked up an empty berry basket and walked back out front to the blackberry bush. I was rewarded with a pint of fresh, perfectly ripe, beautiful blackberries. Still wanting a full basket, and now completely caught up in the moment, I crossed the yard to the mulberry tree, and succeeded in filling the rest of the quart basket. On the way into the house with my harvest, half a dozen ripe strawberries from our infant strawberry patch just transplanted earlier this year made their way onto the top of the blackberry and mulberry medley. 

Popping a ripe blackberry into my mouth and savoring the unique sweetness only the first, fresh, local berry of the season can relay, I decided that moment to from now on keep berry picking, writing, walk-arounds to actually pause and enjoy the extensive flower beds that require extensive maintenance, and other "time wasters" on the "must do" portion of my List. Because The List will always be waiting (and important), but as stated above, blackberries are best fresh.

First Thoughts

Welcome to Stone Cottage Consciousness, a brand new experiment in creative expression created by your local crazy goat lady, Farmer Chrissy. 

You can expect poems, photos, random observations, and stories of life here on the Stone Cottage Farm, and all that it is teaching me. My husband, Farmer Dave, and I regularly update our farm's Facebook page, but I was looking for an outlet that would be better suited to longer, different posts than those we share out there. So, with the encouragement of friends and family, Stone Cottage Consciousness is born. 

Look for more photos and stories soon. And in the meantime, you can always see what's happening on the farm at: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Stone-Cottage-Farm/177331122297940