Childhood Winter Memories

We’ve had one large snowfall this season, and it melted very quickly. Now the landscape is brown and grey. It’s that weird in-between temperature where it’s not quite cold enough for a winter coat, but too cold for just a sweater. I’m either underdressed or overdressed.

Truth be told, I like winter. The cold doesn’t really bother me that much, and I spend a lot of time outdoors in it. Really, I hate being hot and winter is the antithesis of the summer heat. I’m sluggish when it’s hot, I feel lazy and gross and the sun gives me headaches.

I also enjoy the shorter days. I’m a night person. I become more introspective, and something happens after the sun goes down that allows me to tap into a more creative side of my brain. I enjoy the beauty of nighttime, the lengthening of shadows as the sun sinks in the sky. I enjoy lighting candles and the pleasant surprise when I look at the clock and it’s only 6:30 but it feels like 9:00. I get a little lift “whoo hoo, there’s still plenty of time in the evening!”

I do wish it would snow. This grey/brown scene out the window is enough to make anyone depressed. When it snows I still feel that bubble of delight in my chest like I did when I was a child. Or waking up to a snow covered winter majesty. I hear the waves of harp music playing in my head. When I was younger, winter meant all kinds of fun outdoor activities.

Our school bus passed the local ski hill, Pine Knob and I would peer out the window to see if the hill was blowing snow yet, or if the chair lifts were circulating. When ski season started, every Friday I would rush home from school, get on my gear and get up to Pine Knob as quick as I could. I LOVE to ski. As an adult it’s gotten incredibly expensive to ski without the student discount I got through the Ski Club. But I still love to roll those memories through my head. Locking my skis on the rack on the side of my Mom’s Intrepid, the sweaty, cold smell of the lodge basement where we checked in and bought passes. The spot at the top of the chair lifts where we would meet up with our friends for the night.

I remember the hills too, the Moguls, Phase One, the Wall, the Bunny Hill, Mansion Run, The Quarter Mile. I can still imagine what each hill looks like and what it felt to ski down it.  

Ice skating was also a big part of winter time. We had a large pond behind our house growing up and my brother and I would shovel it off and smooth it out. I’d figure skate, imagining I was in the Olympics, or my brother’s friends would come over and we’d play hockey. I remember the back and forth pattern of the snow shovel, as I went line by line across the pond, trying to get the ice as smooth as possible.

Probably the thing I did most in the winter was walk through the woods with the dog. We have these old snowmobile suits from the seventies and they are amazing! Hideously ugly, brown with orange and gold stripes, but warm and keeps the snow off of you completely. I still use them to take care of the animals in the winter. When I was real young, my mom used to make me put plastic bags over my feet and a large rubber band to keep out the water.

I’d walk through the silent snow covered woods with nothing but the panting of the dog as he scampered and buried his nose in the powder, and my own echoed breathing in my head under my hat.

We’d also go sledding under the power lines, in the hills where we’d ride dirt bikes in the summer. They were some awesome sledding hills/cliffs, but the walk back up was brutal at times.  

The winter time is also a great time for reflecting, learning new skills, and a bit of relaxation. With a farm, spring, summer and fall are such a busy time of year that I’ve come to appreciate winter for a whole new reason. The garden is settled, the animals are organized and only need daily up keep. The firewood is stacked and Zach and I enjoy spending evenings together indoors; reading, watching movies, drawing, crocheting or knitting. Zach likes to wood work or leather work in the winter.

I also love the clothing of the winter time. I love warm sweaters, scarves and hats. I live in hats in the winter, even in the house. I’ve even been known to wear one to bed. I love knee socks and flannel nightgowns, it’s all so cozy!

And I love the food of winter. Stews, and soups, casseroles, roasts and crock pot dishes… the hearty meat and potato meals that stick to your ribs. And hot cups of coffee, tea and hot cocoa. I also love a cup of broth in the evenings.

For some reason every year after Christmas my Dad would suggest we go to the Detroit Institute of Arts. In a way, it became an unofficial winter tradition as well.

I remember building snowmen and snow forts with my friends on the playground at recess.  We’d make awesome snowmen and then the boys would destroy them the second recess. Us girls would even make signs asking them nicely to leave our snowman alone…then they’d wreck the sign and the snowman too. I told Zach about this the other day and he laughed and said that the sign probably made things worse….boys!

I enjoy the cyclical rhythm of the changing seasons. For me, the obvious change in weather, the different colors of the landscape the smells of the world around me, connect me even deeper to the earth. Winter is a time of rest, where we recuperate from the year before and prepare for the year ahead. I embrace that.

Skirts in the Strawberry Patch

Yesterday, I spent the morning picking strawberries with my good friend Stacey. We both agreed to wear the skirts that we made together.

A few weeks ago we spent the evening sewing and measuring, using the pearl dotted pins from my tomato shaped pin cushion and holding fabric for each other while the other marked out the pattern with chalk.

It's becoming a tradition between the two of us. A bit of a skirt-wearing rebellion in our own way, against the unfeminine fashion of today. And as I watched my friend standing in the strawberry field, with her Navy blue prairie skirt and her white top with the lace trim, she just looked...right! Beautiful... like she belonged in that strawberry patch. She became part of the essence of the day. Her skirted silhouette with a box of berries on her hip was as much a part of the experience as the smell of the berries as the sun crept higher in the sky. It was empowering! Like we had pulled one over on the ugly clothes of our times. 

I too felt as though I belonged.

Working from home and running a farm doesn't require any sort of dress code. I admit, my yoga pants get a lot of use. But I never feel pretty when I wear yoga pants, and I want to feel pretty.

There's a reason why black and white the images of women from the 20's and 30's get circulated around the internet with quotes about "the good life" and the nostalgia of times gone by. There's a reason those images get shared and commented on and "liked". There's a reason we all love Downton Abbey. Would it have the same appeal were it not a period piece?

And I understand that there is a lot of festering feminist issues that want to encompass the skirted female form, and there's much negative history that goes against the romantic idea that those were the "good ole days". But I'm not interested in that right now. I'm interested in feeling pretty. And a skirt makes me feel pretty.

I decided to do something about this last year so I made a trip to Salvation Army and bought a few skirts for a $1-something each. I didn't want to spend a lot of money on them as I planned to work in them. It felt funny the first time I put on a skirt to muck out the goat pens. I felt as though I was pretending, or wearing a costume. But I reminded myself that this uniform is no different than wearing a pair of plaid shorts to the golf range...(one's that might make the Easter Bunny envy.) Or a cowboy hat to a country music concert (How many Garth Brooke fans actually own cows?)

So  I wear skirts now. A lot...I'm a skirt wearer. There I said it.

I can't help but wonder when I look at a gorgeous dinner dress from the Victorian period and wonder...how did we move away from this. I'm not suggesting that we all return to wearing corsets, lace trimmed gloves and the like, but can we do better than yoga pants and jeans? I can.

Back at the berry patch...

We bounced along in the wagon as the tractor pulled us out to the field. Our skirts ruffling over the bales of straw used for seats. We talked about our gardens and the plans we had for the berries. I promised to send her my Strawberry Pie recipe if she sent me her Freezer Jam recipe.

Whether we like it or not, the clothing we choose to wear reflects something about our personalities. Even if we don't care about clothes, that too might be reflected to the outside world by the tops and bottoms that cover our body.

Each of us has a different message that we convey to the world through our appearance. I'm working on changing my message.

I hope that if the current styles and fashions don't reflect the message you want to share, that you're brave enough to take a stand. Be yourself, don't let popular society tell you what you should look like.

So...aprons. Yes, Aprons are next. I haven't wore one in public. But it's coming...oooh it's coming.  

New Year's Resolutions

I'm not a big New Year's resolution maker. The turning of the calendar never really held much significance for me. My life tends to have a rhythm regardless of the date and I enjoy each season for what it holds. But this year I feel different.

I was at the library the other day, a couple cities over and needed a new card to check out books from this different location. I handed the librarian my license so she could enter my information.

"Oh, you live in Fenton!" She exclaimed. "My niece lives there."

"Yes, I replied, we just moved there and we love it!"

After I checked out my books I reflected on what I had said to the librarian. "We just moved there." ?

We hadn't just moved to Fenton, we've lived here almost 5 years! I hadn't meant to lie, when I said it, it felt honest when it came out of my mouth. It does feel like we just moved here!   

On the way home, I thought about the last 5 years and realized that it was difficult for me to distinguish one year from the next. I had individual scattered memories but had a hard time placing them in sequential order.

Much of the reason I write this blog is to not only share our farm with all of you, but to log our lives for our own purpose. In so many ways it's a journal. The scary thing is, that many times I go through past posts and don't even remember writing them.

What all this ranting boils down to is that I need to be more present in my life. My dad passed away right before we moved and it was an incredibly stressful time. I buried my feelings and went into "go" mode. I could morn later, I could reflect later...things needed to get done and I was the one to do them.

The problem is that I haven't switched out of "go" mode. I find myself rushing even when there's no call for it. I'm always three steps ahead of myself, thinking of the next thing that has to be done, and I find myself not paying attention to the task at hand. I'm often clumsy and forgetful and I know that lack of presence is the reason.

Over the years I've changed...and we all change. But I'm not so sure I'm happy with this change. I've become less poetic, less romantic. I see things more factually than artistically. My writing has changed too. I've become more "list like" and less figurative. I've found that that artistic part of my old personality is hard for me to tap into anymore. I get glimpses of it once in a while and it thrills me. I need to chase that.  

So this year I'm making resolutions. If for nothing more than to have them down in some sort of tangible form so I can look back next year and see how I did.  The first, to "be more present" seems to be the theme of the following 9. In many ways each resolution is a specific way for me to be more aware of my life.

1. Be more present
2. Eat more whole foods: Especially in the winter. When the garden is in it's prime, we eat lots of fruits and vegetables. But in the winter I make a lot of casseroles, and meat-and-potato kind of meals. We can do better here.
3. Read at least a book a month: I love to read, and reading helps me to be a better writer. But like everything else, it gets put on the back burner. I like to read before bedtime, but many times we stay up so late that I collapse into bed. So going to bed earlier is part of this.
4. Finish a book I’ve been working on for years: I've been working on a fiction piece for years and I need to carve out time to work on it. It's important to me and it deserves my time.
5. Take time for art: I love to draw and paint. Being artistic helps me feel my true self. I often forget that.
6. Practice my violin more: Like art, making music also centers me and acts like a meditation.
7. Find a place for everything: We recently organized our art room and the pleasant feeling of having a place for everything is addictive! We need to branch this system out in more areas of our home.
8. Spend more time in nature: When I lived in the woods I was in nature everyday. It became a defining character of my personality. We have the farm, and I love it, but it's not quite the same as a walk in the woods with my camera, or sitting by a lakeside.
9. Read the bible more often: When I read God's word it helps focus my intentions for the day. I remember why I'm here and how I should live my life. I was subscribed to a daily devotion website and I'd drink my coffee and read scripture each morning at my computer. Something happened with my spam folder or something, and I no longer get the e-mails. It's a lame excuse and I need to re-connect, or simply open my bible that sits next to me on my desk. 
10. Practice Ballet: I need to be more active. Writing pins me to my computer seat and I've gained weight over the years. I love yoga, but I still haven't worked out how it fits into my faith. (Still exploring that) I was in the best shape of my life when I danced. I love classical ballet and miss that experience. I've found some You-Tube videos with ballet routines and I've starting doing them. It's weird how the language of ballet comes right back to me. I had a Russian ballet instructor for 10 years and I can still hear Maria calling out terms in her abrupt way, clapping her hands at us. She was strict but I loved her. If I can work up some endurance, I'd like to treat myself to a pair of ballet slippers and maybe take a class or two. 

So there they are. A year's worth of promises to myself. Hopefully 2015 will be more mindful, more memorable, more lovely than the past 5. 

The Romace of Collecting Antique Woodworking Tools

Zach enjoys collecting and restoring old wood working tools. So for his birthday I took him antiquing. This is what he found.

A nice simple box plain.

A saw set which is a tool used to set or "tune" the teeth of a saw a uniform or correct distance and angle from the blade and from each other.

 

And a hand crank boring machine used for timber framing. The boring machine is used to drill out the bulk of material in a piece of timber that will then be squared off with a chisel to create the mortise in mortise and tenon construction.

Zach spied the boring machine from across a few booths and almost plowed over two unsuspecting ladies looking at clown figurines in the bee-line. (serves them right for liking clowns...clowns are creepy.)

"Oh my gosh this is awesome!" As he started moving by-standing antiques out of the way so he could properly turn the handles.

"Look at how cool this is!"

I can always tell when Zach is truly excited about something. He's a quiet guy. It takes a lot for him to get riled up but when he is, it's all over his face...he's genuine that way.

"I've wanted one of these forever!"

So I asked him. "Will this be your birthday choice?"

He turned the handles a few more times with stars in his eyes, and fingered the price tag gingerly. "No,...no, it's ok."

Zach and I are on a strict budget for the next couple years. We have goals and plans that need adhering to. So frivolous purchases, even in the name of birthdays are still hard for both of us. Spending money for us, takes lots of consideration and usually results in one of us talking the other person into the splurge. It's frustrating at it times, but it helps us appreciate what we do have, and a new "toy" is always treasured.

I told him to take it down for me so I could take a turn at rotating the handles. He lifted the awkward thing off the shelf and tried to set it on a lower surface.

It was an antique store so there wasn't a surface not filled with, well...antiques. 

"Here, just hand it to me."

I grabbed the boring machine and cradled the big thing in my arms. 

"You won't be able to turn it if you're holding it."

"I have no intentions of turning it." And with that, I marched the boring machine up to the register and paid for it.

It's so funny how an old piece of wood, some gears and a big stick of twisted metal can bring so much joy to my husband. But that's why I love him. The fact that things like this DO bring him joy, and I know why it does, and I know that we share the same passion between us. Almost like a secret.

There's a million different reasons why we both love history, antiques, simple tools, old ways of doing things...we've hashed those reasons out many times over the 19 years we've been together. (We started dating when we were 14 and been friends since first grade.)

We've sat many nights, oranged faced with the soft glow of a bonfire warming our fronts while our backs freeze to the cool night air talking. Or laying on the dewy grass staring at a slice of moon and discussing tidbits of things we've read about how things "used to be done."

It's our romance, our nostalgia of a time that we've never lived, but for our own reasons, feel connected to.

And here sits an 80 year old boring machine on my coffee table.

A strange, yet appropriate sign of my love for a unique and lovely man.  

    

Sunday Night Fishing at the Mill Pond

Zach and I have a goal this year to simplify our lives. We have this beautiful farm, and many times we're so busy trying to work every available aspect of it, we forget to enjoy it.

So that might mean that we won't plant a cornfield this year, or maybe we'll have only a few pumpkin plants as opposed to a huge field.

And maybe we won't have as much to show for this summer but so far I'm enjoying it.

Frankly, the past five springs have been nuts! And have little resemblance to the "simplified" life we had in mind when we bought this farm. And I realize that this comes with the territory. That simple doesn't always mean easy.

When you have a farm and a full time job as Zach does, the weekends rarely serve as a relaxing chance to recuperate from the work week. I do the best I can throughout the week of maintaining things, but there are some things I just don't feel comfortable doing by myself.

Saturday and Sunday are the days for catchup on all the farm things we couldn't get done after work. Time for big projects that require big chunks of the day, running errands, stocking up on feed and supplies etc. etc. etc. 

And while we will always have our fair share of these sort of weekends, we're trying to keep a promise to each other that on Sunday nights, we take a little time and just...be.

It might be sitting around a small bon fire while I play the fiddle, watching the sunset at our picnic table while the goats graze or taking a leisurely walk around the property with the dog.

Lately it's been fishing.  

After the Sunday chores are complete, and the sun starts heading west, we gather our poles and tackle boxes and take off for the water.

Zach is more diligent about that actual action of fishing. Honestly, I get so excited about capturing it all with my camera that usually my pole gets abandon and I end up wandering off after a bumble bee or an interesting leaf or something.

But I do love tackle. I love all the interesting bits and bops, the tactile pleasure of the rubber worms and the shiny hooks and lures. I love my little collection of useful items like my knife, measuring tape and fish guide book.

I used to have an army green backpack as a kid that I would carry everywhere. It held my collections of important things. A leather ring with a spider encapsulated in glass, my diary, a small wooden box of colored pencils, a metal turtle button, empty pickle jars for collecting things like bugs, or strange seed pods, and a key ring of all the dogs tags of every dog I'd ever had. I carried that bag everywhere I went, especially out into the woods.

For some reason, my tackle box reminds me of that bag. A little collection of oddities that I carry out into nature and take pleasure in the simple fact of having them with me. The excitement of catching a fish is just a bonus.

We've gone fishing 4 or 5 times this spring. Got a few nibbles, and caught only one tiny sunfish. But that's ok.

Fishing, if anything, serves as an excuse...a promise...a weekly routine to spend some time in nature, with the man I love, listening to the sound of ducks, filling our lungs with the musky smell of the water and consciously making memories.

November, Soft and Calming

Ah, November. If November was a color it would be brown~ a rich, golden brown. Coppers and caramels, honey and ginger gently create the palate of this blended, cozy month. It's one of those in-between months where the display of October's fury has simmered down to a smolder, a warm amber glow, where the last of fair weather chores are rushed into Indian Summer days and we are chased inside earlier and earlier by frost covered nights.

Halloween candy has been collected, and scattered from pillow case sacks to the living room floor and has been traded and ram sacked and sorted. Bits of monster noses, wire fairy wings, and plastic vampire teeth have been packed away with the gum paste and grease paint only to be mixed with imagination and fantasy to become something even more terrible a short year from now. Sliced pumpkin faces begin to sag and rot as mold eats its way through the yellow damp flesh.

November is where Fall becomes Autumn. The sky looses it's brilliancy and turns melancholy. Snow clouds dance against the cold blue vast and the sun's rays reach, straining to get into the nooks and crannies of the world.  Most of the trees, by now, are naked, except for the stubborn oaks that will hold them sometimes through winter and shake them down in the spring for a second round of raking. The grass is dying and the world is tucking in for winter. The gloves and hats are taken out of summer hiding, as the steam of our breath becomes visible on chilly, coffee cup mornings. It's a simple month. Take a deep breath, the brown is welcome, for it will soon turn to white.

Shamrocks With Special Meaning

My dad will be gone 3 years this March. It seems so weird that time goes by as fast as it does, ...but it does, ...and that's that.

I don't know if I've ever shared this on the blog but I'm half Irish. My maiden name was Murphy if that's any clue. My grandfather was a tiny Irish man who came to America when he was only a teenager. He passed through the immigration inspection at Ellis Island and boxed his way through his younger years. A scrapper so to speak. 

Later, he met my grandmother who was also Irish, got a job as one of the head chefs for Henry Ford and fathered 9 children in a tiny bungalow in the "heydays" of Detroit, Michigan.

I remember he had a strong Irish brogue and pronounced my name as Jinnefaaarg. He told me stories of the Banshee (much to my mother's undoing) and I didn't sleep for weeks. My mom finally convinced me that even if it did exist, it would have to fly over the Atlantic Ocean to get me and that the Death Coach couldn't make it that far.  

So we're Irish...very Irish. We have bagpipes at weddings and funerals, many of my cousins and relatives wear kilts for special occasions and we fit every Irish stereotype there is. I'm 5"1" and I'm one of the tall ones, large calves, and pale...oh so pale. We all have the gift of the blarney, and we've been known to break out in spontaneous pub songs at any moment. My cousin Kelly became an attorney a few years back and when he graduated, I teased that he was the only Murphy to ever "pass" a "bar" in history, if you take my meaning.

I love my family. Such a large group of amazing, talented and kind hearted people who would give you the shirt off their back if you needed it. I'm the youngest of 31 grandchildren so there's a lot of love to share.  

When my dad died, one of my best friends ( knowing my Irish roots) bought us two beautiful baskets of Shamrocks. It was eerily convenient because St. Patrick's Day had just passed and the florists still had a good selection of Irish themed flower arrangements.

My mom and I pressed some of the shamrocks in a phone book to preserve them. And only recently have I figured out what to do with them.

I tried to find a mossy green matte to frame the pressed leaves...but not much luck. So I decided to make something myself.

I sketched out this sort of Celtic knot design  with the cross at the bottom.

and colored it a mossy green with brown shadows. I think it works. A nice sentiment of my father's memory and a small symbol of my heritage. 

"May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face
the rains fall soft upon your fields
and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand. "

And I thought Spring was Busy...

My oh my, things have been really busy for us lately. We are hardly keeping up with all that the garden is producing. We have cucumbers, green beans, tomatoes, melons, zucchini and eggplant coming out our ears, and I've been trying to think of all the ways I can store our harvest before it rots under our noses. The freezer is piling up with delicious food to get us through the winter, as is our canning shelves. I've been roasting tomatoes, garlic and onions for marinara sauces, we made six containers of fresh freezer salsa, and lots of zucchini bread and mock apple pies. We've made spicy pickles, dill pickles, refrigerator pickles, and bread and butter pickles, all kinds of jams, jellies and marmalade, including a roasted garlic balsamic jelly that is to die for! This week I really plan to get some serious canning done with the tomatoes. Me and the pressure canner have a date!

I've been attempting to figure out the finer points of dehydrating, but so far everything I've sacrificed to the machine has come out...well...rather in edible. It either dehydrates to a crisp, like stuck to the grate and can't get it off, or comes out gooey and I'm afraid it will mold. I'm open to suggestions if anybody has any...I gave up recently and decided to dry our cayenne peppers the old fashioned way. 

Esther is providing us with delicious milk that we've been enjoying each and every day. As promised, I was able to make butter last week. It only ended up being about 1/8 of a cup, but it worked! I poured two gallons of milk into a shallow dish and placed it in the fridge. Then each day, I would tediously skim the cream off the milk and add it to another container. When I had about a cup, I let the cream warm on the counter for a bit and shook it until I had butter and buttermilk. Then I rinsed the butter and salted it. It was delicious! The only problem was that it was hard moving the shallow dish with two gallons of milk each day and I would literally make a mess every time. The skim milk also picked up an "off" flavor, sort of stale tasting from being left out un-covered, and we ended up giving it to the chickens, but then again, I do have a vegetable drawer full of onions, garlic and herbs right now, ha!

The bees are working hard each day, I think that hot dry spell was hard on them because we kept checking the harvesting supers and they weren't producing anything. The weather has since cooled off and we've had some rain. We checked them yesterday and they're starting to produce. I think we'll get a small honey harvest by Fall.

The Angoras are filling out nicely and I can't believe that we shear next month already! It seems like Beatrix and Ichabod were just born, and they're already 5 months old!

Fall is on it's way, and I welcome it. The pumpkins in the field are turning orange and the corn is finally over Zach's head. I've been writing out the "Fall To-Do" list which includes finding a Nubian buck to breed Nan and Gretta this fall so we can continue our delicious milking routine and finding an heirloom garlic supplier.

Zach and I have also been enjoying the reward of new business adventures including new writing opportunities for myself and gallery shows, new products, an open forge night that Zach is hosting. The first class filled up so quickly that we're thinking of hosting a second for those who couldn't make the first date.

I have to admit that the blog has been getting away from me. I've been storing away photos and have all kinds of posts started that I want to share when things slow down. If you want to keep up with everything that Iron Oak Farm is up to, I've been posting shorter, but more frequent posts and photos on our Facebook page. If you haven't "liked" us yet, come on over.

Iron Oak Farm Suffers a Great Loss

 I've been trying to find a way to share this, and many times I've simply deleted the post and thought I would just write it another day, but sadly, we lost our Ceddie to cancer last week. His body was tired and he could no longer walk or carry out natural functions the way a dog should. The cancer was colon cancer, but had moved to his spine and was slowly "shorting out" his back end. Truth be told, I have never loved an animal as much as I loved this dog, and the past week has been really tough. Looking back, I guess I didn't really blog a whole lot about Ceddie, and I think the main reason behind this is that I never really considered him an animal. He was simply a friend who was always there. With me, by my side, while I took care of chores, or walks in the woods, or drives in the car. We miss him something awful, and only hope that time and prayers will heal our broken hearts.

“Ask the animals, and they will teach you...In God’s hand is the life of every creature, and the breath of all mankind.” (Job 12:7 and10)

What Joy in a Trip to the Library!

I've been stressing a lot lately. Just life stuff, things that get under your skin and settle in the muscles in your neck. I'm not good with change, and while I'm actually coping quite nicely with the move, the new area, and all the re-adjusting that comes with it, occasionally I get caught up and find myself in a funk.

Today I went to the Post to mail some packages, roving and bottle openers. And while this is almost an everyday trip for me, today I really saw the beauty around me. I popped one of my favorite CD's in the player, The Village Soundtrack, the violin is amazing. It's sort of a dark track, but somehow inspirational.

It's cloudy today, but the sun peaks out occasionally. It was moving in windy glimmers across the golden corn fields.  Three black turkey vultures soared overhead and cast a a shadow with their large spanning wings.

The drive to our Post is almost entirely dirt winding roads. And I LOVE winding dirt roads. I pass an old cemetery, a small bridge over a creek with silvery blue minnows,  beautiful rolling acres of corn, a small herd of large black cows that lick their noses and swish their tails as I drive by. Then there's the Orchard. You know you're getting close when you pass the bee supers. A tiny skyline of white painted boxes and each one a corner cluster of the pretty little bees, hovering in almost blurry streaks. Then the rows of apple trees, and peach trees, and the large brown pumpkin patch with all its orange globes dotting the square.

I passed a tractor today. A large red one, the driver waved. Then I saw something really cool. The field down the road was harvesting corn and they were filling a great big semi full of feed corn. The name Geiglers was on the side. It occurred to me that that is the family feed store where we've been buying our hay and feed, and that our animals would be eating that corn.

I entered the quaint town of Hartland and dropped my packages off at the Post. On the way home I passed The Music Hall, where we'll be seeing our "date night" play this Friday. The Museum with the large loom, that I would just LOVE to get my hands on and the library. It's an old three brick story building built into a hill with a winding sidewalk and arched white windows.

I stopped in to get a couple books. Julia Child's The Art of French Cooking, and Animal Vegetable Miracle, by Barbara Kingsolver. I've been missing reading in the evening. The last book I finished was Goat Song by Brad Kessler. One of the most beautifully written books I've ever read. I fell in love with goats all over again, and this time, in an even more passionate level. He helped me to understand our herd dynamic, and relate to the behaviors, personality, language and hormonal drives of a goat. Not to mention the impact that pastoral animals have had on our civilization, socialization, religion, language, traditions and food. Good read!!!

When I got home there was a wheel of goat cheese that I ordered for Zach for his birthday in July! It had been on back order for 3 months, along with a jar of onion and balsamic vinegar jam. 

I don't know where this post is going, I just felt inspired to share. And perhaps this post is more of a reminder to myself, that there are so many blessing, if I just take the time to see them. 

Temple Grandin

Watched a beautiful film last night. The story of Temple Grandin. This story is truly inspirational. Based on actual events, it tells how Temple Grandin, a girl diagnosed with Autism at the age of four, changes the cattle industry and how slaughter houses direct their cattle. I found myself locked to the screen, loving the energy and genuine sense of self. Highly recommend this movie! To learn more about Temple Grandin visit her website at http://www.templegrandin.com/

Music to Melt Stress

I've been playing the guitar. We've been so stressed lately with the move and what's going where and when and how. I've always used music as a means to escape, to unwind, and plus I heard this really pretty song by Priscilla Ahn, Dream and wanted to learn it.

I dabble at the guitar, and the violin. I can play a handful of songs well, and even more songs, not so well...But I love it, and it takes my mind somewhere else for a while.

My fingers are getting tougher, so I don't whine as much, or chew on them, or sporadically tell Zach to inspect them and ask him if they feel tougher. And I noticed the stretch of the guitar chords is making the stretching on the violin that much easier. My Grandpa Lompra' grew up in the Upper Peninsula and he played fiddle. Would have loved to have learned from him.

Zach plays too,

see what I mean about the hat? Scary isn't it?

We Bought a Farm!

Zach and I have exciting news to share with all of you.

Today we closed on a 14 acre, 100 year old farm. I didn't want to let on, from fear that I would jinx us, but today it was official! It's a traditional yellow farmhouse with a giant two story, red barn with lots and lots of sunny alfalfa pasture. We have so many plans and ideas, ways to make it our own,... it's a good kind of overwhelming. I will be keeping everyone updated as the move progresses.

This new change and adventure will open up so many opportunities in our lives and I can't wait to share it all with you. I feel like Laura Ingalls when she moved from the big woods to the prairie. I will miss the place of my childhood terribly, the woods, the ponds. In so many ways every tree and woodland creature has touched me in some way and made me the person I am today. The hardest part of all, is that so much of my father is here. He passed away a year ago, and there are memories of him etched in every corner of our home and property.

But I can take those memories with me, I have my camera of course, which helps me to document my life, and my collections of acorns from my favorite oak trees, seed pods, special stones, and a shard of bark from my thinking tree. These are tiny fragments from a place so special that I am blessed to have lived here at all.

But life is about change, something that I more often than not, have a hard time with. As I get older I find that change helps us to grow, and become something we've only dreamed we could be. My whole life, I lived in the woods and wished I had a farm. Sometimes getting what we want can be beautifully petrifying. But I am brave, and I have the love of a man so encouraging and supportive, that I know we can't go wrong. The things that we've only dreamed of having and doing have just became possible and I am blessed, so very, very blessed.

This Is Why I Married That Man

There's other reasons too, but mostly...this.

Ahhhh! Rabies!!!

Not really, but I did scream.

Feed us, feed us!

Saturday night we got home from running errands a bit late, and the sun was already down. We had an early appointment that morning and I was rushing to get the morning chores done. I tossed the grain ration in the girls feed buckets, they were probably happy that I was being speedy because, as they are goats, and goats being what goats are, they are eternally wanting grain. Anyway... apparently I forgot to close the lid on the stainless steel can that holds their food and their small bag of vitamins.

That evening, after we got home we went to settle everyone down for the night. I scooped out the goats evening ration of grain once again, they were apparently starving, withering away really. (Yeah right, that's why we have to buy them bigger coats every spring~ little fatties!) So, I reach my hand in the small bag of vitamin grain that we add to the food once a day and what is this fuzzy thing? Ahhh the fuzzy thing is moving, and wiggling and scratching my hand. I screamed and chucked the bag across the barn floor. Zach, my hero, who was in the chicken coupe next door, came rushing in and picked up the bag. We looked inside and saw two trembling glossy eyes staring up at us, like "what the heck lady?" A little brown field mouse had climbed inside and probably ate until his heart was content. He will be aptly named, among his fellow mice, as Super Mouse as he O.D.ed on goat vitamins. He will be lacking nothing as far as nutrients are concerned for the rest of his life. We let him go in the woods, I'm sure he will find his way back tomorrow and father hundreds of Super Mice descendants. I don't really care about mice in the barn, so long as I'm not squeezing them with my bare hands. I told Zach that I now have Rabies and he rolled his eyes. He won't think it's so funny when I start foaming from the mouth. ~Ha!    

Donating My Hair

I donated my hair last week to Locks of Love, a non profit organization that makes wigs for children who have hair loss due to medical conditions. And though my hair cut has little to do with Hobby Farming, (unless I label it as a shearing blog~ ha!) I wanted to share some interesting events?, coincidences?, what ever you want to call it, call it nothing, call me superstitious but I was touched and I was glad for it.

I hee-hawed around about cutting my hair for almost two weeks. Finally I made up my mind and went for it. While I was sitting in the salon waiting for the stylist to find a ruler and a hair tie, a lady sat down beside me. I had my back to her because the swivel chair was turned. I thought nothing of it until I heard what she was there to have done. Her and her stylist were discussing possibilities with her new hair growth. She was a cancer patient and was there to have her hair styled for the first time after undergoing chemo. Then the lady went on to tell that her last appointment with her chemo doctor was on February 22nd, (my birthday). My superstitious mind was racing. Any doubts I had about donating my hair were gone. The anxiety I was feeling about being handed my 16 inch pony tail soon disappeared and a sincere grin involuntarily spread across my face.

I thought nothing of it again until I went to the post office to mail my hair. I was standing in line behind a little women probably in in her late sixties. There she stood in line, little knitted cap, smile on her face, kicking at the scattered rock salt on the floor of the lobby.
"Where do they get all the salt?" she said suddenly.
"What's that" I asked. I had heard her, but it took me a minute to realize what she was talking about.
"The salt," she continued, motioning towards the floor, "every winter they spread salt. Salt on the roads, salt on the sidewalks, where does it all come from?"
Suddenly I realized I had heard something about Detroit being built on a giant salt mine. I told her this.
She joked that if they kept taking the salt from underneath Detroit, eventually the city would cave in. From here is where the conversation gets really interesting. She started explaining to me that she has visited parts of the world where ancient civilizations have built cities on top of cities, that she's been to Jerusalem and Egypt, and spent years in Europe, in the catacombs of France. She's studied to be a minister in New York City, met amazing people and has been ordained for over 60 years, (there went my guess as to her age.)

Suddenly she was next to go up to the register. I wanted to chase after her, to ask her all sorts of questions. Would it be rude to follow her up to the counter? Yes, I decided it would be. She paid for her postage, gave me a little wave, and off she went.

When I got up to the counter myself. The Post Office worker said to me "That lady you were talking to in line just there, she's one of my best friends."
"Really?" I exclaimed, "How lucky for you, she sounds like such an interesting lady."
"She is," She agreed. Then she went on to tell me how she was over ninety years old, (ha! I was way off) she had been on countless human rights missions, and traveled the world fighting for peace. The worker continued to tell me that she is also active in human rights work, has been shot at, and had a friend die in her arms.
My head was swirling. Here I was all excited about donating my measly pony tail!
Then the lady said something amazing to me. It's probably the best compliment I've ever received. She said, "I've seen you in here before, people gravitate towards you."
Maybe you're reading this thinking "so what?" And maybe it is "so what." Maybe I'm sheltered, and out in the real world people talk like this all the time. But it was new for me, and somehow special.
One of my favorite movies is "You've Got Mail" and one of my favorite quotes from that movies is, "So much of what I see reminds me of something I've read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?" That's what this felt like. What does it mean? I haven't figured that out yet. I'm just really glad I cut my hair.

Before

After