A new journey

Three Novembers ago, we boarded a plane headed for farm country.
I looked down. The world below was covered in a blanked of white. Tears stung my eyes, threatening to spill. I pulled my baby. now seven months old, a bit closer. The heart-split happening mid-air, above the great nation spread below- a world divided. It was a beginning. A terrifying, jolting, wondrous, faithful beginning. Just two days before we'd had a teary, sweet Thanksgiving, filled with the aromas and people that had accompanied the major holidays for my first 23 years. It felt right, real, and on this particular occasion, solemn.
Above that great land, in the hours which transported my life between the world that was and the world that was to come, my heart cried for a respite from the turmoil. This dichotomy, the pull between here and there, this life and that, ebbs and flows, pushes and pulls, and has since that first flight, grown fainter, but is an ever present reality for me.
I held that little boy, small, sleeping, precious and unrambunctious, knowing that tomorrow he would wake up to his mom. And then I would be with him all day. I would make him his food, care for him when he nosedived learning to crawl. It would be his mom that would reach down and rescue him, wide-eyed and arms outstretched, after a long nap. After seven months as manager/mom, spending so much of my best energy focused on building another's castle, I was ready to be a mom-only.
The rest of the world was in a frenzy, lapping up the best deals at their local retailers, hastily devouring ads and planning elaborate shopping days that started before the first light of day. This would have been my world, only from the inside-out. Holiday hours for retail managers were in the 60's, at least 6 days per week, late into the night (or early into the morning, depending on perspective) and that one day off would be a mid-week break. My job this holiday season would have been no different. So as I sat on this plane, holding that sweet baby of mine, I distinctly felt the gift that had been given to me- I was to experience life as a mom, Christmas as calming, the New Year as renewal.
I am not good at this job. There are days that I wonder who in the world hired me for such a role. And then I am hit with the realization that God knew what He was doing- motherhood is not for the weak. It is for those willing to persevere, be patient, and above all, it is for those who can love.
That moment, that distinct moment is etched quite clearly in my mind. His tiny hand wrapping around my finger, his eyes closed and his body warm with sleep much needed. My mind swirled with longing for home, and then, sporadically, there was a spirit of adventure, although not one that I was willing to admit to or indulge. But it was there, bubbling underneath the surface. This, I knew deep down, was an adventure of the highest sorts.
And, in my innocence, I was right. Right in the way someone who has never seen a tree, after hearing it described and pondering it in thought might say "that sounds large, leafy, and wonderful." Its magnitude, its precise, intricate, and grandiose wonder is impossible for one to comprehend until seen, touched, and felt.
And, true to His way, the way I saw our journey here, and the way He had it all planned out, were worlds apart. Being human, I much prefer a simple, straight line, A to B. But oh, how I would have missed out! The curves, friends, are what make the road interesting. An Iowan mile can be driven without thought. And there can be comfort in seeing the entire road, the entire way. But the curves of a Washington road are beautiful, dangerous, alive with trees and wildlife, take you past cliffs where you can see seemingly forever out to the deep ocean. With only one life, can I afford to miss the scenic route? More specifically, can I afford to miss the route set aside for me by God, only because I prefer the simple A to B, without hills and valleys, cliffs or towering rock formations? We love to drive past those magnificent pieces of earth, in awe of their beauty and depth, but so resist becoming such a creation.
Three winters later, Lord, let me stay the course, with renewed determination to do it Your way, hills, valleys, cliffs and all.

Man on a mission

Though it looked daunting a few weeks back, this has been an amazing start to a fall. What with 75 degree days, pure, crisp breeze in the morning and calm, whispering evenings filled with crickets, there has been much to be grateful for.

Tonight before dinner Phil took a walk down to the water (an old, overgrown bridge with a weensie stream flowing beneath) with Ryan. I caught them on their way back. I had carried David out there, hoping to just take a minute to snap a picture of the wonderful Fall evening (hence the stocking-feet). Alas, I should have known better. Now that the 1year- old can walk, that is all he wants to do. That and climb. But this walking, its a must. My once calm, boy, content to sit in a wagon and watch the world go by as the family gardened, has all at once realized that this world he has been observing? He can be a part of it! He can touch, taste, smell, throw, tug, build, explore and oh, my, does he have a fervor for it. Now, he is constantly trying to crane his neck this way and that, arch his body in just the right way, so "Mom will stop this whole "carrying" nonsense and let me free already!"

And, I realized that though I mentioned he learned to toddle around while mom was here, I have not shared any videos of the little guy. As we pass this new milestone...a vivid and vibrant one, I am once again struck with the amazing blessing these two kids are to me.

Notes on the video: Phil and Ryan caught a tiny snake on their way back to the house, and are discussing it behind me. When David isn't responding to me, he is watching his brother intently. That's pretty much the way it is around here. And...honestly...it feels quite comfortable, because I always made sure to keep my little sibling's full attention. Also, the road is the one directly in front of our house, headed to a grassy and impassable end. The opposite direction is three miles of twice-a-day-traveled road (we get mail). Don't worry, we don't let him run on normal streets. This one barely counts.

Attitude and the Home

"How how HOW?" With two small children, an old farmhouse, piles of produce waiting for sterilized jars, and laundry that was beginning to take over the basement, I finally sat down exasperated in front of my friend Stephanie.
"I mean, I don't do my laundry by hand, I have never butchered a chicken for dinner, I have modern cleaning products, and I still feel like I am being buried in it all. How did those women make it work without going insane?"
"Well, they did have fewer clothes," she reasoned "but truly, I have no idea either."
Thus began my search. There had to be a way to make a home -my home, specifically, with all of its flaws and imperfections, feel like a real home- full of rejuvenation and comfort rather than a space filled with quicksand.
I still don't have it all figured out. Sorry. I know you were reading that thinking "Surely! She must have figured this out if she is writing about it!" But the reality is, homemaking is such a skill. I know it is one that can be honed, that much I have learned so far, but I have no corner on the market, no slick trick or new ideas. Truthfully, I have been trying to reclaim the old ideas, mostly because today's schedules and routines rarely involve washing dishes by hand, gathering eggs and watering cows, tending a garden or canning produce, things that would have been second nature, or at least quite well within the scope of a homemaker's duties in days past.
Not too far into this quest I came upon a piece in Cheryl Mendelson's Home Comforts book that has stuck with me, inspired me, and changed the way I think about my home. I wanted to share it with you:

"Unfortunately, what a traditional woman did that made her home warm and
alive was not dusting and laundry. Someone can be hired to do those things (to
some extent, anyway). Her real secret was that she identified herself with her
home. Of course, this did not always turn out well. A controlling woman might
make her home suffocating. A perfectionist's home might be chilly and
forbidding. But it is more illuminating to think about what happened when things
went right. Then her affection was in the soft sofa cushions, clean linens and
good meals; her memory in well-stocked storeroom cabinets and the pantry; her
intelligence in the order and healthfulness of her home, her good humor in its
light and air. She lived her life not only through her own body, but through the
house as an extension of her body...."

As I walk into this fall season, the season where we return indoors, settle down,
fill the home with sweet scents of baking and the warmth of cozy fires, I want
to remember this attitude. That I love my kids not just by sitting and playing with
them, though that does play a part. Rather, I show my family love by how I care for
them. Preparing food, washing clothes and dusting does not detract from my ability to be a good mom and wife, but instead shows them in new and tangible ways just how important they are to me.
Winter preparation, then, by means of canning, storing up wood, and tightening windows is less about a laundry list of items to accomplish and more about the idea that I am preparing a place to love my family through the cold, forbidding months ahead.
By the way, Home Comforts is full of encouraging tidbits, as well as detailed information about caring for your home- A home reference I heartily recommend.

Home

"Do you miss grandma?"
"Yah."
"Me too. Thanks for staying here with me."
"Your welcome."
"I would have missed you."
"I would have missed you, too."

Without my intention and truly, without noticing along the way, this blog has become a story of God’s faithfulness to His people. Our red sea. Our manna. Our five loaves and two fish. This journey to Iowa has not been easy. There is beauty, surely. Serenity and peace in fields of whispering corn and rest for the weary soul in the sweet breeze across the land. And by contrast, there is hardship. Harsh winds, bitter cold.
And longing.
I miss my family. I miss my mom. She left today after staying a wonderful week with us. What a beautiful time we had- watching David learn to walk, watching Ryan cling to her and inform me that he was, in fact, going home with Grandma and in no way going to stay with me. (After one particular tickle-torture session I demanded of him “Say ‘I love you mom! I will stay!’” With a shriek of laughter he yelled back “I love you mom! Goodbye!”) Her encouragement, laughter, and her piece in our daily lives will sorely missed. But, she is needed at home. I haven’t asked, but I am sure dad would be unwilling to trade her for a steady supply of cinnamon rolls. Hmm…(*strums fingers together contemplatively*)
I know many of you wonder from time to time why we would stay here, surrounded by all of these trials and so far from people we hold so dear. If I could write you one sentence for that answer, believe me, I would. I suppose that’s why I avoid the difficult discussions here. It’s easy to show the trials, much more difficult to explain faithfulness as it relates to our lives. God is faithful to us. I can’t say it’s an easy journey. I can’t say I understand His purpose or even His will with all of this. But I cling to the knowledge that He knows when even a small sparrow falls. He watches over the lilies of the fields and clothes them in great splendor. How much more valuable are we than a weensie bird?
In all of our trials, all of our discouragements and ups and downs, He has walked so faithfully with us. No, nothing has been perfect. Laughably opposite, in fact. But I know my job is not to be comfortable, but only to be faithful back- with each step, with each breath- walking straight ahead whether I am terrified or at peace, onward, onward.
I sat across from mom at lunch, discouraged, sad. I missed her already and she wasn’t even gone. This, I have come to learn, is an emotion directly related to the distance between us. And then, I looked at each of my boys, one by one. David scrunched up his face, smiling with his entire being. He let out a shriek and then a giggle. And Ryan sat politely, eating ice cream and refusing the bite offered by Grandma, because “I have my own, right here. No thank you.” And all of the sudden this amazing feeling of love for those two boys ran through my veins. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.
Love can be so painful. When it’s far away. When it’s gone. When it’s wrapped up in someone who is making bad choices. But would you trade it? Could you? Is not the entire fabric of life weaved of love?
“When my spirit grows faint within me, it is You who know my way." Psalm 142:3

Fence, Fence, Wherefore art Thou Fence?

Last weekend, according to our non-systematic winter-prep plan, we worked on fencing. Yes, fencing. In our grand plans, fencing solves two major areas of frustration for us: Animal control and snow drift management.

--------LATE MAY---------

"Mom…the cows are out of the fence."

"Mmmhmm" I respond distractedly from the kitchen.

"Cows! Go BACK to your fence!" Ryan has pushed open the front door,
poked his head through and is demanding the stray bovines return to their
rightful location.

"COWS? Where???" The situation finally sinks in, and I run to my front
window. The two cows, normally corralled behind the fence in the pasture (and I
use the term fence loosely here) were now traipsing throughout my front
flowerbeds, munching and, well, doing another inappropriate things cows do.
Wherever they please. Because they don’t realize that cowpies don’t belong on
the driveway, or truly, in any other well-trodden area for that matter.

Drying my hands on the towel I had grabbed in my haste to the window, I
panic. WHAT am I going to do? These cows, though small and quite
docile, are still cows. They don’t exactly follow me like our bossy
pet sheep, and I cannot simply walk back to the pasture with them patiently
following. And husband? In route between Washington and Iowa, cell-phone-less and
quite unavailable for aid in this endeavor to corral said bovines. Don't forget
the two boys- not old enough to manage themselves alone.

Think think think. I watch as they head to another flower bed. Plop.
"Ahh! Stop that!" I lose composure momentarily.
I don't have time to think! Wait, what did Mike say? Cows like
apples- that's right- he collects dropped apples from a friend to give to his "girls". I rush to the fridge- one apple-check. Maybe they will also like other
things, like fresh asparagus- yes, possibly! Worth a shot, no? I reason these
things to myself while fastening on my boots, Ryan's boots, and coats for the
two boys. I hoist David to my hip, and hand Ryan the apple. I explain my plan to
Ryan, who heads out with determination.

"HERE! Cows! EAT THIS APPLE!!!" He charges toward the cows with determination and glee.

The cows, however, do not return this glee. Nor do they show the slightest
bit of interest beyond that of getting as far away from the small human as
possible. Unfortunately for me, their flee-ing did not take them toward their
pasture. Rather, they cared much less about what direction they headed, the only
criterion being that it was away from me- toting the smallest human, and the
skipping, loud larger one walking with us.

For half an hour we continue an awkward dance of sorts with our cows. Two
steps left, turn, gallop, turn, swoop. Plop. Plop. David, nearly 20 pounds, is
starting to get heavy. Ryan, as energetic as he is, is torn between
being exasperated with the cows and the thrill of the hunt. The
cows don't want fresh asparagus, apples, hand-held grass or any other sort of
thing we have to offer. I have tried luring, cajoling, sweet talking, demanding,
and at this point, I am simply tired.

When he returns, I tell myself, we will be fixing this
fence! But that was the thing- I couldn't even see where they got out. It
looked quite intact, and it sunk in that even if I were able to conjure up a way
to return the cows to their rightful location, they had a way to simply escape
that I couldn't see, let alone fix.

Failure, however, was not an option. The freshly sprouted cornfields
surrounding our house were prime munching ground, and if the cows wandered that
way and realized the goldmine they had at their hoof-tips, I would have a whole
new set of worries on my hands.

I both wished a person would happen by and dreaded it, longing for another set of able hands yet knowing how rediculously dressed I was, baby on hip, chasing cows with apples and asparagus spears.

It was late by this point, so I stuck my tongue out at the cows, stomped inside, and hurriedly lay the boys down to bed. David, worn out from the excitement, was quickly asleep and Ryan was not far behind him. With both hands free I returned outside with renewed determination. I grabbed a bucket and filled it with
oats- the only grain I had on hand. In my other hand I held a rope
with a slip knot I had seen Phil use when he moved them once.

I sauntered up to the skitterish animals, and they munched grass, eyeing me with curiosity.

"That's right guys...look at this YUMMY food..." I crooned. "Why don't you
come see how good it tastes? There's no harm in a taste, right?" The light brown
one brought up his head, and to my delight started walking toward me. "That's
right...here, have a taste" calmly, as sweetly as I could muster for two ornery
cows, I lowered the bucket so the first one could take a few mouthfulls of
grain. As soon as his head was lowered and he was in range, I slipped the noose
over his head, carefully, quietly. Then, I lifted the bucket. He walked a bit
after the grain, but decided he didn't like my direction. "ho ho! I have you
now, cow!" Clearly, I and my rope had gained the advantage. With exhaustion my
inhibitions fell to the wayside and I leaned toward the pasture with all of my
might. Maybe he realized that you just shouldn't mess with a mom who's tired, or
maybe he just wanted some more oats, but at this point he just gave in. He
walked dutifully behind me to the pasture gate. I swung it open and led him
inside.

Now, Mike always says you have to be smarter than the cows. As I have learned with both chickens and sheep, this is true with most animals. The wisdom and ways you may think are going to work will normally fail. You can rarely chase animals in the direction you want them to go. Herding works with some, bribing with others. Slowly but surely I have begun to "understand" the
different species in our petting zoo. These cows? They like to be together. If one gets out and the other is in, OH my, do we get an earful. Also? There is a leader, and the other one will almost always follow behind him (if you take the follower, the leader could care less, for some reason). Thankfully for me, the
one I had captured was the head honcho of the twosome, and the second cow, upon seeing that there was Food! To be had! That might be good! sauntered along behind him, right into the pasture.

Ahahahaha! VICTORY! I closed the gate and walked the fence line, still unable to detect how they had escaped in the first place. But, it was late, and I knew it would at least be morning until they would try another Houdini. I went inside and called one of my farmer friends- "I need help. Can you come check my fence tomorrow morning?"

"Sure, what's going on??"

Ahh, community.

---------------------------
Since then, we have pounded down poles, replaced gates, moved various animals to different areas, and put up for a number of months with "free range sheep", as Neighbor Mike warily calls them. With harvest coming, and winter not too far behind it, a solid fence will be quite necessary. We have mostly wire fencing, but noticed that wood fencing has a dual purpose in that it also works to capture and direct snow. So, in phase two of our fencing project, we will be extending our windbreak and directing the snow that comes in a new and specific way using wood fencing.
Last weekend we built a gate and four sections of fence, fixing the makeshift enclosure and turning it into a fence a normal farmer would even appreciate. I say we...but truly I was mostly food-lady, kid-manager, and conversationalist. The only actual work I got to do was remove nails from some of the recycled lumber we used. I think it turned out nicely. And, the thought of not having to chase animals around the property with a baby on my hip? Priceless.

What I meant to say was...

The comments from yesterday's post made me want to clarify a few things. First, we are OK. Thinking back over the past winter is truly a terrifying process, but it is also important to remember that we did make it. Spring did eventually come, and the snow did finally melt. While some of our hardships were flukes, most of them will be avoidable this year with proper planning and preparation. Thank goodness!

Secondly, I realized that I have been including only the positive here for awhile. Times where I am the most stressed, the most down, I write the least- partly out of self-preservation, partly because it's no fun to read when people are having a rough time. Whatever the reason, I also realized I am simply not being honest with the entire picture of a move like this, and it cheapens the story.

A quiet, absolutely soul-renewing Christmas makes much more sense when contrasted with the harsh realities of our winter last year. (Or a nice hot shower sounds mundane until it is written in the context of trenching a 200 foot water line by machine, and then by hand.) Too often I leave out the bad, the ugly, the strenuous, and it leaves the picture half-painted. Pretty pinks, blues, and bright shades of green might be pleasant, but if you add the shadows it becomes poignant, vibrant, and true. In short, my attempt to bring you into the fold, as it were, is not an attempt to scare you, frustrate you, or even make you sad...(although given your relation to me and my family, you may feel any of those regardless of my intent). Rather, my goal is to flesh out the story in full, so that you might appreciate the amazing blessings that come our way as deeply as we do.
Lastly, I realized that my comment about being jealous of the grasshoppers might have come off wrong. I have edited it to be more accurate. The truth is, I spend quite a bit of energy fighting my own desire to escape from work like this. It can be tedious, and there are things I would much rather be doing. However, when winter comes, I know I will be so thankful for those long days spent canning, or those weekends in the shop fixing windows. I don't hold it against anyone that they have a less...strenuous life in certain aspects. I am thankful that most of you don't fight the elements like we do, oh so thankful. I am clearly aware that we are the crazy people who chose to live in the 1925 farmhouse, raise animals, and install a corn burner. And never do I sit and think "oh, look at those people enjoying life! How dare they!" However, I do spend time talking myself out of "running to the big town" or even taking a fall trip home versus putting those time and money resources into winter preparation. Those are the real battles I struggle with (because my grasshopper side says "It's warm now! Live it up! Think, Starbucks!!!")
And now, those clarifications aside, the rest of the story....

On being ants...

Last winter was hard.
If we had any romantic delusions of what an Iowan winter could be, this past winter shook those right out of us.
Recalling it now, I am little but somber, solemn, and terrified. At the risk of sounding "I-used-to-walk-10-miles-in-the-snow-both-ways-uphill-barefoot," here is a small list I compiled of the challenges we faced just this past winter.

We started off the winter with a pre-Thanksgiving ice storm that left us with two inches of ice coating everything. Then came snow, snow, and more snow. Not until March did we have above freezing temperatures. I shudder now just thinking about it.
Being that we had animals, we carried 5-gallon buckets of water out to them each day over snow drifts so hard that you could walk on top of them (you, plus the 10 gallons of water). They were so tall, though, that if you fell through you would have been up to your chest in snow.
If you'll recall, we changed our furnace to a corn-burning stove. This was great for economy, but we had no storage in the house for such grain, and therefore used those same five-gallon buckets and carried nearly 700 of them through snow, into the house, and down the stairs to the basement.
Twice the gate on the corn bin froze shut, meaning that the house grew cold until Phil carefully warmed the door enough with a torch to slide it open.
We learned where our snow drifts on the property...right through the pile of stored wood we had lined up. Phil spent entire afternoons chipping at the mini-mountain with a pick-ax and a shovel.
Also, he had been working as a carpenter, but they had no inside work last winter. The early ice scratched out roofing and siding as a possibility, and you would be hard-pressed to find a homeowner wanting a window installed when its 15 below freezing outside.
Wait. I can't forget about the water main that froze under the ground a month before thaw. We spent a few days carrying buckets to the house, and then, when it was warm enough, we stretched a hose between the well and the house, leaving a small drip running at all times so it wouldn't freeze.
Each month we would cling to "oh, it's already , surely winter is just nearly over!" We crawled through February, shivered through March, took out a pair of shorts in early April and re-stored them later that month. May was chilly, wet, and stormy. And then, with June, came floods. Needless to say, it chilled us so long, and so deeply, that this spring and summer have been nearly exclusively geared toward preparing for the upcoming winter.

Growing up, the thought of preparing for winter meant "Get Excited About Your Christmas List!" or "Pray for snow!!!" And up until this year we have just about stumble-tumbled into winter here, as well. Sure, we bought fuel and such, but there was little else that went into the thoughts of routine and rhythm when it came to the seasons.

Not to be outdone, in March, three months before we would be able to plant our garden, we sat down and made a battle plan. Water, windows, wood, corn, doors, clothing, animals, roof, shop heat, and food were all discussed in detail. This new preparation seems both daunting and actually, a bit exhilarating. I know, I know, don't worry, it's not the overdose of coffee. Hear me out.

One of my favorite things to do before a storm is batten down the hatches. Warily eyeing the looming thunderheads, we pick up the toys, secure the machine shed, shut windows, put the animals inside. You spend that bit of time running around, always eyeing the clouds, wondering if you have another minute to pull that piece of equipment into the shed or if you should just head in because that thunder is starting to rumble a bit louder now. Its the imminence of the storm that brings it all into focus- a clear purpose.

And then it comes. Loud crashes, rain. Lightning. And we sit inside, watching the intensity of the storm with awe -just being so thankful for the protection of a strong and sturdy home. (When we first moved here, we would pop popcorn to watch a storm. They are that neat.) But, of course, the storm is only that delightful to watch because we spent the time preparing for it. If we were worried a door might blow off the machine shed and fly into one of our friend's campers, then it would likely invoke an entirely different emotion. And as a result, that process of preparation has become satisfying to me on a level that's hard to explain.

In the same way, preparing for winter can be the same thing. Sure, caulking windows isn't the most delightful job in the world, but we are going to war here! And, whether I like it or not, when one is battling the elements, attention to detail counts. When the fury of winter descends upon us this year, I want to be warm, cozy, curled up next to the wood-fire with my boys and a book...drinking hot cocoa coffee with pumpkin spice creamer. And that thought alone keeps me quite motivated to push through, squelching my inner grasshopper. Coffee, I tell myself. Remember the coffee. And the creamer. (This rationale most always works for a Seattle-ite at heart.)
So, that is where I have been lately. Battening down the hatches. The first few chilly evenings have come, meaning that I am just that much more aware that the enemy is nigh over the hill...