Let us not forsake the time we have

A few thoughts on the brevity of life, the downfall of distraction, and the sweet delights of the ordinary.

May I not forsake the time I have
A fleeting moment…a catching breath is all we have (in the grand scheme of things)
Let me not squander, waste, sit idly by and leave behind even a moment
Which I can never capture again

There are times
When being a mother of young children seems endless
(of course, that’s what I think I’m getting- endless time- though this has not been promised)
For no man knows his hour-
We know not when we will be called home

And I am reminded by this fact that though I must live like I will see generations to come,
I must also live as if tomorrow will see my last hours here.
During these moments of clarity,
I realize that my calling to motherhood is so much greater than sippy cups and dump trucks (although it is this, too)

So Lord, I pray…remind me to live each moment
Each hour
Each day
With purpose, passion, commitment, love
Renew me each morning
And don’t let that wane or fade as the days pass

Help me to step back, to take note.
To adore chubby hands and jam-smeared faces
To delight in mispronounced words
To wonder at the way a mind develops and grows, bit by bit
Oh, what an Artist you are!

Let each moment here be marked with intention
Keep in the forefront of my mind that which is known
(who You are, who I am, what is my purpose here)
And that which is not known
(when it will be over)
And might You give me the strength to daily, hourly even, live in light of these truths.

A clean slate

My favorite part of the school year was always the beginning. Ah, the beginning, what with the empty notebooks, organized divider system, color coordinated doo-dads and a new pack of pens. Not to mention the clear determination that THIS would be the year that I would be ahead on homework for every subject, organizing all of the notes and paperwork diligently in order to ensure low stress levels and high success levels. It was a clean slate- a new beginning. And the blind optimism never failed to show up each September.

While my family was here over these past two weeks, we turned over the garden once again and planted teensie seeds into black earth with hope of new life. This weed-free, straight-rowed piece of ground is the equivalent to my adolescent new school year. I find myself with new determination to keep the garden free of all weeds, nicely watered, safe from bugs and other pests, and pruned and tended appropriately.

A freshly planted garden is a beautiful clean slate, filled with opportunity and hope.

Of course, a large piece of me knows that, like the school year, the work quickly piles and it is near impossible to keep all of those goals listed above. Having planted and harvested three gardens, I now know that there will be weeds...probably at least one kind of bug will attack a prized crop, and the chickens will make dust baths in the middle of my bean rows. My children will tromp through my flower garden and pick the peas from the roots. Despite my best efforts, the grass will creep into the garden edges and those dandilions will make their attempts at being a volunteer salad crop. There will be mud-prints more days than not through my house, up the stairs, and the laundry will triple with soaked, dirt-laden clothing.

In short, it will be delightfully imperfect.

And no matter how frustrated I get with the process, sometimes it helps to put it in perspective. The mess, the imperfection of my gardens, only leave room for improvement the following year. The zucchini planted in my front flowerbed (instead of the garden) is testimony to the delight my kids find in gardening- a passion I would love to cultivate in their own hearts. I won't really want all of those bean plants anyway- and the chickens will remove some of those pesky bugs in the course of their bathing. And throughout, if I can keep the delight rather than the frustration, we all end up enjoying the process, giving thanks for each sun-filled day, for good ground that produces excellent tomatoes, for full canning shelves and for each other.

So, in the past I have shown you the pictures of the clean slate...and this year, since my sister planted nearly my entire garden with me, it is my intention to share with you it's progress each week- the good, the bad, and the ugly. Weeds and all. Because, in my book, a girl who spades a garden by hand and plants her sister's garden without the hope of reaping harvest, at least deserves some pictures of it along the way.

Plus, it will keep me motivated through the trials.

Here's to a new season of gardening!

Starting Seeds

This past week has been so beautiful that we could not stay indoors. On days like these I feel like the oft-depicted weary sea-traveller, so elated with dry land that they stagger in from the salty sea and revel in the feel of sand. We winter-weary Iowans throw open windows and make sweet tea. We walk a few feet out the door and can't help but close eyes with face pointed sun-ward, inhaling spring- glorious, life-giving spring.
To my delight, when Ryan has asked if he can go play outside, I can once again say yes, rather than reasoning with him that it is really too cold. David, intent on being right behind that big brother, finds any shoe he can (dad's, Ryan's, whatever) and follows me, holding it as high as possible, saying "boot" repeatedly, until I relent, find his boots, and we all make our way outdoors.

The average last date of frost for Iowa is in mid-may- quite awhile from where we are now, with many a-frost likely in between. So, Phil built me this cold frame from a salvaged sliding glass door and some wood. This way, the seeds stay warm and protected from the cold at night, yet benefit from the sun during the day. I was delighted with the idea of starting seeds now, rather than having to wait. So, yesterday, on a particularly calm, warm, delightful day, the boys and I took off in the truck in search of gopher holes.

Yes, gopher holes. Phil had heard that, before fancy potting soil came in bags from Lowe's, one would go in search of gopher holes, the dirt from which would be extra-fluffy and *ahem* fertilized, is perfect for starting seeds. I had also read about using egg cartons for the planters, because they are biodegradable and can just be planted directly in the ground when the seedlings are ready for transplant. We have an abundance (read, 30) of these egg cartons, so it sounded like a perfect plan to me.
We planted mostly flowers in this round- zinnias, bachelor buttons, marigolds and sunflowers. Even some heritage seeds (meaning, from grandpa and grandma and uncles, passed down and saved carefully in envelopes). I love the idea of having a "frilly" garden (as my Aunt Sydney describes her beautiful garden) and this year I am determined to line those practical plants that fill tables and tummies with beauties that stir hearts and lift spirits. We also started zucchini, beans, bell peppers and peas, not so much because they need help getting started (we all know how well zucchini grow here!) but because Ryan remembered a stash of seeds from last year that we had kept in the garage, and brought them out to add to the stack. He really enjoyed this project.

Those egg cartons were nice, too, because after each one had been filled with seeds, it could be closed - protected from tiny hands until it was ready to be opened and placed in the cold frame.

Do you realize how much dirt a gopher can throw out of his abode? I had no idea. I pulled 10 gallons (those two buckets there) from one hole, and it still looks like I barely scraped the surface. Here you can also see the cold frame and the patches of old garden space that will soon be turned over once again.

We have one more door that we hope to make into another cold frame, and if that happens this year I plan on starting some seeds directly into the ground- like lettuce and spinach, and a few herbs. This type of planting suits me really well- keeping the garden dirt in the garden, and taking advantage of those first beautiful days of spring.

Now, it's a waiting game- how well does this work? Will they come up too quickly? Will spring not set in by the time the seeds need to be transplanted? This is certainly a trial run- but oh, what fun! To think, flowers!

Easiest Pie Crust Ever

You probably have those recipes- you know the kind I'm talking about. You take it to a friend's house and they rave about how wonderful it tastes, and you think inwardly (or outwardly, if you're me) "if you only knew how easy this was to make..."

For my wedding shower, each attendee was asked to bring a favorite recipe of theirs, and they were compiled into a recipe book that I now treasure. This pie crust, the only pie crust I know how to make, by the way, was a gift handed down to me at this shower. Now, I share it with you.

My mom...my mother in law...my aunt...oh, they make wonderfully crumbly, flaky pie crusts. This crust is more of a sugar-cookie texture, but I find it delicious with many of the traditional fillings. Raspberry, apple, pumpkin, lemon...all go really, really well with this crust.

The recipe originally calls for these ingredients:

2 cups flour

3 TBSP sugar

1 tsp salt

2/3 cup oil

3 TBSP milk

This will make a pie crust (bottom only).

Often, though, I want something on top of the pie as well. So, for apple pies, I add 1/3 more to the recipe, and save 1/3 out when pressing in the bottom crust.

So, my ingredients for a double-crusted pie end up being:

3 cups flour

4.5 TBSP sugar

1 1/2 tsp salt

1 cup oil

4.5 TBSP milk

What you do:


Take the dry ingredients (flour, sugar, salt) and mix in a medium bowl with a fork.

In a small saucepan, pour the oil and the milk and stir over medium heat until bubbly. You don't want a rolling boil here or anything, just some nice bubbles, so you know it's heated through- a light simmer, if you will.

When it starts to simmer, remove from heat and pour into the dry ingredients.

Mix around until fully combined. Pour 2/3 of the mixture (or all, if doing only a single-crust) into an un-greased pie plate and press down. Poke holes all the way around with a fork (sides, too) to keep bubbles from forming.

For baked pies (like pumpkin, apple, lemon)

Put empty crust in a 350 degree oven for 15-20 minutes, until just barely browned. Then, add pie filling. and bake to pie's specifications.

For my pie, I added the pie filling (from a jar, got to love those canned goods!) and then crumbled the remaining 1/3 crust mixture on top. I sprinkled sugar and cinnamon on top before putting it back in the oven for another 35 minutes.

If it is a chilled pie (pudding, berry)

Bake pie crust thoroughly at 350 degrees and remove from oven. Cool completely and add filling before chilling in fridge.

I hope you enjoy! And, learn your manners from someone other than Ryan's Hand.

Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful

...and ironically, also strikingly beautiful. This week has certainly been a chilly one, and we are so thankful to have a warm home and a stocked pantry!










Our mailman called me yesterday morning to explain that he has been unable to get to our house for two days, so there is some mail waiting for me at the post office!

And I promised soup- one of my fastest growing favorites.

Ahh, soup. Inexpensive, easy to stretch, quick to make, and hearty. It warms cold bones after they shake off the knee-deep snow from the wood and corn hauling expeditions. Or so my sweet husband tells me.

Today I want to share two of my favorite recipes. They are nothing extraordinary, rather, they are quite ordinary and easy to make. I have to apologize for my lack of pictures of the chicken and rice soup. For whatever reason, my cameras batteries were staging a coup throughout it's construction.

Chicken and Rice Soup

Carrots (2-4)

Celery (2 stalks)

1 medium onion

Chicken broth (4 cups)

Chicken or turkey (cooked, shredded or cubed)

2 cans of cream soup (like cream of chicken, cream of celery)

Rice (cooked, around 3-4 cups or whatever you have on hand)

This recipe, like the other I will share, is extremely forgiving. If you only have one carrot? That's fine! If you want to use 5? Go ahead! If you have no chicken broth, but can make some with chicken bullion cubes, that works perfectly fine. Trust me, as you make this, you will see how forgiving it is. If it looks too dry when you add the rice, add more water or broth. Play with it until it has the consistency you like. Also! This is an enormous batch- enough for many meals for my family. So, cut it down if you don't have a large pot to throw it in, or better yet, freeze leftovers.

OK, for the instructions:

Dice carrots, onions, celery. Throw in a large pot with a bit of oil or butter. You want to cook them until the celery is soft, and the onions are a pretty brown color. Don't overdo it, keep a good eye on them. Then, toss in your chicken or turkey to warm up and brown a bit. Add your chicken broth, and bring to a boil. Add your two cans of creamed soup, and return to a simmer. When that happens, throw your rice in (this can be cold from the fridge or just-made warm). This will thicken your soup and make it oh-so wonderful. Salt and pepper to taste, and enjoy!

Creamy Potato Chowder

Carrots

Celery (about two stalks)

1 medium onion (I see a trend!)

Cubed ham, or cooked bacon, or cooked sausage

2 cups Corn

4 baking potatoes

4 cups milk (rice milk works well in this recipe, too)

Dice and cube the carrots, celery and onion. Put in a large pot with a bit of butter or oil, to soften onions and celery. Add meat and stir a bit. Then, throw in the corn. I used frozen here, so wanted to just make sure it was warmed up. For this recipe, I also cubed and boiled the potatoes until just barely soft. You could just cook them in the soup, if you would like, just plan on eating later (like 40 minutes or so). Add the potatoes to the rest of the vegetable mixture, and then pour milk in.

Bring to a simmer and let cook about 15 minutes. The potatoes and carrots should be soft enough to easily break with a fork. Salt, pepper, and garlic to taste. Serve with toast...mmm!

Both of these recipes reheat very well from the refrigerator. and we will often eat it for dinner one night, and then lunch for a few days following that.

I love how these are easy to remember and forgiving with the ingredients (I need that, since I can't just run to the store for that extra celery stalk!)

What soup recipes do you love?

A Day for Everything- In My Kitchen, Continued

But isn't it cumbersome? Do you live in the kitchen?
It can seem daunting- this cooking from basics. But let me just encourage you here: with the right rhythms, routines, and plans, providing good, healthy food for your family does not have to enslave you to your kitchen.
Let's take bread, for example.
Some people, when I mention that I make all of our family's bread, look at me cross-eyed. A few years ago, I would have looked at me cross-eyed, too. When we were first married Phil was intent on buying a 5 gallon bin to hold our flour. Mind you, I had never had anything but those storage canisters that sat on the kitchen counter-maybe a bag of 5lbs of flour in the cupboard. And when he mentioned this 5 gallon bin you have to believe I was ...less than thrilled. I would NEVER be baking that much, I assured him. What's wrong with buying flour more than once a year? Not in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that one day I would be so thankful for that flour bin, that I would wish I had more to store oats and rice and wheat flour and sugar. Because as much as I love to cook and bake, we do end up going through a lot of basics. And those basics aren't easily grabbed at the local grocery store when you live Out in the Stalks.

A day for everything: One of the best things I have done (that, by the way, was not my idea) was to start a baking day. Every Wednesday I set out to make the week's bread. This way, I create the big mess only once, I clean it up only once, and I ensure I have the right ingredients on hand. Before I started that, it would feel like I was in the kitchen all the time, because I would make just one batch of bread. And, that fresh bread would be eaten excitedly by myself and my boys...leaving me feeling like I had done a whole day's worth of work just to use it up that night.

This way, we all have something to look forward to (Wednesday baking day!), and when I am tired at the end of the day, I know I have a week before it comes again. I am refreshed and ready once again when that last loaf is sliced.

That bread, then, is used in a number of ways to make or add to simple meals:

Breakfast items: French toast, regular toast, "eggs in a basket", torn in pieces and made into a ham/cheese breakfast casserole (to name a few).

Lunch: Sandwiches, adornments for soups

Dinner: Toast and butter, add garlic and Parmesan to make a side for spaghetti, put with a big chef salad, etc.

Stale bread can be made in to croutons or bread pudding.

So, making four loaves of bread once a week pays off as the bread easily adorns many meals. It can be a quick snack for kids, too. This cuts down on our purchases of crackers, snack bars, granola bars, etc. Not that those things are bad, but my $.50/loaf for whole grain bread is hard to beat at the grocery store.
Practice and Persistence: When you first learned to drive, all of your attention had to be completely on the road. Where is my foot? Are my hands correct? I can't see back there and up here! It was a learned skill, that art of navigating within a vehicle. Now, we hardly think twice about it- it all comes so naturally. We can drive and talk, drive and listen to music, drive and think. Our brains can be involved in other places, too. Cooking is much like that. When I first learned to cook, I had to follow recipes exactly. If a recipe called for coconut and I had none, I would have to stop mid-way through a recipe and head to the store. (By the way, one of the best teachers for substitutions has been my lack of ability to do just that!)

The recipes I use over and over again have become known in my bones, so that throwing together a batch of bread is more physical work than it is mental. This, like driving, just comes with time- with mistakes- with perseverance. It is a skill like any other, and in my opinion, such a blessing to learn.
What tricks have you learned to help feed your family?

Next up: My winter favorite: Soups

In My Kitchen

As I was kneading bread yesterday morning, it occurred to me that it had been awhile since I shared the ins and outs of farm life...country life on this blog. I have been on a continual journey learning how to take care of my family and home as I learn to be a better homemaker. As I walk this journey, I would love to share some of the things I am learning here. Also, I would love to hear your insights and experience.
In My Kitchen
We do most of our cooking from scratch (we shop around the outer ring of the grocery store, if you will). There are a lot of misconceptions about this style of cooking- that it takes forever, its so cumbersome, etc. I want to talk about that, but first, let me explain why we do it:
Health: When I cook from scratch, I know what goes into it. My bread contains only flour, water, sugar, yeast, oil and salt. I know how much salt is in my soup and that the cheese we are eating is actually...a dairy product.
Expense: We don't have a lot of money to throw at the grocery store, and buying basics helps stretch those dollars. We aren't fanatic about it, we just mostly buy staples. I have a wonderful recipe book called "Make A Mix Cookbook" that shows many of the bought mixes and how to create them for much less money. I love it!
Space: We don't have a lot of room to put boxes and boxes of different things- or even cans and cans of things. Our pantry space is small, and the way I need to store things is cumbersome (in plastic containers). I find that piecing meals from scratch helps me to make the best use of that space.
Joy: This isn't done out of hum-drum requirement. Though at first I was overwhelmed with the idea of cooking all of our meals, I have learned to really love providing food for my family. There is a real sense of satisfaction I get when I sit down to a meal purposefully made. Oddly enough, it is something deeper than the satisfaction I ever felt when I stopped by the drive-through on the way home.
Love: We. Really. Like. To. Eat. And the time spent cooking, delving into that skill set has allowed us to make more food, better food, healthier food.
Next...but doesn't it take forever? Do you LIVE in your kitchen?

The Tradition of the Stupid Jello

We love family traditions.

One thing we want to both continue and create for our kids is that sense of family that comes through tradition. This year, with Ryan being old enough to really remember Christmas and Thanksgiving, we felt that we needed to decide on some basics for our home's holidays. We listed out some of the things that had been special to us growing up. This is a process, and I know we will be adding to it as we go along. Some of my favorite family traditions are the accidental ones- unplanned and wonderful, they rank among our most cherished.

The Tradition of the Stupid Jello is one of those in my family. I don't know when it started, but it was by accident. The beautiful jello salad molded into a ring, complete with layers, has adorned our Thanksgiving and Christmas tables for as long as I can remember. But the treat in this salad is how it always goes wrong.

My mother and my aunt are both wonderful cooks- with skill they were always able to create meals that were delicious, comforting, and artistically thoughtful. But there was always something wrong with this jello salad. The top layer would slide from the bottom, or the nuts would appear brown and unappetizing. The fruit layer wouldn't set up properly or it would jiggle and smash upon unmolding. Every year, without fail, it was a delight to watch the unmolding of the Jello Salad, the more folly it contained, the more fun the event. I remember watching with rapt attention the unmolding, and squealing with delight as it slid to one side in it's imperfect glory. From two cooks who were so accurate and precise, it was the one dish that they were not ashamed to have fail.

(Or maybe they were embarrassed, but they never let it show.)

This Jello Salad took on a mind of its own when I was first married to Phil, and we explained the tradition to him over dinner one Christmas. Being a boy, with horrible boy thoughts, he started coming up with ideas for new flavors to try. And of course the other boys, loving the idea of ruining the appetites of their women counterparts, dove in with relish. As a come-uppons, someday I think it would be delightful to actually serve an Anchovy and Sauerkraut jello salad...if I could stomach it's creation.

This year, since my parents were here for Thanksgiving, I had the privilege of learning how to make this molded, layered salad from my mom. I loved the idea that three tables this Thanksgiving were to dawn their own SJS: Iowa, California, and Washington, and it didn't take me long to have thoughts of our kid's and their kid's tables multiplied with their own concoctions and mishaps. Thus the beauty of tradition.

The Thanksgiving Stupid Jello Salad: unmolded on a bare plate. The lettuce? An afterthought. The layers? Half mingled, half separated. Ah, imperfect glory!
For Christmas, I was on my own. To start with, I forgot that I was making this and told Phil to go ahead and use up all of the cream cheese. But! It was supposed to be imperfect- so great! I improvised with orange jello, tiny marshmallows, and pineapple chunks. So far, so good.

But then, upon unmoding- do you see it? I opened the mold the wrong way, leaving the plastic turquoise lid underneath the fragile, wriggly jello. I thought maybe I could slide it off, hence the broken side piece. Instead, I ended up sprinkling coconut over the top...snow? Camouflage.

Can I tell you how I love this? Being quite imperfect myself, it is a delight to make things that are more fun when they go wrong.

And, as David's inability to wait shows, no matter how ugly the salad, it always tastes good!

Home for Christmas

Her words strike through to my heart.
She, too, is a mom of two young boys. She, too, is a wife of few but meaningful years. She, too, is displaced from all she has known and held dear.
In a strange new land her heart cries out for normalcy, constancy, familiarity. She yearns for home...and struggles with the reality that she is to create one here.
Immediately I am drawn to her- her light, her transparency, the way I know that story- that history.
She is me, minus three years in Iowa.
I watch her and can scarcely believe my eyes. Her struggles are ones I know intimately- the fears and frustrations and hurts and joys and guilt and love and triumph and overwhelm...I can speak her language and she also, can speak mine.
And my soul thanks the Lord that I have something to offer her, that she has something to offer me.
---------------------------
"How was it?" I asked her, wondering about her first trip back "home" since she and her husband moved here three months earlier.
"It was good. Both easier and harder than I had expected."
And then she recounts the moment, this moment that reminded me of how far I have yet to come. For none of us, not one, has arrived.
"T. told me how much he missed home. And here I thought he meant his previous home, the one I long for always. But no, he missed this new home, the one I have worked so hard to make him. And that warmed my heart, settled my fears, and allowed me to start settling in myself."
And I stand back in marvel.
How? How does that wisdom sink in so quickly? She went on to tell me of how she had been so pouring her time and efforts into creating a home for her two sons, that when this two year old told her he missed that place, she wept. It was all she wanted- for him to feel at home.
So often I get wrapped up in what I need. What I want. What would make me more comfortable here. And I lose perspective that I am a mom- I create, I serve, I inspire, I build for my family what someday my own kids will think back on as "home." I want them to remember not what this place was to their mom, but what this place meant to them. I want them to aspire to create wonderful Christmas mornings of their own, filled with joy and peace and goodness; days foreshadowed by those we hold in this house for them.
But this means turning my idea of home on its head. Letting go of my longings and desires to the extent that it allows me to build up for them...and for myself...a place worthy of being called home. And that goes so far beyond this furnishing or that meal. No, a home is built with the heart- the wholehearted love and care of a mom not clinging desperately in her deepest being to someplace else.
That sounds strange, you may say.
I know. It would, until you have been so far, wept for home, yearned for that place. And then you would know how that piece of you, though invisible for most days, does show itself in strange ways. Pictures don't get hung on the walls. I don't plant trees. Permanence, they mean permanence: these nails in walls and roots in ground. Friendships are shallow and meant for temporary happiness instead of deep, lasting growth. Whether or not I know it there is that piece of me that works against my whole self being here. And that creeps into how I build this place for my kids, for my husband, for myself.
I watch her yearn to create that sense of home for her kids and I want to have that heart for my family. To worry more about the home I am making for them than for my own comfort. Because this place, any earthly home, is here for but a breath of time. A sanctuary, a resting place. It is not the ultimate. It is not the end. We are but travelers, each one, setting our hearts toward the one true Home worthy of our unabashed longing. Here, on this journey, I am called to build up this home in Iowa worthy of comforting, teaching, transforming souls, and that doesn't happen one foot in and one foot out.
And I can say it and know it in my mind, but to live it out in my heart- that is where the battle takes place.
And so, in this month of Christmas, she gave me an unexpected gift. She renewed my focus, reminding me that I am here not for myself but for others. And I am setting out ready to create "home" for those boys in my life closest to me.
Truly, my prayer is that we will be home for the holidays this year. And that you will be, too, wherever you are.

Overwhelm

Another post I wrote way back in 2008 and never posted...found it today and it still rings true. And while they still., 14 months later tear apart the couch with remarkable speed, they have gotten quite good at putting it back together.
_______________________________________________
One of my son's favorite things to do is tear apart the couch. Between both boys, total destruction can happen, to my great dismay, in less than one minute. Seeing the large, plush object as a mini indoor jungle-gym, they toss the cushions onto the floor, hop excitedly from side to side, hide under haphazardly placed pillows, and squeal as they topple from back to front to cushions on floor.

Why I ever let them start this is a story left for another day, but this couch, it draws them. Though I have since asked them to start using it for it's intended purpose, often if I am off making dinner or step upstairs to put away laundry, upon my return I will find a livingroom filled with cushions and squealing boys.

But what I realized this morning was how typical that three year old response is. I often find myself telling him things that, sheepishly, I notice, I should be heeding as well.

Like so many other mornings, I had just lain David down for a nap. When I came downstairs, Ryan was laying on the floor in front of the couch, his right foot sneaking under the cushion. I peered at him, and then slowly shook my head. "No, honey, we aren't going to play on the couch this morning."

"What?" He asked, his entire leg now under the cushion.

"No. Just no." And then, fatal mistake, I went to get a cup of coffee.

Left to his own devises, my son nicely replaced the cusion, smoothed out the lump he had made with his foot, and sat down to quietly look at a book.

Ok, that's not what really happened. That's what I wish would have happened. No, as soon as I was out of sight, half the couch cushions quickly piled on the floor, and upon my return I found son, upside down on the back of the couch "Lookit ME mom! I'm falling!"

Ahem.

My point to this story was his response on picking up the cushions.

"Put them back, right now."

"I can't! I don't know how. You help me."

"You took them apart, you put them back."

He looked at the looming pile of cushions, too large to lift and place easily, and was suddenly daunted with the task. What came down so effortlessly was not repaired with the same ease. But, faced with further correction he decided to try.

Grabbing the cusion at the very bottom of the pile, he strained and pulled, cringing with frustration. "I just can't!"

"Just take one off the top, work slowly, bit by bit. You'll get there eventually."

And immediately my own list popped in my head.

Then, more comic irony followed. Instead of following my sage advice (of course, I was shocked that he didn't, at three, internalize something that I, at 26, have a hard time following), he flopped in a heap on top of the pile of cusions.

Inaction.

Overwhelm's favorite friend.

Eventually he tries and is more resilient, placing the cushions back somewhat normally on the couch. I am tired of the constant pull-down, pick-up, so I get picky.

"Well, you're almost there. That bottom one needs to be fixed." I say, pointing to a cushion jutting out perpindicular from the couch.

He looks at me plaintively "Mom, could you give me a handle of this?"

And I have to admit, I'm easily swayed when he pulls out grown-up phrases, and can't help but go and lend a hand. Together, we place, poke, mush the couch back in place..

And flashes of our farm, our home, our kids run through my mind.

Teamwork.

Overwhelm's worst enemy.

Simple Abundance

Wednesday morning dawns, and I rise, ready to create, nourish, renew.

Baking day. In days gone by, this was arduous, all-consuming. But like many of the overwhelming tasks of old, it has since shed its arduous nature, becoming a work of pleasure rather than duty or necessity (as the stores carry many loaves of bread). It has been distilled to only the blessings that come from such a routine task, one that is chosen and stems from only a desire to nourish family through the most basic forms- time, teaching, and full tummies.

I stir simple elements- yeast, sugar, water. Tiny hands reach forward to help, and I hold out the measuring spoon, letting those 1 year old hands turn it upside down into the bowl. He, delighted, bounces for more, and each time over, he rewards me with such sweet enjoyment of the simple.

We push the small bowl aside, and the other ingredients are poured into a large bowl- oil, water, salt, flour. Again the tiny hands long for involvement and again I slow, reminding myself that there is purpose here beyond outcome- that process matters just as much, if not more, than the finished product. His older brother, at three, is a "seasoned" helper, able to measure and pour ingredients without spilling, stir without splashing and sploshing. But those hands, too, started out unsteadily. The spoon jabbed and splashed and dumped. I must again remember patience in process for the small one, giving him the same opportunity to develop and learn.

And still, here is the calm before the storm. All elements remain in bowls, not yet mingling with table or hands. We pour all the pieces together, a mere six ingredients, and stir, the dough stiffening and resisting, taking form and pulling together. At last I turn it onto the floured table, sticky and flat. Immediately my helpers notice we have moved on to the most delightful stage of any bread baking (the most delightful stage of cookie-dough making, of course, is the tasting) But this? This unfettered ability to indulge in mess, to roll and create and pinch and smash in little hands? I might have offered them a trip to CandyLand, for the sparkle in their eyes. They delight in the process. Process, mom, I remind myself, noticeably calming my hurried nature, gearing up for the flour dust-storm on the horizon.

Once a week. And they learn. At first, it's mess- unhindered and all out destruction. Then comes imitation, then form. Fingers and hands and coordination all strengthen through process, and someday, they will know the measurements and steps in their bones. Purpose will collide with ability and then creation will become natural.

Perseverance and patience follow: Perseverance to clean sweet helpers, sweep and mop and shine, and patience to wait for the rising, the punching down, the forming, the second rising, and baking. Patience to await sweet aromas and warm butter spread across fluffy warmth. In all honesty, past this first amazing mess, the patience isn't all that hard to muster.

A glimpse into my heart- I read it and it sounds polished, like maybe the mess is pretty, or not so bad. But know this: though there is purpose, it is still, in all actuality, quite imperfect in practice: Memory-building at its best.

And here, each Wednesday, thirty-four cents is poured, stirred, mashed, kneaded and transformed into abundance.

A First Snow Falls

I stand near the back door holding coffee, ready for my husband who is busy rebuilding the fire that was reduced to embers throughout the night. The smell of wood smoke mingling with the clean frosty air of snow is nearly intoxicating. Swept away with anticipation I am brought back to places of warmth in years past, where the formidable cold was held back steadily by a sturdy house and a crackling fire.

Near the end of summer and throughout fall, I start to feel splayed out- pulled in a hundred directions and always seeing more that needs to be done. I am taken from home, beckoned outside to do, do, do. Even inside, the call is to do- do cleaning, do canning, do winter proofing, do laundry. This first blanket of snow is a sign that the frenzied work of fall is nearing completion, and a worthy and welcome rest is on the horizon.
Winter calls us home again, and we hunker down inside, cozy and content, for there is no endless project calling our names. Food has been put up, the garden lain to rest. Warmth wraps its arms around us this time of year and pulls us in close.
David, upon seeing the earth blanketed with snow, bounces and squeals delight, and then pads his way in fleece footed pajamas to the front window. He spreads his arms wide and leans his forehead against the cold glass. Watching kids experience this world is a training ground for appreciation. We lose the magic of simple beauty as we cram every space with speed and grandeur. We grow taller and complain about scraping the snow from windshields, but those little eyes haven’t yet become immune to the beauty, and they delight in the simple, yet incredible, wonders around them. He studies the world outside and its new clothes, and contrary to my normal character, I slow down and watch with him. I notice a small bird, hunting for scraps to warm her own nest between the patches of snow. The earth seems quiet here, covered just for this morning in perfect white, its blue hue streaming through our windows so that whether or not you are looking outside you know the snow has fallen. The world, despite its many imperfections, is momentarily pure and clean. Our home, warm and inviting, comforts and renews this morning, and I am filled with thankfulness that we have this refuge. And I am equally thankful that winter is on its way with its call to rest weary bones once again.
Where we, with our lists and agendas, would have fall last endlessly so we could ever-more complete important tasks, God, with His wisdom, will soon say “It is finished,” providing promise of a coming rest we did not know we needed.

“He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed. They were glad when it grew calm, and he guided them to their desired haven. Let them give thanks to the Lord for His unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for men.”
Psalm 107:29-31

Expecting the Unexpected

We have had a week of amazingly warm fall days. The forecast says "rain" tomorrow, and so its about time I started gearing up for the "real" fall and winter days. There are a few things I did today that are so simple, I often skip them altogether. However, this year I decided to give my future self a treat and accomplish the tasks before they become absolutely necessary.

First, I cleaned and vacuumed the breezeway, which will probably be our normal entrance during the winter months. I went out and found our snow shovel, ice scraper, and stiff broom, and put them right inside the door, ready for the first snowfall. This way, I won't be hunting them down after those first flakes come. Simple, yet I know when the time comes, I will appreciate it greatly.

I then took advice that my sister gave me awhile back. Since we live so far from, well, everything, she mentioned that I might want to have a bag I keep in the back of the van, filled with blankets and such to be used in the event of an emergency.

Have I ever mentioned how great my sister is at being prepared? Well, she is.

Anyhow, I cleaned out the van and set out to pack a duffel bag with winter back-ups. Here is a list of the things I put in there, just in case you want to make your own. I love knowing that if need be, we will have the ability to stay warm in a worst-case scenario.

• Warm clothes, including sweaters for each family member, warm pants for the boys, long sleeved shirts for the boys, and an assortment of orphaned socks (we won't be entering a fashion contest, and I figure the matching socks can best be utilized for everyday wear).
• Extra diapers
• A warm hat and a thick pair of gloves for each family member
• A high-strength flashlight (actually a head lamp with an LCD light)
• Bottles of water
• Two warm blankets
• A whistle

This process also allowed me to think of last year's winter, and plan to pick up a few things at the store next time I am in town. To the above list, I plan on adding:

• A small shovel for each vehicle (for getting out of snow drifts, if necessary)
• Granola bars and other non-perishable food items
• Hand warmers (those ones you can bend and pop to heat up)

I think I will also make a mini-bag for Phil's truck, including some of the same above items. As normal as it is to bring things like a hat and gloves with you out on the road during winter, every once in awhile something happens and we end up unprepared for the unexpected. This is just a way of ensuring we have backups in that event.

OK, Sis, what have I missed? Does anyone else have ideas or tips? My bag still has some room, and I am anxious to hear what you would pack away for worst-case-scenarios.

A bit chilly

It's only October, and already I am finding myself jealous of the cookies; longing to crawl inside the oven and bake at 350 for a few minutes now and then. Don't worry, I resist such temptation.

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.

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.

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...

A few pictures from the Homestead

A view from our front window during winter. We got some more snow on Tuesday, but it has actually been a very mild winter here. Everyone keeps telling us "wait until we get some real snow!"











A couple of sunsets from our front window. We have no shortage of beautiful scenery out here in the boonies. One benefit of no mountains, trees, neighbors...you see all of the sunrises and sunsets, unless there are clouds, of course.























This is a picture of our living room before we painted, removed carpet, etc. Phil took this photo on his first trip back to Iowa.
















And this is our living room now, after the green shag carpet had been taken up and the walls had been painted, but before all of our stuff filled it up. We have been very fortunate in this house that the floors are all in extremely good shape. We have had to do nothing but put wax on most of them to make them look as good as the floor in this picture.

Start of a new day

So, I believe we have actually hit the threshold- we are now "real farmers"! This week Phil purchased himself a genuine 1961 Farmall C tractor. Oh how far we have come!

This hits a new point on our quest for simple living...although we have been so busy that it doesn't seem so simple, just different. We made the move from Washington State to Iowa in November, 2005. We wanted to scale down our lives from two incomes to one so I could stay home with our then-7 month old son. We wanted simpler lives, time to enjoy family and life. After much soul searching, we left our two-bedroom, one bathroom home outside of Seattle, and moved into a four bedroom, one one and a half bath 1925 farmhouse on 5 acres.

The house is old...and was last updated in 1970-something...which makes for some interesting carpet and paint, to say the least. However, underneath it all is a beautiful old house full of charm. We just have to uncover it all!

That is the short version of where we are and what we are doing. We are here on a dream and a prayer...believing that God will provide direction and provision for us. We left both of our families and all of our friends at home in Washington, which has been very hard. Before this move, neither of us had lived more than an hour away from home.

Staying home has been another new experience. Having always been career driven, this shift has definitely challenged me in new ways, but also taught me a lot, too. After graduating college, I worked for Target for three years in Human Resources. I loved the challenge, the fast pace, and the "importance" of it all. But on the flip side, with a new baby, I never felt I saw him enough. The house was a mess and no one ate like they should. I always felt divided, never enough for either work or home.

We found our house on the internet, and on a whim took a look at it. Phil flew back because I had to work...and ended up buying a house that I had never seen. Now that's trust! Phil took a job as a finish carpenter to pay bills, and I am able to be at home. In the evenings, we sit by the fireplace and read...and we have every evening and weekend together. For fun, we work on our house and take trips to "town", which is about 45 minutes away. We are definitely country bumpkins now! What a change from living 3 minutes from the grocery store.

So, that kind of catches you up to today...we looked through the seed catalog this morning over coffee. I can't wait to start a garden! I know nothing about it, but found a great website online through Iowa State. Thankfully Phil has done a bit of gardening at home. The greatest part about the whole farming thing is that we have only farmers for neighbors and church friends! So, when we need help, have questions, or whatever, people have been more than anxious to give support! Phil works with some guys that all either grew up on farms or have one currently. Every night he comes home with "The guys said this about the garden" or "they think we need this kind of tiller". One of them is actually giving us a plow and a disc for our tractor, because he simply doesn't need it! Amazing!

Oh yes, on the other side of things, our kitchen is completely gutted...we decided the 1950's metal cabinets just weren't going to cut it, and ended up taking everything out. We have been eating out of a crock pot for three months now, and I finally ordered a stove two days ago. It should be here by the end of the week! I am thrilled! Now all we need to do is finish the floor and hook up the power...small feats, right?

Ok, enought for today. I'm off to unpack a few boxes into a few newly painted closets.