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...

The wording's a bit off, but the sentiment is still there.

One of my favorite childhood memories is the one where my dad, exasperated with my younger sister, decided to "switch roles" with her one evening at dinner. Therefore, instead of seeing my little unruly sister squirm, wiggle, put her legs on the chair, her feet on the table, her elbows in her supper, it was instead my father, who is 6'4". You can imagine the delighted squeals of young girls as they watched this normally quite stoic, proper dad exaggerate the common inappropriate actions of a 6 year old.


I don't know if it accomplished his goal, but I am sure it helped us realize how ridiculous we looked to our parents at times. (I think we got to play the parents, too, so there was a fair amount of scolding going on as well.)


Anyhow, off and on I repeat this at times with my own three year old. This morning, for instance, he came downstairs and informed me that he was going to take ONE MORE nap before he went outside with me. I dramatically laid down on the couch, squishing his legs, and explained in an exasperated tone that I, too, needed a nap.


But almost immediately I began to squirm. Kick my legs in circles, lift my head up and down, and sing songs loudly. Each of these antics was met with "You stop that!" or "Lay down now!" Also? We are at the "why" stage, where each of my statements, questions, or directives is met with "Why?" So, of course I had to throw a couple of these in there.

"Put your leg down!"

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to do that!"

This went on for a number of minutes until I informed him that I simply could not sleep.

This was the last straw.
"No, we have to TAKE a NAP."
"Why?"
"Because God said we always take a nap!"

Now, I have never used this reasoning with him, but I think I am going to start.
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We had another loud, jarring thunderstorm in the middle of the night a few days ago. Although neither Phil nor I act afraid during these storms (although admittedly my stomach sometimes does turn flip-flops during the closest lightning strikes) Ryan absolutely abhors storms. He talks about them constantly "Is it going to storm tonight?" or "Do you see that cloud over there? It looks like rain!"
So, when this huge storm hit as we were going to bed that night, Ryan was quite concerned. After much comforting and coercion, he finally went to sleep. The thunder had died down and he was exhausted from the worry of it all.
The next morning at breakfast, I started up a casual conversation with him about it.
"So, that was quite a storm last night, eh?"
"Yeah mom! It was a big one! A big TOMATO* storm!"

Did you know Iowa has tomato storms? Because if so, I would be happy. My tomato plants wilted so badly that I had to pull the plants after only two batches of salsa. This, compared to last year, when we picked tomatoes for more than 52 quarts of whole tomatoes, three batches of salsa, and one dryer full (for dried tomatoes). Thankfully, the bumper crop of tomatoes last year will more than sustain us one more year. If it's one thing I am learning about gardening and canning, it's that you take it when you get it. You never know what the next year will hold...draught, floods, late frosts.
Now, if there happened to be chocolate storms, that might even be a bit better. That's the stuff of dreams, right there.
*(I suppose he meant tornado, but don't worry grandma's, there were no funnel clouds).

David Turns One!

This past weekend we decided it was time to finish Chicken Palace. What with its recycled wood exterior, partially completed (also recycled) roof and weedy, fenced-in run, we knew visitors questioned whether it was coming down or going up. Oh! I can't wait for you to see it now. (Pins and needles, I know!)

Up to the roof went Phil to finish framing in for steel, while Ryan and I worked on weeding and clearing out the run. David, being still an Infant, took the coveted "observer" position.



See, before his birthday yesterday, which officially made him a "toddler" he was exempt from arduous farm duties.

While his brother was made to pull weeds (unimaginably tall, stalky weeds requiring the entire force of his body), David sat back and made faces at him.






Oh, he would probably say they were "grins" or "smiles" but we older siblings clearly recognize a mocking laugh when we see one.

And when he felt he needed a little rest, he just lay back, unconcerned with the duties of those around him.
In fact, he did this little "lay down, get up" move quite a few times, alternating it with a giggle to his brother. Ryan, on the other side excitedly pointed to him "Maahm! Lookit David! He's bein' silly!" But mom, a seasoned older sibling, knew the truth.









And as I worked with my older son, cooing at my younger one on the other side of the fence, I thought to myself "live it up kid. A few more days and blammo! You will be a toddler. And you know what that means...chores!"










Oh, my sweet boy- now that you are a bonafide toddler, you have no idea the world that awaits you.

*Disclaimer: Even though we live on a farm, we wait until the kids are at least walking to assign chores. Although we have thought of making a sort of pack** for him to cart around things without the use of his hands.


**Don't worry grandma's, I'm just kidding. Truly. We have a three year old to do all of our packing.

Less than picture perfect

Dear Kristina,
In a previous post, you asked me to share pictures of my garden. The garden you poured sweat and blood into while turning it from sod into workable ground.
This is an extremely reasonable request, and while I would be happy to oblige you, there is a problem.
See, my dog ate it monster aliens from outerspace descended and took the whole garden it is embarrassingly infested with weeds it is less than pristinely weeded right now. Its ugly, ok?? While I dream of beautiful, flower and vegetable filled gardens, the reality of my garden is much more hodge-podge and helter-skelter and weedy than my dreams. Alas, packets of seeds were "planted" by my son in strange areas and there are now tufts of errant pea plants here and there in the carrot patch. The carrot patch itself so sparsely sprouted that it looks as if it hs undergone chemo. My poor tomatoes, while off to a vigorous start a month ago, have wilted and as Ryan puts it, become "so sad". Sadie took a nap in my onion patch. In short, I would no more show you an overall picture of my garden than say, an overall picture of my kitchen after canning these peaches. Peaches: Pretty. Kitchen: Scary.
This is not to say that my garden is without beauty. There are bright spots. The zucchini, as you can see in this picture, are faring quite well. The cucumbers started flowering this week, and the green beans and peppers would make any gardener proud. My garden, one might say, has a special, inner beauty. And it will make wonderful food. Which I will also share through pictures. As a consolation, here are pictures of your extremely dirty nephews after a few hours of playing in the garden. Personally, I think it takes talent to smear dirt in so many places. But, that's just me. I'm a girl, and I don't always understand these things.

Love,

Your Sister

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Yesterday I was making dinner on the grill and looked out for my eldest charge. It took awhile to spot him because instead of running around with Sadie, picking tomatoes or raspberries, riding his bicycle, getting the mail or gathering eggs, he was simply sitting in the shade of a tree.

I noted his lack of motion and kept an eye on him for a few more moments. You don't realize what kind of constant motion they are in until they stop. Even a few moments throws me off guard. When I could no longer contain myself, I called out to him. He said he was "just sittin' and thinkin'."

How 'bout that? Old enough to ponder life, listen to the birds and enjoy a mid-summer breeze. And immediately it made me wonder what on earth a three year old has to ponder.

He sat there, silent, for maybe five minutes before deciding he would go pick some raspberries to share with us for dinner. Of course none of us ever saw these raspberries. I understand, though. Sometimes I think I am going to make cookies for the whole family, and instead I make a bowl of dough for myself.

*note Sadie in the background, never far from Ryan when he is outside. Probably both for companionship as well as protection.

Boys vs. Girls

Today we spent the day canning peaches. I only bought two "lugs" of them this year, although I might have to go back for another box. We have four of us now, and I don't know if 22 quarts of peaches is truly going to last us an entire year.
Off and on Ryan's job in the canning process was to put 6 peaches into a bowl that were then put in the boiling water to loosen the skins. At one point about halfway through the day he took to a peach.
When I say "took to a peach" I mean, he started calling it his baby, rolling it up in his shirt, putting it down for naps, etc. He told me at one point he was going to go get the mail. I asked him to leave his "baby peach" in the kitchen while he went outside.
"Weeeelll, I think he wants to come with me."
"Maybe he just needs a nap, Ryan."
"No. He's NOT tired." (just so you know mom, Peaches only take three naps a day, not more!)
I started to get worried. A few minutes of fun banter is all well and good, but I didn't need him coming up with some attachment to such a volatile fruit. I mean, at least an apple would last a few days in a bed made of towels! A peach?? No chance. I envisioned swarms of fruit flies overtaking our home, or else a sobbing, writhing child wondering why I was slicing his baby up and STICKING IT IN A JAR!
Just as I am going through all of these awful scenarios in my head, Ryan looks up at me.
"Mom?"
"mmm?"
"Can we eat my baby all up?"
And at this moment I was both relieved and...a bit concerned.