Spring Once Again

       I suppose I can remember the onset of forty-some Spring seasons. I marvel at how happy I am that it has come again, though--as if there were some chance it would not. This winter was not terribly cold, or snowy, but I was ready for it to end and to be warm again.

       Walks around the farm are so beautiful. Tiny frogs are jumping around the banks of the pond. Trees are flowering and leaves are appearing in that early chartreuse color that is such a contrast to grey and brown. Robins and Downy Woodpeckers and Bluebirds have returned. A great heron has been feeding at water's edge, and migratory flocks of geese are passing overhead.

       With the change of seasons comes a reminder of new life and rebirth. I can't imagine living in a place without four seasons, but that is only because it's all I've ever known. Our foreign exchange students have told me what it is like for them. Certainly Stephania, who came at the start of winter here, is happy to be able to go outside without a heavy coat.

       The dogs are seeking shade to lie in to escape the sun beating down on their still-thick fur coats. The horses are happy to be eating grass after the winter of dry hay. We need to be careful with the ponies. Spring grass has a lot of sugar in it, and they can get sick from it and founder. I have been putting them in and out of stalls, the riding ring, and even the chicken run. We gave away the last of our chickens before the winter. They were older and had pretty much stopped laying.

       Gus wanted a couple of bunnies and so we made a condition that he clean out the chicken coop as an eventual home for them. He worked over Easter break and carted loads and loads of manure as well as a load to the trash dumpster and a few loads to the barn.

       Gus got the bunnies. They are adorable. We got them from the local farm store, which also had ducklings and chicks. Another hallmark of springtime. Margaret asked why bunnies are associated with Easter. The bunny motif was certainly strong in our dining room.

       I told her that bunnies are born in the springtime, that Easter is in the Spring, and that Christians believe that Jesus rose from the grave at Easter to give us new life. We drove past a local farm and saw that the farmer had erected a huge wooden cross on his hill. New growth is everywhere. It happens again and again, every year. Frozen ground thaws and green appears.

       Frozen hearts can thaw, too. Minds stuck in a belief pattern can change. 

Life can indeed begin again.

A Single-Subject Spiral, and a Sharpened Pencil

       I mentioned my screenplay. Screenplay writing is formulaic. Even so, talent is a must and I claim none. When I was a little girl, my friend Bev and I wrote novellas. We'd exchange them and giggle. They were almost always love stories. A single-subject spiral notebook and sharpened pencil are still two of my favorite things. Other writers understand the hypnotic attraction.

       I still see my story as a movie. Novel writing is much harder. My daughter Marie has written a few and I urge her to publish. She's gifted.

       I decided to try and write my story. I'll start here. It is inspired by one of my favorite people and her gift of giving. The character in the novel is not the same, however, in that events are purely fictitious. A name here and there, a line, a setting--but the rest is from my imagination.

       It is the story of the people influenced by a woman named Renata. Renata means rebirth. Some say that for all women, their genius--their greatest gift--is life-giving. Whether we have children or not, we have the ability to inspire, to support, to love in a very unique and special way.

 

Creator, Through The Created

   
  I've mentioned that I teach a college Nutrition class. We hosted two speakers in the last week, both farmers. One farms thousands of acres and the other, hundreds. Both are successful men with wonderful families; both are open about their faith in God and how it drives their worldview and business practices. Both are ethical, intelligent and caring. One farms conventionally and the other organically. The students have so much to think about!

     What struck me was that each spoke about God openly. Each stayed after to offer sage wisdom and advice to students. They cared. Neither man was asked to speak about his beliefs or faith, and yet it was clear that in farming the land they came to know God more deeply. I have friends who are interested in crystals, some in art, some in the oceans, some in saving women from human trafficking, some interested in climate change. From the perspective of a Christian, I believe that the Creator is drawing them to him through nature--through his creation. They may see him differently, or they may not yet acknowledge him. Christians are human and imperfect but their God offers choice. He sings a love song which is heard and experienced through the senses in many ways. And he awaits his beloved.

Kansas Mangroves

      
       My students in class had never heard of mangroves. It is understandable, as they are young and we are in Kansas--pretty far away from mangroves. No, they are not a place to find men, though you can find man living in harmony with them. Mangroves are an ecosystem far from Kansas, but which impact it, nonetheless. We have all heard of how the destruction of rain forests affects the planet. People breathe oxygen; plants "breathe" CO2. In an age where we're really studying the effects of carbon in our atmosphere, I find it astounding to learn that mangroves sequester (breathe in, if you will) up to five times more CO2 than the rain forests on the planet. That is significant.

        It is also significant that we have destroyed 35% of the world's mangroves in the last few decades, with an estimated 1% destroyed each year. Shrimp farming, coastal development, resorts and golf courses are some of the causes of destruction.

       So what is a mangrove? It is a coastal ecosystem in the subtropics and tropics. Trees and shrubs grow in this shallow, watery area at the edge of saltwater bodies, and provide nurseries to young fish, shellfish and marine mammals. I read that some sharks will swim thousands of miles to return to the mangrove in which they were born. Mangroves also control storm surge, fight erosion and protect coral reefs. There are large projects and initiatives that have begun in effort to conserve mangroves and even to help generate new ones.

       My friend, Bev, is a scientist who has studied mangroves and their amazing contributions to so many ecosystems. My students were in as much awe of her work as I was when first hearing about it. Bev is a force for change on a global scale. My students looked at each other, wondering what they could do. Then they discussed the many things they could on a personal and community level that affected the world, and water runoff--and even mangroves. And we felt empowered and motivated.

       In a Nutrition class which covers topics like diet, vitamins and minerals as well as feeding the world, population growth and food availability--mangroves fit into discussion surprisingly well. Feeding our people and taking care of our planet can be done without hurting either. We just have to want to enough.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhLlqdPB_Rs
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UcUwYZ9CI0A

When We Can't Pick Up All The Pieces

     I had one of those great long talks with an old friend the other day. The kind that realigns you; where you bear your worst fears, relive sadness, reassess decisions made, and shed tears.  It is so important to have someone you can bear your soul to and who would never give you cause to regret that you did.

     Time changes things and that is inevitable. On the farm it is certainly true. I've chronicled the various animals arriving and the joys they brought. We still have joy, but we have had to live with some difficult losses. Annabell was never able to conceive and so we could not keep her. One philosophy about working farms that is difficult for non-farm folk to understand is that if an animal, or crop, or aspect, does not work in the plan, then oftentimes that part needs to be changed. Annabell was given to a very nice family. A cow named Sugar was sadly given away as well. Betsy was sold. Who would guess that I would develop a severe allergy to cow dander. I tried everything. It was very hard to give up the dream, but I started the process.

     And then one February morning I walked into the pasture and Flossy (Betsy's daughter I hadn't sold yet) had dropped a beautiful calf. We were so surprised; we did not know that at 9 months, Flossy had been bred when our neighbor's Gelbvieh bull kept hopping the fence. I'd figured Betsy was sold pregnant, but never dreamed that little Flossy was with-calf. We named him Friday for the day he was born and the dream that Marie recently had about a calf. Flossy produced delicious Jersey milk and I tried milking again. We were blessed with new tenants who wanted to milk, plus a slew of other friends who wanted to, and things worked well.

     We even bought another cow, with great plans in mind. May was a beautiful Jersey/Red Angus cross. She had a gorgeous brindle coat and she was bred. Not too long after, she dropped a bull calf and we named him Norman. All was well, but then a really tragic event occurred. One night a pack of feral dogs attacked and killed all six of Marie's sweet Nubian goats. We had hand raised most of them. Marie was away at college and for that I was thankful; the sight was one I won't forget. Over the next few weeks an anxiety came over me that was not easily shaken off. It was a long process of trying to make all of the other animals (the small ones) safe. My cow allergy worsened. I didn't sleep well.

     A month later we found May lying still in the pasture. She had died suddenly of bloat. We had a vet come out and run tests; it was a freak occurrence. I wondered what God was trying to tell us, to tell me. The stress became too much and we sold the rest of the cows--Norman to our neighbor and my dear Flossy and her Friday to a wonderful homeschooling/farmsteading family.  We also let go of one pony to the same family. In retrospect it was a dream which was not meant to last. That is what I spoke to my friend about, in sadness.

     Like the best of friends she listened, and she told me she was so sad for me. Then she said something that maybe I wasn't prepared to hear earlier, but could now. She said what a blessing there was even in the sadness. It was obvious to think she referred to the people who were gifted with our animals, and even that Marie was not home to see what happened to her precious goats. That was not all she meant. What she said that resonated deeply was, "There are so many people who will never do the things you have done, who will want to but have no farm or no means to have pets. But you always wanted horses and cows and goats and more. And for a brief time, you got to live that life of milking cows and raising goats. Maybe you will again, maybe you won't. But you did."

     She went on to tell me something we'd talked about before: "Life is full of so many puzzle pieces. We may never see them all put together, but our Lord does. He sees all the stages, all the beauty, the tragedy, and even His finished picture. We can trust that the pieces are placed before us by Him, that we can pick them up and turn them around and stare intently before placing them. Some we can move around. Some need to be put aside for another time." She made it sound so comforting, so deep and wise and true. Life would always involve change, and it would not always be easy, but we could trust the true builder of the puzzle, and we could be thankful for the pieces, even aspects of the difficult ones. Love, thankfulness and trust were the keys to working the puzzle.

     Driving home one day, pulling into our lane I saw the Robins return. Always a moment of joy in those first days, I remembered when my Mom was alive and the game she played with our landlord, Mrs. Mayo. Who would see the first Robin return after the long winter. I smiled and thought of Mom. My heart ached with missing her, a tear fell down my cheek but was replaced by a smile. What memories! I realized that some of the puzzle pieces would stay exactly where they were for the rest of my life, not to be picked up again. I might not see the finished picture, but much of what had been laid down and interlocked carefully--or even hastily or even forced--was there to stay.  And that was okay. It continues to be built. A beautiful and unique picture in the journey of a life.

From a Glass of Milk

Community. We had friends over for dinner last night. They have six girls close in age to our six youngest. Our active, noisy kids, who seem to fuss a good bit with each other played amazingly well together. Most of mine are boys and we loved how the girls and boys all ran around the farm, petting animals and not having issues with "they only have girl toys" or "they only have boy toys." Thirteen children ran around and parents shared great conversation and a thrown-together meal for all.

Our friends are so connected in our community. Veritably everyone I talked about the husband piped up, "Oh, he's my cousin," or some relation. We laughed but it's something that makes our community special. Sure, some relationships may erode or fade over time and people may act like strangers, but on the positive side, there is an accountability factor. Would that we felt that with all of our neighbors. A connectedness even deeper than blood. Something more spiritual. As Christians might call it, "being part of a body."

We laughed some more, we shared fresh milk from my cow Betsy and talked about earlier times. About a connection with the land and soil. We talked about how Betsy's milk changes flavor slightly, depending on what she has eaten. A Jersey, she has a rich, creamy milk (the cream is amazing, really) with a yellowish color you don't see in the supermarket from the beta-carotenes and vitamins she consumes in our pasture grass and her alfalfa. There are probiotics in her milk that are so healthy for our immune systems. And it all comes from the soil we live on, the rain that falls on us and the sun that shines down over us.

We can live on sterilized, fortified products--and antibiotics and lists of medications. Those can be life-saving and good. But in an unbalanced relationship, they can be unhealthy for the body. Somehow, drinking this natural milk, eating local organic beef and vegetables and even local honey feels healthy. It feels like living in relationship with the land I'm living on. In a similar way, living connected to the people around me--not stuck in front of the television or gaming device or computer--working with them, volunteering, truly caring for them, living in community with them is lifeblood to the body. One gives and thereby receives.

Man was not created to be alone, but to live in community. There is a place for solitude, retreat, and cloistered communities. There are certainly different gifts and temperaments. But we were made for each other. We are healthiest when in communion with each other. I pray that you are able to find your place in the body that comprises all of us, locally and globally. Start right where you are. Prayer is the most powerful connection and effective means.Give thanks for what you do have, not lament what is missing.  Find God right where you are and share His love.

A Happy Thanksgiving to you!

Suzy
The Abbey Farm

Ebbs and Flows and the Farmer's Spirit

 
    It amazes me that a year ago I shared pictures of the flooding Missouri River. Farms were ruined, families moved because of it. Those who stayed planted crops that, up until May, were doing great. Then the drought hit. Luckily, most harvested an early hay crop. But the corn that started off so energetically, a foot high by June, barely produced any ears and was dry by early August. God bless those farmers who persevered after the flood only to be hit by a drought the next season.

     Hay has doubled in price. There is less of it. I believe hopes of a second cutting were unfulfilled. It's a vicious cycle because the cattle still need to be fed. We normally don't start feeding hay until November. We have begun already.  Food prices will soar because of the limited hay and corn crops. If you didn't know it, corn products and by-products are in many, many foods.

     It is good if you can put in a garden for your family or be a member of a local community supported agriculture group. We have the latter here in town and we're members. I'm glad to support the local farmers. I keep thinking I'll get a garden in "this year," but it always seems to turn into "next year." It will happen one day. Mary Pat's school-bus driver tells me about her prolific garden. She crochets a blanket for her grandchild while Mary Pat is being strapped in, and she tells me all about it. Each year she puts up hundreds of quarts of vegetables. Her hard work and self-sufficiency inspire me.

     The farmers do, too. Our neighbors have been farming for generations. Vince helps us set round bales (giant five and a half foot diameter hay bales) with his big tractor. One day the front axle broke as he was lifting the bale high. Vince, almost 70,  popped down, rubbed his chin and just stared. I was impressed with his calm. I told him I'd probably be react by whining and fussing. He just looked at me with wise, clear eyes and said, "But that wouldn't change things." He turned back to the tractor and continued thinking out loud, "I have a brother with a welder, and I'll just get this off and have him help..." Later on I told his wife how thankful I was that it had happened at such a slow speed and not as he was driving over here. She said, "Well, we would've dealt with that, too."  I pushed, "But Vince could have been hurt!" She answered with the same calm as her husband. "We're farmers--that's part of farming life and we deal with what comes."

     Deal with what comes. A farmer I'd mentioned last fall during the floods was one who had to move. He's moved yet again to another farm on higher ground. He and his wife are happy. It could have been so much worse. They have each other and their family. And this new farm is actually closer to her parents and her church. It is probable that his crops have not done well this year. But I bet he'd be thankful that they weren't wiped out like last year.

     A verse in the Bible has been lived out by the farmers I know: "Be anxious for nothing, but by prayer and supplication make your requests known to God. And the Peace of God which passes all understanding will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus." (Phillippians 4:6-7)

     I'd do well to remember that.

God bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

There are ways to support our country's farmers both locally and on a larger scale...check out Farm Aid. And don't forget to keep them in your prayers.

And Summer Vacation Begins...

The end of the school year brings joy and readjustment. More children are at home all day and I have to draw on skills learned from my homeschooling days to construct a schedule. If I didn't, it would be chaotic. Teens cannot sleep all day, boys cannot watch TV and play video games all day, toddlers need structure. We all need structure. We first got the idea from theFlyLady.net who called it "Camp GonnaWannaFly." The kids now call it "Camp Abbey Farm".

Essential is the monthly calendar. We put holidays, birthdays, events, feast days, appointments and planned dinners on it. I do plan meals at the beginning of the month. Each week or every few days has a theme. Oregon Trail, Pony Express, Dairy Day, Aerospace Day, Everything About Goats Day, Pond Ecosystem, Pirate Day, are but a few. Today was Birdwatching Day. We didn't see as many as I thought we would, but we had a great hike, took notes, and ate GORP.



Great Blue Heron flew to the top of the tree!





Mom got a workout, Two-year-old got a ride. She started out with a hat...



Ben's rendition of the Heron on the Tree

On the way back to the house, Max stated, "I shall cherish this day for the rest of my life."

I will too, Max. Can't beat that for the first week of summer vacation.


God Bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

Henry The Bull

    
     Growing up on a cattle farm, I spent hours and hours in the pasture. My mother warned me to stay away from "Henry" the Black Angus Bull, and I did. His progeny were a different matter. Over those years I perfected a method of befriending the steer and the calves. Cattle are shy creatures. I patiently gained their trust. I'd get closer and closer to them over a few days and then sit and wait. Their curiosity piqued, they would inch closer, necks outstretched, nostrils snorting and breathing deeply. I would offer an apple then, and bristle-y tongues would dart and arc out of their mouths to chance a taste. The group would move as one, but there was always a leader a little more bold than the others. He'd get the first contact and back up, the whole group backing away with him. He'd come again and again. Finally, he'd get a bite of apple.

     I considered it a success if I managed to get a touch or a pet in. They were cute. The mothers were remarkably trusting. Henry pretty much stayed away, and ate to fuel his giant body. Years later as an adult, I'd still enjoy watching the Black Angus herds on neighboring farms. Susanna was two or three when she asked to go see the "Black Mangoes." Took me a minute, but with a laugh we jumped in the car and did just that.

     A well-known method of relaxation is to imagine yourself in a peaceful place, maybe on the beach or at a park or beside a bubbling brook. To this day, my place of refuge is in the pasture, under the trees on the farm where I was a child. We had no PC's, no videos, no cell phones. No, but we did have hours and hours of play, adventure, exercise, creativity and make-believe. I want to be sure that my children have that.

     Old Henry? He really was calm--except when a neighboring Hereford Bull broke out one day. Henry cracked out of the post-and-rail fence as though it were chopsticks, and faced off. He'd be sure that no other bull would get to his cows. Mr. Mayo, Henry's owner, saw it all and raced to the scene. With courageous effort he managed to scare off the other bull. Henry, however, would not budge. The story goes that Mr. Mayo had to grab a 2 X 4 to "convince" angry Henry to go back through the broken fence.  It was about the only Henry drama we ever knew.

     A few years ago we acquired a bull calf. A Jersey. We named him Henry. It didn't take long for us to realize we'd have to either castrate him or sell him (what were we thinking?). Luckily, a local woman who milks her own cow needed a young calf. Her cow's calf had died and she wanted to see if Henry would be accepted by her; that is, if we could part with him. We were happy for Henry to have a better purpose in life than to fulfill a memory or a whim of mine. He didn't need to be paraded over little jumps and ridden one day (cattle do jump!). We certainly would never have been able to send him to slaughter. We had bonded, and he was just too cute.

     There are so many good memories of the old farm that I'm thankful for. It's why I asked Bruce if we could try our hand at small-farming. It's a lot of work. Bruce's co-workers talk about perfect lawns and carpentry workshops and television viewing. Bruce plays with children and cuts grass. Many children and lots of grass. He never complains. I love my suburbian-raised husband for loving me enough to take on this farm. He says he loves our place, too.

     I don't think we'll ever raise beef cattle. I just have too many memories of my friends,
 the Black Mangoes.

Suzy,

The Abbey Farm

Photography by my brother, Chip Greene

Floating

   "On a cloud," "subbing at work" or "like a boat" are more common applications of the word "floating." Lesser-known is "filing of horse teeth." Horses' teeth grow continuously until old age when they begin to wear down. It's a fairly steady process so that a horse's age can be determined by its teeth. Most of us are familiar with scenes in a book or movie when people argue over the age of a horse and someone yanks open the horse's mouth to look inside. Horses are grazing animals and eat for a good part of the day. Their side to side chewing action causes sharp edges to build up on the sides of their teeth. The sharp edges become painful and can interfere with eating. So we need to "float" them.

     I once created quite a problem when I had my horse's teeth floated. It was one of those times where the unfortunate or ridiculous happens, when certain conditions and events fall into place for no reason to annoy us, to confound us, or to get us angry. Though we don't have a choice that it has happened, we do  have a choice as to how we react.  Patience and temperance are virtues. I claim to be no expert, but it is my job to teach them to my children. It makes me feel better to consider that the Olympic coach who can't perfectly execute the "Round-Off, Back Handspring, Back Somersault"-- can teach someone to do it.

     I love the movie, "To Kill A Mockingbird."  I love Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch and Robert Duvall as Boo Radley. There are profound lessons in the movie. Lessons on prejudice, innocence, law, justice, disabilities, and my favorite: self-control. Atticus Finch is my hero. Watch the movie to the end and see why.

     We are called to be good examples to our children. We need to teach them self-control and self-reliance, as well as humility and how to accept help.  A predator picks off a victim and separates it from the herd. When we are separated and alone we are most vulnerable. God knows, we need each other. For help. For inspiration.

     Goodness, what has this to do with horse teeth? Our vet's patience was stretched, I'm sure, when I insisted he come to our farm to float old "George's" teeth. George was an extremely large Thoroughbred, standing 17.1 hands at his withers (base of his neck). That's 69 inches; an average sized man could barely see over his back. I was unable to find a trailer big enough out here in "Quarterhorse Land" to fit him. As much as I wished, I couldn't cut a hole in the top of ours and transport him like the circus animals on the train in "Dumbo." So I asked the vet to please come to us.

    
     Our vet has a great facility. He has the newest equipment. In the "olden days" of my youth we grabbed the horse's tongue, pulled it to the side which forced the mouth open, felt around bravely and somewhat blindly for sharp edges and inserted a rasp (large 1 1/2" X 18" file) to grind down the edges. Inevitably, a finger would get chomped on, scraped or cut. The vet has a much better system. He has a speculum which is inserted into the horse's mouth and secured by a halter. He has an electric burr grinder attached to the end of a two-foot metal pole with a trigger that starts it. And he has a stall-like "stock"  for the horse to be secured in, standing. The owner brings the horse to the facility. The horse is put in the stock, given a mild sedative and the halter/speculum is put in place. Then a lead shank (rope) attached to the halter is thrown over the top of the stock to hold the horse's head up, mouth open wide as the vet burrs away. It is very convenient and efficient.

     Coming to our farm was neither convenient nor efficient, but Dr. McCool graciously consented. Yes, his name is McCool. He is cool. He and his wife are both vets and are fantastic people. We are blessed. Truly. But I don't think he felt blessed that day.  I think we ultimately fell into that "extremely frustrating and annoying event" category for him. George had stood perfectly well all his life to have his teeth floated the old fashioned way. This, I knew, would be a breeze. After parking his truck near the barn, Dr. McCool drew up a smaller than usual dose of tranquilizer, explaining that Thoroughbreds were sensitive and did not need as much as some breeds. George patiently endured the injection, we placed the halter and speculum on him and Dr. McCool threw the rope attached to the halter up and over the rafter just above the stall door. It was tied at just the right height for the doc to peer straight into George's mouth. George was perfect.

     Until he began to sway. To Dr. McCool's "No, no...Oh, no...", George's twelve hundred pounds pitched forward and collapsed. Halter still tied to the rafter, he was suspended by his head.  I froze, wide-eyed, but Dr. McCool deftly pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced the rope. George fell. Thankfully, no broken neck. He lay there and groaned in a drugged stupor, his mouth still open wide.

     Dr. McCool probably wondered why he let this crazy redhead talk him into coming out. He threw all his equipment back into the truck. For me, all at the same time I was amazed, relieved, embarrassed and kind of--fascinated. George was breathing and relaxed and in no pain. He was lying on his side with his head sticking out of the open stall door. I couldn't help but get down on my knees and stare into his gaping mouth. I'd never seen it all so clearly and still. I reached deep inside and found the sharp edges of his teeth. I felt his velvety smooth tongue. A horse's mouth is cavernous. I kept repeating, "Wow!" Slowly and resigned, Dr. McCool came back with his equipment. With a sigh he dropped down beside me. His face was calm. I moved over, and he proceeded to finish the floating job--lying down.

     In the end, George had smooth teeth. I had a bigger than usual bill because of the farm-call. That was understandable.  What made it a little bizarre, was that in hanging George from the rafter, an electric conduit was crushed, cutting off electricity to half the barn and requiring yet another farm-call:  the Electrician. A floating that should have cost $25.00 ratcheted up to $300.00.  There was nothing I could do. On the bright side, George was uninjured and healthy. Dr. McCool went well beyond the call of duty.

     There are certainly tougher things that happen in our lives: serious illness, loss of work, death. The little annoyances are trial runs, so let's not sweat the small stuff. Our character should be shaped, not distorted. The tough stuff will come. I learned that when I lost my husband, Bob, suddenly. What sustained me was God, my family and my friends. People said, "I can't imagine what you're going through." The truth is, I couldn't either. I had no choice but to go through it. One breath at a time, one moment at a time. There was deep pain, but I can say there was no panic, no shock, only a oneness with the Holy Spirit that I cannot describe. I told Him He needed to carry me. He said He would. And He has, so very far.

     Stressful mornings before school, spilled milk, difficult teeth floating and annoying events don't compare with death. I have found myself remarking that I weather the tough stuff better than the small stuff. I need to work on my reactions to the smaller things for the sake of my children. They need good examples of patience and temperance and self-control.  Like Atticus Finch.  And Dr. McCool.


God bless you,

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

New Life

  
     We were surprised this evening by two new baby kids. Bessie did a wonderful job of making her babies fluffy and safe. Marie came running down the stairs and out the door saying, "I hear something!" We thought it was just one of her brothers making noise outside. Gus has a penchant for squeally sounds. We were wrong and Marie's ears proved sharp and right. We rushed out to see them with her. Marie helped them with their first drink.

  
  The boys came out and we all clamored to help and to try to be quiet (impossible--the kids will have to acclimate to four-boy-decibel level). Even Diego poked his head over the door. He made nickering sounds as Marie expressed colostrum for the babies. He watched contentedly over the barn door. He seemed to give Susanna approval as she warmed a furry little body.

    
     And this week our Mary Pat has been learning to walk holding onto only one of our hands. She can't stand on her own yet. She uses a walker at home and school. But I can't express how monumental a step this is. We think she will walk someday, but we never assume nor take for granted. Every step is a miracle. Every life a miracle!

Suzy

The Abbey Farm

Oh, Dandelions...

   
  "One man's trash is another man's treasure." How about, "One man's weed is another man's flower?" Certainly, this is the case of Dandelions. An enemy to many in Suburbia, here in the country we are overrun--and so accept them with as much of a Polyanna attitude as possible. Early settlers came up with Dandelion wine and Dandelion tea. The young leaves can be thrown into salads. But better yet, and far more "palatable," are the joys of seeing our children play in them, the bouquets happily presented to Mom, and the look of wonder on a toddler's face when the puffy white head of seeds is blown.


     I asked Marie, 16, as I went out the door with her brothers to school, to write a poem about Dandelions. An Expository Writing assignment! She didn't hesitate or balk but asked, "What type?" I gave her no limits--whatever came to her head. Thirty minutes later, I was home and given the following:

“The First Dandelion”　

The sun once grew ill

sickly and pale

It’s warmth began to wane

It’s power began to fail

No other stars were near enough

To see the orb’s distress

Only the moon saw it’s plight

For she knew him best

She knew what caused his ailment

The sun was all alone

No one ever smiled back at him

All sought shade when he shone

So the moon, one spring night

Called together the winds, four

She coaxed them with silver words

She begged them to soar

And through that night

Those winds; how they flew

They gathered ingredients

As the moon had bade them to

And the next morning

When the sun rose high

Imagine his surprise

As he opened his yellow eye

His rays began to spread

The sun stopped his crying

For beaming back at him

Was the first, gold, dandelion

And if wonder he did

Who’d sent him this bloom

The next day it turned white

White and full like the moon

     Marie! Another joy to add to the Dandelion list.

      I googled "Dandelion" and found a poem on a blog called "Wordlust: Pandering to Your Inner Linquist." It is humorously presented as a battle:

http://memphiswordnerd.blogspot.com/2007/11/dandelions-by-deborah-austin-thank-you.html

Suzy (and Marie),

The Abbey Farm

Goat Theology

　

      Have you ever wondered why goats get such a bad rap in the Bible? I guess I didn't really either until I owned them. We have a herd of Nubian goats on the farm. My friend, Christy, owns Providence Farm, an amazing family farm that produces goat milk, cheese, goat milk soap, artisan breads and more. Christy is from Alaska and is one of the most fascinating people I know. Her goats are fat and beautiful and healthy. Of course I would seek her help when we decided that we wanted a healthier milk alternative. Goat milk has a smaller protein which is better metabolized by humans than cow’s milk. I was interested in trying something that had no hormones and that would be fun to produce. Marie and Susanna were game and Christy helped us get started.

     Goat milk is very creamy; it is naturally homogenized. If you want cream you have to have a special cream separator. I defy anyone to sense a “goaty” (caproic acid) smell in the milk, as long as the goats are healthy and NOT kept with a buck. Does (females) have an almost lovely lanolin smell. Bucks--well--not nice. We do own bucks and they are usually kept separate from the does. When we went to Christy’s to pick up our first goats I fell in love with a different kid, “Starbuck.” His name had nothing to do with the company or coffee. His mother was “Star” and he was a “buck,” and that’s how he earned his name. Fluffy and café-au-lait colored, small and snuggly and sweet, I did think of a warm, creamy cup of coffee. I was taken. He’s big and stinky now, but still sweet and quite a character. We had him pastured with the horses for a while. He was very affectionate with Snowball the pony. Snowball was barely tolerant.

     Thanks to Starbuck, we’ve had kids born on the farm now, too, and they are really adorable. They are such affectionate animals, really more like dogs. They call to Marie as soon as they hear her coming out to feed. Susanna soon lost interest in the work (it can be demanding when they‘re in milk), though still thinks they’re "cute." Marie is the goat farmer. Really, she gets the credit for any aspect of The Abbey Farm being called an actual farm. She feeds all the animals and manages their care…horses, goats, dogs, cats, chickens, assorted strays and injured wild. As to the latter, she has successfully rescued birds, turtles, bunnies and even a fawn.

     So back to my original question: Sheep vs. Goats. Lambs, I know, relate to Jesus in the Bible. He was the Pascal Lamb. He was innocent and loved by His Father who sacrificed Him for our salvation. In the Old Testament God promised Abraham, who for so long was childless, that he would have descendants that would "number the stars." Yet God asked Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son Isaac. Of course God stopped him. The typology to Christ is all throughout the Old Testament. The Jews sacrificed lambs on Passover and at other times. They were instructed to pick the finest lamb of the herd and then have it live in their house for two weeks. Can you imagine how attached the children and even adults would become to this soft, adorable creature? The sacrifice, when made, was not easy. Christ’s sacrifice was not easy.

     Lambs are as cute as goat kids, but grown sheep to me are kind of flighty and hard to get close to. The goats are perhaps not as cloud-like or stuffed-animal-like, but just have more personality and affection. So why are they “separated from the sheep” like “chaff from wheat” in the Bible?

     I asked Christy. I figured she’d be a little indignant, too. She surprised me. “It makes so much sense, Suzy.” She wasn’t offended. Here’s the Theology lesson she taught me: “Sheep stay out of trouble by staying with the herd. They’re much harder to single out by predators. They listen to their master.” Hmmm, I had to think about that. “Goats, while more inquisitive--and maybe because of it--get themselves in trouble and sometimes don’t want to be together. Separated, they’re an easier target.”

     Made total sense to me.  I thought of the allusion to human behavior. Intelligence and inquisitiveness and passion are strengths. It is the desire to put one’s pride above caution and self above others that can lead to problems. There’s fuel for a year long course in Theology about this one. God made us capable and intelligent and quite amazing. We can change our world for the good or for the bad. The important thing, it seems to me, is foresight, caution, caring for the world we have, love of every person, and the consideration of God’s intention and design.

     All that from goats! I never thought I’d own them, but they’re pretty special here on the Abbey Farm. Good for milk and fun and affection and lessons in life and love.

God bless you!


The Abbey Farm