The Big Picture

       The other day, the automatic horse-waterer froze in the pony pasture. I had this terrible feeling that it might be frozen; I had not checked it for a day. Horses need great amounts of water in the winter. Ponies, too. I fought a feeling of dread.

       I was about to take the kids to school and drove over to the fence by the waterer to check it. It was frozen solid, meaning it had probably been 24 hours. I felt awful for the ponies. But then I looked over and saw that somehow, someone had left the water spigot outside of the pasture on full-blast. Though we will pay significantly more on our water bill this month--all I could do was smile! Each of the family members denied having left it on.

        Because it had been, a frozen river, with just enough liquid for the ponies to drink, coursed through the pasture.

       The kids jumped out of the van, so enchanted by the strange ice formations from the spraying and splashing of the water. Icicles and mushroom-like mounds covered the fence and ground around the spigot.

       It was beautiful. Any other time I would have been angry at whomever left the water on all through the frigid night. But this was a blessing.

       I worry too much, it is true.

       God tells us that we shouldn't worry, that we should think on good things, and that there is always hope. I'm not sure how, when martyrs were confronted with the end, they managed  not to worry, that they had good thoughts or had hope.

       This is difficult to ponder. God assures us He will be there, that He will save us, and that there is hope. Either this is absolutely true, it is only true sometimes, or it is false. If either of  the latter two are true, then, we can't really rely on God as Christianity describes Him. 

       My late husband's mother, Grammy, modeled to me that we can always have hope in God, that we can hand Him our worries, and that we really can trust Him with the future--to see the "big picture." If we are truly His instruments, here to "know and to love and to serve Him in this life and in the next," then the thing that brings fear most--death--truly has lost its sting. She remained inspirational throughout her suffering and death. "I have to focus on all the blessings God has given me," she told me.

       Recently, I was describing to a salesperson, as we were getting to know each other, how as a hospice nurse I am not depressed. There is a hallowed feeling of witnessing something so very profound. The salesperson tried to understand; she said, "Well, I guess there is some kind of thankfulness because the person is no longer suffering."

       "It's more than that, though," I explained. "As Christians we believe that this world is only temporary, but that our life with God is forever. Heaven is what we were made for. It's as if this life is like being in the womb. When we are born, it is joyful." I tried to explain another way,  "The caterpilar has to spend time in the cocoon before it can break free and emerge as the beautiful butterfly it was meant to be."

       It is fine if she did not agree or understand. I don't pretend to have it all figured out. 

       But I will try to avoid worry, to think on good things, to always hope in God, because I trust that He sees the "big picture."

Everything But The...

       Sometimes I feel I've tried everything but the kitchen sink. Actually, in respect to raising kids and home management, I probably have.  My stick-to-it-iveness is the problem. Or maybe it's that in a very large family no day is like the one before; there are schedules and sports and appointments. For years, there was a new baby every 14-20 months. I wondered when things would return to normal.

       Then I realized that normal for us was the state of flux. I've read so many books on organization. I wrote a blog post about some of them. Each has something very helpful, though it is unrealistic to expect just one to fit our family long term. I still like referring to them. Life just keeps changing. Marie and Susanna have moved into an apartment together, we have no foreign exchange students and so we "only" have 6 children at home. They are all school-aged, which is wonderful. For the first time in literally decades I was home alone some days of the week this past school year.

       The children are on summer break now. In times past we organized home "camp" days but this summer they range in age from almost 13 down to 6 and the older boys aren't excited about "Pirate Day," or "Astronaut Day." We still do a lot of learning serendipitously, though. We've been playing with the animals more, and their chores involve feeding and watering them, moving the ponies from stall to coral, and collecting eggs from the chickens. It used to be that I had to limit television. Now it is limiting computer and X-box time.

       Yesterday they played for hours outside, the weather cool. It was so much fun to see them running around with backpacks and plastic Nerf guns, working as a team. Ben would stop to roll around on the grass with some dog or cat. Max and Gus moved stealthily into the barn to avoid enemy wasps. Thankfully, no stings.

       They also love swimming in the pond (all swim well), paddle-boating and canoe-ing. Red is a great color for the canoe because I can locate them easily on the pond. Gus loves it especially. We have taught them boat safety, and our pond is small.

       There are still days where they claim boredom; those are the days I send them outside. "What do you think children have done all the thousands of years before air conditioning and computers??" "Aw, Mom, that was the olden days--kids do different things now!" Watching them play Army yesterday reminded me of playing with my brothers forty-five years ago. It doesn't have to be so different. Many families have stricter rules and even no computer time or X-Boxes. I respect that.

       Instead of feeling like I've failed at a given tasj, I remind myself to take from it what I can and move on. That's not to say I don't get down about it sometimes.  I tell myself, like Dori from "Finding Nemo" repeated: "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." Jesus told the disciples that if a town didn't welcome them to kick the dust off their feet, to keep doing what they were meant to do. Disappointment and negativity can render one ineffective and hopeless.

       Not today! Today I had the kids formulate a contract of turns on technology and initial it. They abided. Some broke off to play piano, clarinet and guitar, and the others went to the pond.

       Then we made cookies. A double batch in my giant new Kitchen-Aid mixer. Marie and Susanna are excited to inherit my old tilt one. Over the years they helped mix thousands of cakes and cookies with it. Before they were born I used it to bake wedding cakes and birthday cakes and our family's favorite Dobos Torte. Unless you have a Hobart or a commercial mixer, I think a Kitchen-Aid mixer is the best small appliance. My KSM-90 is still going strong after 28 years. I hope my new larger capacity mixer will, also.

       So here's the recipe. "Everything But The...Kitchen Sink Cookies." If you don't have a Kitchen-Aid, it will be quite the upper body workout. I doubled the recipe, but that won't work in a 4 or 5 qt. bowl. You'd need this baby (or a Hobart--lucky you!):

Everything But The Kitchen Sink Cookies 

Beat together:

1 cup butter, softened

1/2 cup white sugar

1 cup dark brown sugar

1 1/2 tsp pure vanilla

Beat in:

2 eggs

Stir dry ingredients together, and mix in slowly:

1/2 cup coconut flour

1/2 cup unbleached white flour (I like King Arthur Brand)

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

Stir in very slowly:

2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats

1 cup organic dried coconut (or whatever you have)

1/2 cup chopped pecans

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

When well combined, drop by tablespoonful onto an ungreased cookie sheet and bake til golden in a 350 degree oven (about 10 minutes). Cool on baking rack.

You can add other ingredients. A basic oatmeal cookie is one cup flour and three cups oats. I have purchased gluten free oats before and ground some to make the 1 cup of flour. I've added crispy rice cereal, granola, different types of chocolate chips and different nuts. You could even add cinnamon or some almond extract. Today I thought dried cherries would be good, but I didn't have any on hand.

       Have fun with the recipe. If I struck a cord with you, if you are also an organizational book junky yet have failed to find just he right system, perhaps we're ok the way we are. Just be sure to take one day at a time and to kick the dust off your feet from the methods that don't work. Keep moving on and doing what you do best.

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.

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.

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