blogging style

Have you noticed my blogging pattern?  For the most part I post entries when I'm really up or have been really down... not much in between stuff.  Not much of the every day stuff.  It probably gives my blog a very intense flavor.  "This lady is crazy moody" flavor.

I actually don't blog much any more because of a few particular people I know that regulary check my blog.  Do you ever get blogging shyness?  It's hard to pour out your life when it's being watched by those who constantly critique you or those who like to be a fly-on-the-wall but who wouldn't pick up the phone to have a friendly chat with you if you called them.  Spies-on-the-wall.

I've considered starting a new blog somewhere and not telling them where I've moved, but I do have several regular readers I wouldn't want to leave behind.  I keep coming around to the thought that these kind of people are in my life, not just my blog, and if I can't blog freely, with confidence, maybe I don't need to be blogging at all.  What do I have to hide?

So, that's why I haven't been blogging much.  You can't help but hide a bit from those who have hurt you.  Maybe I should blog somewhere else, build my confidence back up.

Freedom's Just Another Word For Nothing Left To Lose

I've been meditating on some things this morning and quickly, painfully, realized my need for repentance.


You know how I said, in the last entry, how my heart wasn't in my garden? I realized when I wrote it that it went deeper than that. Not regarding the garden, but my heart condition. Where has my heart been? I haven't been enjoying half of what I usually enjoy... it's been so long since I spent a day just relaxed and joyful. Stress is the only constant in my life right now. That right there is a clue that my heart isn't right! The answer is in my last entry.

I went to Matt. 6 today to remind myself what I always need to remind myself, that tomorrow has enough trouble of it's own. What stuck out this time, however, was the bit about serving Yahweh or Mammon.

I haven't been able to shake the realization that my focus has been on Bobby's work and where the next "paycheck" would come from. And the realization that I have been doing this so long I really don't know how to focus on anything else. ... This is so ugly. I hate to share it here. But it's real. And you deserve real.

What else have I been doing but serving Mammon? I manage to distract myself from it throughout my day, sometimes, by cleaning the house or focusing on the kids, spending some time in the word and thanksgiving, but then it's there again, eating at me...

Scripture says that fretting leads only to evildoing... ONLY. Only.  It doesn't work the way you want it to, even sometimes.

It's a very bleak existence, living from paycheck to paycheck. Focusing on it. Feeling relaxed only when the most pressing bill is paid. I hate it. I hate it and I don't know how it got this way. Someday I'll wake up and see that my whole life is over and I spent it all worrying about tomorrow and not living for "today." That terrifies me. I've been asking myself for the last couple days... "What else was there...? Before this trial-by-paycheck, what did I live for?" I'm reminded of the scene in "The Labyrinth" when Sarah eats the poisoned fruit and she's wandering around, knowing there was something she was doing, something important, she just can't seem to remember...

In case you've never been here, it's not just about how are we going to get such-and-such bill paid... that always seems to work out somehow, no big deal. The real stress comes with wondering if and how we should change our situation to be more manageable. Our mortgage isn't much, but maybe we should sell and start over with something we can buy outright. Maybe we should move to an area where there's more work. Scripture says that if you have food and clothing, to be content... it doesn't say anything about a roof and walls, warm beds, school books, cooking utensils, goats, land to garden on... are we over-reaching? This is where I stall. Every single time. I begin to despair and then manage to remind myself to take things one day at a time. Our Father will show us what he wants for us... and just try not to hold tightly to these things in the mean time.

I don't really care about the money. I know better. I know what's important, I do. It just... I guess it just sometimes gets away from you.

Here's the hopeful part. I have not been satisfied with this way of living. This is good news. Really. I think there is hope as long as I am never satisfied with what is not of my Father. It's when you settle for less and become content without him that you're in trouble.

Also, my Father has not left me alone to figure this out. He is ready with light, ready with guidance, ready when I am. Things will get better as I rest in him and stop fretting and begin really trusting. I'm so thankful for his healing, his forgiveness, his word and his spirit to guide me. And I'm thankful that many of the decisions that need to made really don't rest on me at all, but on Bobby, and praying for him is certainly easier than trying to figure things out myself.

I will live free today.

Life Update

Still alive.  Thought I should write something because the cow post being the most recent post was bugging me.  We sold Molly and George last Monday, before George was even a week old.  I'm a little bummed in a way and may never clear this slight sense of failure, but I can say I have no regrets.  We gave it a shot, our best, and it wasn't for us.  Ya gotta know when to fold 'em.   Okay, one regret... in the hoop-la, I somehow neglected to tell Farra exactly what was going on (I thought she picked up on the preceedings, I was wrong) and she didn't get to tell the critters goodbye.  *gulp*  Ya ever have one of those moments as a mom...?

I have to tell you, though, that our daily responsibilities are a far sight easier now.  I haven't heard anyone say, "Gee, I miss milking the cow.  I miss the cowpies in the yard and all the flies."  The older girls and I take turns milking the one goat and feeding the rest of the critters.  The first morning I milked our goat after the few days with the cow... I laughed and laughed because it was just SO EASY.  Picture a goat kid compared with a calf and you can imagine the difference in their sucking reflexes...  it's obvious in their teats.  You really don't have to work that hard to get milk from a goat.  I know people milk cows all the time and good for them, I say.  But, at Molly's new home they milk by machine.

The couple buying her asked me to get up a little earlier to milk, since they were coming from KC (the night before), then going to the Springfield area to pick up another cow/calf, then home to KC by evening chores.  I did, but they were late anyway.  Oh well.  They were very impressed with Molly and the calf and even sent us an email when she settled in to tell us what a good job we did training her.  That felt so good!  Also, they said Molly was enjoying the lush grass - they noticed how dry it was down here in the southern part of the state - they've been getting all our rain up there. 

We previewed Molly's new home here:  hiddenhillsfarms.com   The family is doing something I greatly admire - sustainable agriculture.  Joel Salatin style.  And apparently doing it well.  They sell 100% grass fed milk (now 10, I think), beef, pastured poultry and pork, as well as some organic produce.   She seemed a lot like me in her thinking, so I got to wondering what the difference was, why am I not doing the same sort of thing?  The difference is that her husband shares that vision.  Mine appriciates it, I think, but that's as far as it goes.  It's not the life for him.  I can deal with that. He watches Food Inc., wows and agrees all the way through, drinking his Mt. Dew and eating his Reeses Pieces.  With Bobby and I so different, I am often amazed and grateful that I get to farm at all, and that he will help me build barns and till gardens.  Another reason to give careful thought in choosing a spouse....

Haven't been in the garden much.  Watered some, marveled at how terrible the tomatoes were doing (splitting, rotting), how tall weeds grow when you ignore them, how silly of me to plant this or that that we never even harvested before it went bad.  My heart is not in the garden this year, even when my body is.  We've finally gotten some rain this last week... not just a spit and sputter, but drenching rains, wonderfully rains.  Beautiful, but not violent, storms.  Still some in the forecast.  It's been cooler, but HUMID and ugh... I'm just thankful for the little AC unit Bobby found for our bedroom (free - out of a wrecked camper while he was scrap'n).  This pregnant lady can get restful naps, now.  Some days it feels like the only thing I do well.

This summer is hard.  Harder because this last winter was so hard and we so much looked forward to the relief that warm weather would bring regarding work.  But there has been so little work.  We wouldn't have been able to pay the mortgage if we hadn't sold the cow and though we've tasted that in some winters, never in the summer.   Even my dad, who has always been able to get work as a carpenter somewhere has barely found enough.  That makes it a little less hopeful looking for us!  But Bobby has enjoyed scraping.  It's one of his favorite ways to earn money.  There are so many old farms with those dumps in the woods, filled with old steel.  The price of steel has dropped somewhat as we've gone into summer, but most days it's still worth it for Bobby to go out.  I don't think we'd ever be able to live off it, but it helps and it keeps him busy.  The hardest days are those when he's home and we have time and no money and we don't know where or when the next work will come from.  The waiting is so hard.

I was looking through old photos on my laptop a couple weeks ago and saw one that stopped me, made me think.  Bobby and a 5 or 6yr old Farra were sitting at our kitchen counter at our house in Ozark.  They were snacking on blueberry muffins, taking a break from work.  Bobby didn't remember, but I did.  They had been out raking leaves.  Bobby wasn't able to find work, so he took Farra and hit up the neighborhood for leaf-raking jobs.  The first (and only, I think) job they got, the old couple paid them and threw in a box of food, odds and ends of non-perisables, blueberry  muffins.  Blessing and humbling.   My point, though, and what got me, looking back, is that this way of life is not new for us.  I have been telling myself it's because of this "recession" that we're having such a hard time, but it's not, not really.  We have lived this way our entire married life.  The realization was at once depressing and encouraging.  Depressing, I need not explain, encouraging because we have LIVED this way for nearly 11 years.  We have not gone hungry, not been cold, always had a roof over our heads, etc.  We have always had friends, always been blessed by each other, always been rich in character.... this is our life.  It has worked for us.  Maybe a different choice of mates would have netted me a more "comfortable" life, and there's a lesson in that (that I will somehow, delicately share with my children as they grow), but I wouldn't trade mine now for all the world.  There is a sense of security in my life that comes from somewhere other than my husband's job.  This was no mistake on my Father's part...  he knows who and what I would be if I didn't need to depend upon him for my daily bread.

There.  That's my life update for now.

Our Cow-Milking Adventure Begins

Just when I had given up hopes that Molly would ever have her calf (we made up a nice little song about our "perpetually pregnant cow" to the tune of "Popeye, the Sailor Man"), she FINALLY went into labor Monday evening. I figured a pre-dawn baby, but when I checked on her just before 2am, the calf was lying about fifteen feet away from her, cleaned up but wet. Must have missed it by 20 minutes. Some cow midwife I am. I discovered it was a bull calf (will be nice to have the meat next fall, but we had hoped for a heifer to sell), woke Farra (who was sleeping VERY soundly in a hammock neaby, determined not to miss the calving!), then we left them to themselves until morning. What fun to show him off to all the children before breakfast!

Apparently today's dairy stock are such high producers that one wee calf can't handle all the milk, so you must help them out from the beginning. We took Molly's breakfast and a stool to the field and she let us take turns milking some colostrum out onto the ground. Not tied or anything... she is so gentle and tolerant!


Last week we sold two of our goats, one we were milking and one 3mo doeling, downsizing in preparation for the workload that would come with Molly’s freshening. I was toying with the idea of parting with all of the goats, but Farra and Atira talked me into keeping their does (one we’re milking, the other we could be next year), and we have a handful of bucklings we will butcher in the fall. This works for now and to prove themselves (at my suggestion - I wish I could say they thought of it themselves!), the older girls have taken over the goat chores.

It was with a mixture of eagerness and some little bit of apprehension that I looked toward Molly's first real milking that evening. I had only ever milked one cow, and only for a few minutes, and found it very different from the goats. Much harder than I expected. I told myself that Molly would be easier.

I nearly cried myself to sleep that night, frustrated and disappointed. Milking Molly was nothing like milking a goat! It hurt my back to be hunched over, her tail was constantly in my face (until we tied it to her leg) and the sheer volume of milk to be expressed took it's toll on my arms... like milking four goats in a row. Not to mention, goats don't pee and poop while being milked! (At least, no goat I know of.) She never really kicked, not those quick, jumpy jabs a goat gives, but did shuffle her feet a bit. I figured some of these tricks she'd grow out of, but I was sure it was too hard for me. Bobby had to finish milking her, and even he declared it very difficult (his hands being bigger than mine, he had a harder time with her first-timer teats). I was sure we had to sell her, and quickly, before she got mastitis or something from not being milked out completely.

I posted her for sale, put up flyers the next day, and sent an email to all friends I thought might know someone who might be interested.

I might have overreacted.

Pregnant women should not make decisions.

I had quite a few people interested, no one with money.

Bobby milked the next morning. We were giving the 3qts of colostrum to the dogs, cat, chickens, compost heap. Bobby began milking that evening and seemed to be having a difficult time, and I had a couple ideas to try out, so I gave it a try again. Most of these ideas came from my re-reading of "Keeping A Family Cow." Mostly the section, "My Aching Back." It was encouraging.

The height of your milk stool makes a huge difference. I switched over to sitting on a milk crate, which was maybe two inches taller than the stool we were using. That helped my back. I try to imagine this position with an 8 month pregnant tummy and I think I can do it. I'm also considering a platform to raise Molly up 3 or 4 inches.

If you spray your cow down with fly spray first (we're using generic mint mouthwash - it works!), the tail switching isn't so bad. Also, you learn quickly where to position your head so as not to take it in the face.

Keep a bucket handy for when she urinates and place a shovel at her rear when she defecates. It helps keep the place clean, but mostly it's suppose to help break her of the habit. She definitely is disturbed by not hearing her usual "plop," and feeling these instruments against her legs, but it hasn't stopped her yet.

Relax. Breathe. This is quite a work out! It helps to breathe as with any work out - inhale deeply through the nose (ugh, my poor, pregnant nose!), exhale slowly through the mouth. And, I must remind myself that a cow isn't a goat and I'm not going to go down to the barn and "do chores real quick" anymore. But, as with anything, there's a nice quiet sort of groove you get into after a bit and it's good.

Bobby's mild exclamations over how quickly I milk (the goat experience is handy) are very energizing, too. There might not be much foam, but there's always some!

The next morning (yesterday), Bobby suggested I begin milking while he milked the goat (Atira was relieved of her duty as she wasn't feeling well), then he could take over if I needed him to. You nursing mommas known how it's harder to get your baby to latch on when you're engorged... it's like that. My hands have an easier time expressing that first bit of milk than his. Anyway, we did it this way and I finished her up all by myself, before she was even done with her grain (which is when she pulls her nasty tricks). What a boost that was for me!

I admitted it was foolish to judge cow-milking based on my first real experience on a first time cow. You really must give these things time. I went ahead and removed the ads. Don't know if I can keep this up, but I'm willing to try and Bobby is willing to cover me.

We took the colostrum from the forth milking and tried to make "calf's milk custard." It didn't work. Didn't set up. So, we got out the ice-cream maker and the children are enjoying calf's milk frozen custard instead.

I'd read that the 7th milking is the first that's good for table use, the colostrum being all done. We were pretty excited about this. And boy did her milk come in! Right on time. Last night I milked and milked and milked... about a gallon and a quart, then Bobby milked another quart and a half... Goodnight, but that's a lot of milk! Time to start calling my want-to-be customers. It took forever. My arms were like jelly.

I milked her out myself this morning, though it took a long time. It's satisfying. I admit that right now I'm of the opinion that it would be less strenuous to milk four goats morning and night, but when you see that cream rising on your milk it's worth it.