Making Music






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Listening

Listening is hard for me. It often seems to be the case that I listen to fear and doubt and worry and whines and tantrums, and a crying child. And the sizzle of burnt food and the ring of loud dogs and banjos. And when that isn't what I've tuned to, then it is myself. My sore throat and sore ears. My inability to get anything accomplished, my disorganization. What a terrible sound this is. It rings in my ears and it is death to my joy. Today, it is quiet. George took the kids on an adventure to let William and I heal a little from allergies and lost sleep. We walked through the neighborhood and returned home. He is still sleeping in his stroller and all seems silent. Wait . . . I hear a woodpecker drilling, birds singing, chickens squawking, the bristle of the wind in the long grass, a few voices in the distance, the rattle of tin. The flap of the birds wings. Yes, the flap of a wing. What a sound! It is usually lost to my ears, but if I listen . . . I will hear it. The sound o...
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The Cattle Are Lowing

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We’d waited since February for her to calf. By November 20th, all eyes stayed on mama cow - Trahlyta. Her due date was close and we were more than ready. The waiting wrung our patience.  October was wet and boggy and Trahlyta looked sick. We discovered rotting flesh in her foot. Foot rot set in from standing on soggy ground day after day. George and the children tended to her around the clock as they cleaned out oozing infected sore and cared for her hooves. We’ve had her since she was a few days old. The children raised her. She’s part of our family. And, she’s our first cow to calf. She held the keys to our own dairy supply and to our tender hearts as we watched her stay under the weather. All we could do was wait and make sure she stayed healthy and it wasn’t as easy as we expected. But now, her hooves were healthy and her belly was swollen and we were waiting.  On the morning of the 24th, I rushed to the window at the first day light. Down by the creek, I saw Trahlyta and ...
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Making A Mess

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We have a giant garden. We actually have three, make that four, no five places where vegetables or herbs are growing. I’ve posted glorious pictures of the produce and declared how resourceful we are -- our own backyard grocery.  As I write these words, everyone else in the family is sitting at the kitchen table stringing gallons of green beans, debating over what in the world we are going to do with all of the squash and growing giddy with excitement that we finally have enough okra to pickle. The window sill is lined with almost ripe tomatoes, and the cucumbers are coming in steadily. We spent all of spring waiting and watching tiny starts push their way up out of the soil and lost sleep rushing to their aid when frost threatened their tender leaves. We planned out rows, neat little rows. We snatched away any and all weeds before the even had a chance to bully our plants.  It is now mid July. Our gardens are officially wild jungles. The squash plant has dinosau...
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