October 25, 2021,
Like the comfort of my favorite blanket that cocoons me each
night, my daily routines offer me a place of peace and respite from an
unpredictable and cruel world. I’ve experienced
too much turmoil in life to ever take for granted days that many would find
mundane or even restrictive.
The year 2020 and the rise of Covid 19 confirmed what I’ve
always believed to be true about myself.
The desire to be self-sustaining is not just a fantasy or an overactive
imagination brought on by my reading too many pioneering novels as a child. It
is just a part of who I am. Some of my earliest memories include “gathering”
weeds that reminded me of wheat, bundling them together, and stacking them for
“long term storage”. Some would say it’s
a primal instinct, the need to hunt and gather.
I guess it is. Perhaps even those
people who wouldn’t spend a day gathering the harvest, raising, or hunting
their meat, would admit that they love to stock up on their favorite snack item
from the grocery store or thrill when they find that elusive item of clothing
they have been wanting at a good price. Perhaps
the hunting and gathering instincts have “evolved” for some so that we don’t
even recognize them as hunting and gathering instincts. My needs have always been basic. Unlike many
who can’t determine what they want in life, I have always known.
One of my routines is to listen for the sound of the birds
in early morning. This is easier to do in the spring and summer when I sleep
with the windows open. The early bird
lifts his voice, loud and clear and soon the others follow. These calls surround me with such volume that
I feel I am living in an aviary. In the
fall and winter, with my windows closed to the outdoors, I must step outside on
my back porch and listen a bit more intently for the sounds of my winged
friends. Life is fragile for all of
creation. Will my favorite warbler be
back next spring? He clings to my window
after catching flies and looks at me with bright eyes seemingly not afraid
appearing out of nowhere in the spring and then suddenly at summer’s end, he is
gone. Each time I wonder if he return or
will something snatch his fragile life in the interim. This time of year, in
the fall and winter, my focus is often on the woodpeckers. We have multiple varieties and I listen for
their reverberating sounds. I exhale
when I hear them. I pray they will find
peace in our woods and remain so that I can continue to hear the echoes of
their efforts.
October 26, 2021
I stepped from the porch and smelled the smoke wafting from
the chimney. With cold winds blowing at
50 miles per hour today, Mike started our first fire of the season. The scent of the burning wood gave me pause
and I mentally settled into that moment in the fall when things begin to slow. We are ready for winter with plenty of
seasoned firewood, a cellar full of home canned goodness, cheese made from milk
from our Jersey cows aging in the cheese cave, and multiple freezers full of beef,
pork and seasonal produce we grow in our gardens. The barns are full of hay and the animals
have improved fence and pastures. This
time last year there was no slowing down.
Due to Covid, I worked even harder to provide milk and dairy products to
several families, keeping the milk frig full and working almost daily making
cheese. Then when restrictions eased up
and groceries became more available and accessible, the need for our products
waned. Mostly I think folks were tired of restrictions, began eating out more,
and were happy to get their groceries at Walmart once again. Weary with all the efforts of the past year,
I decided to “retire” from the milk share program once again. It wasn’t the labor-intensive schedule that
wore me out, but rather the fickleness of people who support the local farmer
when it benefits them. People soon forget that a farmer can’t build a business
around occasional sales and an individual is unable to provide a Walmart
setting where a customer can just pick up a dozen eggs or a carton of milk from
time to time. It takes more dedication
than that from customers in order build a sustaining business as a local farmer. Fortunately for me, we are close enough to
retirement and have other income (beef and hay sales for example) that I don’t
have to continue to provide milk and dairy for us to make ends meet. I have reclaimed my home and space and no
longer have people coming in and out and that suits me. Having
given up the share program once after my grandchildren were born so that I
could spend time with them, I found myself involved again when we moved to
Laurel Fork. At this point in my life,
my peace is more important than the few dollars I might bring to the
budget. This time, I am determined, and
Mike is on board with my decision that I will only be milking and making cheese
and dairy for our family. Entering this
slower season of autumn and then winter, having downsized my number of dairy
cows, and not feeling pressure to provide for others, I am selfishly looking
forward to a rest.
October 27, 2021
I wonder how many people remember their first prayer. I remember mine.
I couldn’t have been
more than three years old and just barely at that. I don’t know if my parents had told me they
were expecting a baby or even if I had heard someone talking about it. In my memory, the idea was all my own. I had
decided that I needed a baby and it had to be a brother. I remember my mother explaining to me that she
was unable to fulfill my request, and that only God could choose if I would get
a brother or a sister. I was bold and
very confident that I could talk to God about the situation. I remember distinctly walking onto the porch
of our little pink house that sat just off Mt. Olive Road in a small community
in Missouri. I can still hear the
silver, screen door slamming behind me.
I looked up into a clear, blue sky and I asked God to please give me a
baby brother. A sister would not do; it had to be a
brother. I walked back inside and told
my mother that I had prayed, and that God was going to give me a brother. She asked me what would happen if it were a
girl and how would I feel. I confidently
told her that God would make it a boy.
Fifty-one years ago on October 27th I got exactly
what I had prayed for in that first ever prayer for me. A baby brother with eyes as blue as the sky into
which I had gazed while praying for him.
I’m pretty sure I was the proudest sister ever. It never occurred to me to doubt that my
prayer would not be answered. Of course,
it didn’t take me long to find out that all desires are not fulfilled and that
God isn’t some magic granter of wishes, but I will always remember that first
prayer and the joy of believing that God had heard me.
October 28, 2021
Our morning started early with Buddy barking to warn us of
an intruder. Cattle from a neighboring
farm found their way to our yard and decided to help themselves to the grass. The next hour involved multiple calls to the
County Sherriff’s department to try to make sure the cows were off the main
road and out of traffic and to find their owner. That was my job. Mike went into the dark morning following most
of the cattle up the road to determine where they needed to be returned. The Sherriff’s Deputies said they didn’t have
any information to provide on the owner who lives out of state and only puts
eyes on his cattle a couple of times a year (or sends someone else to do it). Mike and the deputies were unsuccessful in
getting the basically feral cattle returned to their own property and behind
their fence but so far, they have not returned to our yard.
Since I was up already, I made cottage cheese and started an
8-gallon batch of curds for Colby Jalapeno Cheese. I took a break from the kitchen to milk and
feed the animals and then came back and got to work on finishing up the cheese
curds. Early afternoon, the work in the
kitchen was finished (except for getting supper together later) and I took an
early walk with Buddy. We startled a
rabbit, Buddy jerking fiercely on his leash.
When I pulled him back and
sternly told him no, he listened. Three
years ago, I would have been most likely pulled to the ground, and he would
have been off on an adventure, returning days later. Buddy and I have come so very far in the last
three years. It’s really nothing short
of a miracle.
Back from walking, I was talking to Mike when I turned and
looked out the living room window toward the stream that runs through our
property. A Great Blue Heron glided to
the ground and came to a stop. Mid-sentence
I changed directions, explaining to Mike that I was watching my
bird. I turned myself backwards, knees on the sofa cushions and arms resting on
the sofa’s back so that I could watch for a while. Herons never seem to get in a hurry. There have been times I have stood still
waiting for them to move. Like the game
children play where they stare at each other until the loser blinks first, I
have stood unblinking and unmoving waiting for the perfectly still Heron but I am always the one who moves first. He doesn’t seem afraid. In fact, he seems almost as curious of me as
I am of him. Sometimes, I see two of
them flying together in the evenings as if they are taking a little jaunt
before settling down. Today, I strain my
eyes to see the Heron whose movement seems both fluid and painstakingly slow as
he makes his way to the stream. His
color and the way his body curves forward help him blend in with his
surroundings. If I stare, I can see a
little movement from time to time, helping me to focus once again. Every time I am able to observe the Heron, I
feel that I have been especially blessed.
October 29, 2021
We hadn’t planned on leaf viewing today but I am so glad we
did. After an inch and half of rain
overnight along with some strong winds the last few days, I just assumed most
of the leaves would have turned loose at this point. After morning chores, I asked Mike if he
wanted to run an errand and then go with me to the fabric store in Fancy
Gap. I laughed and told him to bring his
iPad for company because I couldn’t see him going inside with me to pick fabric,
and I was not going to rush to get back to the car. I found him napping when I returned to the
car with my purchase.
We decided to take the long way home and took various roads
we had not driven before until we finally figure out where we were. Then we would take another road in the
general direction of home, but one with which we were not entirely familiar so
that we could intentionally “get lost” for a while. We love doing this. It is one of our favorite past times. So many of the roads we find when getting
intentionally “lost” are only wide enough for one vehicle. Usually, we never meet another car, but when
we do, one must hug the side of the road and allow the other vehicle to creep
past. Some of the curves are so sharp, oncoming
vehicles are not visible until it’s almost too late to stop. I love these backroads drives no matter which
of the four seasons we are experiencing.
The scenery is always beautiful.
October 30, 2021
By the time I turned eight gallons into curds for aged
cheese, cleaned up the kitchen, and took care of the other daily responsibilities
including twice a day milking, there was no time left today to sew which had
been my goal for the day. I can’t stand
to see the milk go to waste, and since I am no longer marketing it, making aged
cheese is the best way to use up large amounts of milk for long term
storage. My new cheese press holds curds
made from eight gallons of milk instead of only four gallons of curd I
processed in my old press. Keeping ahead of the milk is only part of my week,
although it may be the most demanding. Our
lifestyle includes growing and preserving all our own vegetables, purchasing and
preserving fruit straight from the orchards in bulk and preserving it, raising
our own beef and pork, and milking our own cows and providing all of the dairy
products we consume. We also make all
the hay we use to feed our cows.
The aesthetic beauty of the “coattagecore” life is quite popular
now. There were a series of photos
making their rounds on social media sites of rustic cottages, livestock grazing
in the fields nearby, kitchen gardens and clothes on the line. I wonder if those who pine for such a life have
the tiniest clue how much work is involved? Do they realize that the one moment
of beauty captured in a photo takes unending, backbreaking, and often
heartbreaking effort to attain? Rustic cottages are not the climate-controlled
housing to which most Americans are accustomed.
The peaceful scene of animals in the fields requires blood, sweat and
tears on the part of the farmer. It’s a
life that looks appealing to many, but few have the passion and tenacity to
maintain it.
Mike understands the
life I lead comes from the core of my being and I am clinging to it for as long
as I am physically able. We don’t have
to live the way we live. We could live
in a more comfortable and larger home.
(We actually have one on the market in Augusta County that we are giving
up.) We could buy our fruit and
vegetables already canned in the grocery stores. We could buy our meat already packaged and
frozen from animals that don’t have known names, and we could sleep in every
morning without worrying about being on a schedule for milking the cows. As odd as it makes me, these are the things I
love. And yet, there is something to the
whole aesthetic pull of the cottagecore lifestyle that is romanticized so
often. In the midst of another extremely
busy day, I happened to turn and glance out the window to see the sun shining on
the tops of the trees in all their autumn splendor. Where they touched a sky filled with rain
clouds in a beautiful shade of gray, the contrast was breathtaking. I smiled,
grabbed my camera, stepped out onto my front porch, and captured the moment. Making this life work is about the
sacrifice. It takes days filled with
work to sustain a lifestyle that offers fleeting moments of peace and
beauty. The ability to recognize and
find satisfaction in those elusive moments is, I believe, what makes some
people successful at living this life. And
this is true for all of us, no matter what path we choose.
October 31, 2021
Because our house sits on a manmade knoll to protect it from
all the springs and streams in the rainy season, the unsightly line that runs
from one pole to another on the lower surface cuts across my view around eye
level when looking from our windows. I
would complain except that a Belted Kingfisher uses it as his observation perch
while looking for his next meal. I
noticed the bird not long after we closed on our property over four and a half
years ago now and he has been a joy to me with multiple sighting of him each
day. When I am busy and not paying
attention, I often hear his distinctive call, loud and telling. I am saddened to learn that this bird’s
numbers are believed to be on the decline, their nesting sites disturbed and
destroyed more and more frequently. During
my busy days, when I have cause to leave the kitchen and walk to the front of
the house, I search for the bird and often find him sitting on the telephone line
with an almost hunched look to his shoulders.
As I view him from behind, the distinctive belt around his neck is
clearly visible. He stares with intent,
patiently waiting until he sees a fish, tadpole, frog, or perhaps some aquatic
bug and then he dives straight down and captures his meal with precision.
Change is necessary at times, but all change comes with a
price tag. Often my nature is to rebel
against that price tag. Leave me alone
to live life much the way our grandparents did in the 40’s. Let me milk my own cows, churn my own butter,
grow my own “victory garden” and spend my days keeping to my house and farm and
mostly away from people. Let my visits with
others be infrequent but meaningful. Let
the news of the world trickle to me slowly.
I don’t want to be uninformed; I just don’t want to be blasted with
information twenty-four hours a day. Instead
of multiple phone calls a day, a special call once a week to catch up with
family is a joy. The art of letter
writing when one sits down with pen and paper thinking about their loved ones
and investing a few moments to keep in touch is much more meaningful to me than
a text message or email. I realize that
I am blessed to be able to live this life I choose, but to live this way also
means hard work and sacrifice. We all
make sacrifices in some capacity to live the lives we lead. I worry that my grandchildren won’t have a
choice in lifestyles, and that this life I choose today will be completely gone
someday. Like the Belted Kingfisher and
the other birds whose habitat declines due to the progression of man, will the life
I lead be endangered someday as well? Is it already? I cling passionately to the land with a fierceness. Like the Kingfisher hunched on the telephone
line just following his instincts to survive, I hunch my shoulders, set my gaze,
and keep the course.