Inscape

"I do not think that I have ever seen anything 

more beautiful than the bluebell ...

 I know the beauty of the Lord by it."

~ Gerard Manley Hopkins

Spring will depart in days, and I am looking ahead to summer. It's been a strange year, weather-wise and otherwise. We had the wettest winter on record, which is saying something for Oregon. February and March, when normally we are planning the garden and readying it for planting, were unsalvageable with snow and excessive amounts of rain. April was just as gross. Rosie and I managed to run out in between storms and get some peas planted, which are doing pretty poorly.

 I didn't even look through a seed catalog until April.  

With the constant cold and wet, I felt my zeal for homesteading draining out of me. In contrast, I was putting a lot of energy and attention toward activities that were less farmy in nature, but challenging to me in new and different ways. My favorite poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins, is best known for his concept of "inscape" - the notion that every living creature has a given essence, characteristics, an essential nature, that tell us about God and His character. I suppose I've used these past months to grow and refine my inscape. 

My best friend Emily and I started a classics bookclub, plus (nerd-alert) I'm reading along with a podcast bookclub; I began tutoring at our Classical Conversation co-op; I spoke at two different events; and I ran a Ragnar Trail relay in Zion National Park. So now I'm actually realizing that this lull in farm life was a gift for this season to allow me to pursue some different, but stretching and worthwhile activities. It's also given me time to really ponder what God has for me in the future and where He wants me to most focus my time and energy. 

   

There have now been a few sunny days and enough beauty to be found that I am again feeling the love and looking forward to the coming season of bounty. 

We have been busy making up for a lost spring. Here are a few snapshots of some Good Gifts: 

There were very few days during bloom that were hospitable to pollinators, so we are hoping our fruit trees will produce. Caleb is enough concerned that he has come around to the idea that we should probably have our own hives. (Woot woot!!!)

We have many new chicken faces (and stories) around here... I'll save those for another day.

Egg production has picked up and my egg business is still not paying the chicken-bills. Haha. 

My kids are wild and free.

We likely have a thriving fairy colony here at Good Gifts Farm.

No matter the weather or the difficulty or the unknowns, I know Him who holds my days in His hands.

 God's Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God. 

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared

with toil;

And wears man's smudge and shares man's 

smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down

things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward,

springs---

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah!

bright wings.

~ Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)

The Long Winter

No matter how long the winter, 
Spring is sure to follow.

~Proverb

The title is a bit dramatic if you're comparing our winter to the one in Laura Ingalls Wilder's book by the same name. We are not nearing starvation and we have not suffered blizzard upon blizzard. But we have had four rounds of snow, weeks of sub-freezing temperatures (we had a hen freeze to death), and record-setting rainfall this month. All of it has made for a very un-inspiring homestead winter, thus my longest ever blogging hiatus. Not much to report!

However, since we had not seen substantial snow in three years and longed for it so badly (many prayers were offered up by my children beginning in October), I refuse to "complain" (at least officially), but I will state that we are ready to be done, even as it snowed again this morning. 

At the dinner table we often go around and say the best part of our day, the worst part of our day, and what we're looking forward to tomorrow. In that spirit, I am going to reflect on the best part of winter, the worst part of winter, and what we're looking forward to in Spring.

The Highlights:

The sheer beauty of it all

After we got the cows closed off 

we opened up the pasture and had a fantastic sledding hill right on our own property! 

The goats in the snow were one of the cuter winter sights around here,

Marianne and Elinor staying warm in their thick winter coats.

...as were the cows

The cows really don't seem to mind it. They look very simple as they just stand, staring straight ahead, and get blanketed in snow. 

Brody and I got out on some "farm walks" even in the ice and snow, meaning we walk (or run if it's not too slick) from the house to the barn and back, from the house to the end of the driveway and back, which equals .27 miles. I usually try and get 3 miles in, but Brody-the-behemoth-Golden-Retriever usually poops out about half-way through. 

We completed the annual (dreaded) task of pruning our six apple trees, two pear trees, one plum and one cherry tree. I actually pulled my weight this year and did about half myself.

The Lowlights:

*Having 25 hens and collecting only 1-3 eggs per day. (Thankfully production is ramping back up.)

*Hauling water for the cows from the house to the barn for days on end. (With temps below freezing we have to turn the water off to the barn so the pipes don't burst. Ask me how we learned this.)

*ANNABELLE (see below)

We'd had Annabelle for a year and didn't know what to do with her. She was supposed to be pregnant when we bought her, but wasn't. She was 10, and her heat cycles weren't very regular. She declined to be loaded in a trailer to be taken to a bull last summer so we missed that opportunity. This winter had been hard on her and she was moving slower, not eating as much, and I had seen her fall a couple times. My inexperience with cows did not allow me to know if it was just her age or if she was truly ill. I now believe I should have called the vet. 

The day after we returned home from Hawaii in January with a million other things to get caught up on, I noticed she was in heat and so decided to seize the rare opportunity and called an AI (artificial insemination) tech. She came out that evening and did the procedure. Our plan was to give Annabelle this opportunity to get pregnant, and if it didn't take, to butcher her with her son in April. I loved this cow, but couldn't justify keeping her as a pet. We'd already fed her for a year with nothing to show for it. 

Before we could even determine if she was pregnant, we walked out to her broken body wedged between a tree and fence. It was a bizarre sight that we can't really account for. Somehow she had fallen, though why she was trying to pass through this narrow space is unexplainable, unless she felt like she was dying and was trying to get to a protected place. We think she either broke her neck or suffocated in the deep mud. It was horrific.

I sobbed face down on my bed in a way I hadn't done in years. I allowed myself a good five minutes and then pulled it together. She was the friendliest, loveliest cow I could ever hope to own. She came to me that way and I have no knowledge of how to gentle a cow on my own. But with my girl Nutmeg, I'm sure going to try now. 

Spring Hope:

* I have permission to buy six new chicks - we're just waiting for the weather to warm up a bit since they'll be living in the barn. 

*We plan to raise our second batch of meat chickens - this time in a chicken tractor that Caleb is going to build. 

The garden, which so recently looked like this, will soon (with a lot of preparatory work) be ready to plant.

Nutmeg should be calving sometime in April.

Nutmeg soaking up rays on a recently sunny day

And beautiful sights like this give me hope for the future, no matter what it holds.

If we had no winter, 

the spring would not be so pleasant.

If we did not taste adversity, 

prosperity would not be so welcome.

~Ann Bradstreet

Small Steps Every Day (or There are No Shortcuts)

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
~Lao Tzu

It is mid-November, and blissfully there is not much farm news to report on. Instead of tending the garden late into the twilight hours or using the extra summer daylight to finish projects and chores, Caleb and I are now often found sipping tea (or wine, depending on the day's course) on the couch watching Poldark or Seinfeld reruns after the kids are in bed. That is definitely a fall/winter treat. This quieter time of year also gives me a chance to reflect on things of the soul, some directly farm-related, some not quite as much. But you know, I'm realizing, almost everything relates to everything else. Truly.

I will never forget moving to our farm three years ago and my wonderful neighbor said she was fairly certain our cows were pregnant because she had not seen them in heat in a couple of months. I was completely mystified. How would I, who had never even been near a cow, ever know such things? It felt completely overwhelming. In fact, I spent the first two years on our property in constant anxiety and tension, wanting to know it all immediately, trying to figure everything out, manically reading books and buying animals. Over time I had the gradual realization that, thankfully, our survival does not depend on these ventures. Anything we do not raise or grow we can buy, and we will simply do the best we can with what we have, what we know, and where we are. This brought much peace and convinced me to just move forward one step at a time. I will also never forget the first time I went out to my cows and I knew Annabelle was in heat. What was the magic? Time. I spent time, a few minutes, most days with Annabelle. I knew her habits. I knew her looks. I recognized the change. There was no short-cut to this knowledge or success. And later that day, when I saw her son getting frisky with her (don't worry, he's a steer), my suspicions were confirmed and I did a happy dance. Hello, I'm a farmgirl!    

Perhaps it is because I have a "big" birthday coming up and have been reflecting on the passage of time, but this year I have endeavored to not despair at what I'm not (yet), but to strive even if it's at a snail's pace (have you seen me "run"?) to move forward. I am realizing more and more that all of life is a marathon, a long-haul... not a sprint. The "big picture" of our lives, which is the tapestry of our hopes, our desires, our successes, our character, are all comprised of day-by-day, even moment-by-moment, choices.

 But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward 

what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize 

for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

~Philippians 3:13-14

Of course, here Paul is talking about eternal life and everlasting joy with Christ, which is the supreme goal and prize. But as I mentioned above, everything relates to everything, and God's truth is woven through every corner of my life, or at least it should be. Pressing on toward this ultimate goal is done in the daily moments of life while straining towards many smaller goals, all the while striving to know Him better and make Him known.

But what do these small steps look like in daily life, besides hanging out with my cows? I have often fallen prey to the malady of coveting the end results I see in others while laziness or discouragement keeps me from making even a first step toward the goal. Getting started is usually the hardest part. There is so much I want to accomplish/be/do that I feel overwhelmed. What's the point of even trying? For instance, if I pick up this book and read, there are still a thousand other good books that I have not touched. So I'll just waste these ten minutes on Facebook, and these ten minutes hitting the snooze button, etc. But a year from now, I will wish I had started today. And a year from now, those ten minutes each day would amount to sixty hours. How much literary ground could I cover in sixty hours? With this in mind I have begun to snatch back those few moments of time when I can. They are a gift. I'm keeping a list of all the books I've made my way through this year, both reading and audio. I am amazed to see how those chasms of time have added up. My best friend and I started a classics book club, something we had been thinking about doing for three years, and we are working our way oh-so-slowly through a booklist with some other ladies. We should finish in 3-5 years. When we do, I will be very glad I started. I'm glad already.

Last spring I started walking one morning per week with my neighbors. In the past, I would have thought that one walk per week hardly seems worth getting up early for. I often fall into the "all-or-nothing trap". Well, my pressing-on perspective realizes that even if that's all I did each week, that one 4-mile walk, would add up to 208 miles in a year. That is certainly worthwhile. And that one walk has spurred me on to many other walks and now even runs each week. I'm learning that some is absolutely better than nothing (in more areas than just exercise) and my aforementioned birthday is reminding me that I really must keep moving forward, quite literally.

It isn't glamorous to simply put one foot in front of the other each day and sometimes it is hard to see the difference being made in the present. But those steps of mundane faithfulness comprise the whole of a beautiful journey. Press on!

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, 

let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. 

And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, 

fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.

~Hebrews 12:1-2

The Rhythm and Pleasures of Life with a Garden

The pleasure of eating should be an extensive pleasure, 
not that of the mere gourmet. People who know the garden 
in which their vegetables have grown and know that the garden 
is healthy will remember the beauty of the growing plants, 
perhaps in the dewy first light of morning when gardens are 
at their best. Such a memory involves itself with the food 
and is one of the pleasures of eating. 
~Wendell Berry, The Pleasures of Eating 

Pruning the apple tress is always a big winter job

The meaning of food and the pleasure of eating is indeed being enlarged for my family, as Wendell Berry suggests. As we garden our plot, raise animals for meat and eggs, and faithfully prune our berries and fruit trees each winter, our understanding and appreciation of what sits before us on our plates is tangible. Each time we gather at the table for dinner or Sunday brunch, we list all the ingredients in the meal that we grew ourselves - a very satisfying exercise.


Recently I made a double-batch of stew in the crockpot and truly everything - beef, tomatoes, tomato sauce, corn, potatoes, carrots, and green beans - were grown by us.  And the deeper we get into this life, the more "home-grown" our meals are becoming. I am growing more food, but also becoming better at tailoring our meals to use what we have available to us. This also means that we eat much more seasonally. Elisabeth solemnly savored the last bite of tomato in her soup last night because she thought it likely to be the last she'll taste until next summer, as our tomatoes are just about finished for the year. Our eating has developed a rhythm, which has in turn increased our enjoyment and expectation. Knowing we won't just go buy a tomato at the store in February, makes us savor what is before us and in the dead of winter creates a slight longing for summer. 

(And then maybe in the middle of summer we might even regret what we wished for.)

Even our activity during summer becomes a rhythm, as our time is spent harvesting and processing food for the coming year. 

In June we eat strawberries by the bowl, freeze trays and trays of berries, and make marionberry gelato. 

Spring peas are abundant and incorporated into many dishes.

In July the first batch of canning occurs. 

We will enjoy marionberry syrup and raspberry sauce on our waffles and french toast for the coming year. 

I also start to worry that I'm not going to have much of a tomato crop this year.

By August, each person is required to eat one cucumber per day, a task they relish. (I'm sorry, that pun was at first unintentional, but I love it too much to change it now.)

Pickling cucumbers and dill are ready to become pickles.

Pears are ripe and Caleb brings the dehydrator out of hibernation. 

Tomatoes are going crazy and I cannot believe I have been worried. 

They become tomato sauce, pizza sauce, marinara, chopped tomatoes, and salsa.

September and October are apple months. Everyone knows they will be eating an apple a day,

 apple dutch-babies on Sundays, 

and that mom will be making lots of applesauce and apple butter.

There will be dried apples and pears and fruit leather to last months.

My green beans have reached the top of the 10-foot deer fence, but we have had our fill of beans and I cannot be induced to get a ladder out to pick them.

The winter squash and pumpkins are brought into the garage to cure before storing.

These are the simple rhythms we've fallen into. And while the details change from year to year, the basic tenants of the season remain the same: sowing and reaping, hard work and great satisfaction. I often have thoughts of, "Why are we doing this again?" - particularly during canning season. But after a healthy round of debate in my head, I always reach the same conclusion: this is the life God has led us to and I cannot imagine not doing it. He put this dream in our hearts and is giving us joy as we live it out. It is work, but not burden. And best of all, He is growing us through it, strengthening our faith, and giving us fresh ways to understand Him through these natural rhythms and seasons He has created for us to live by.  

And then on my more stubborn days when doubt lingers, a peak into my pantry reminds me that it is all worth it.