Today is my favorite holiday of the year! Thanksgiving: the day to take a moment and reflect on all the wonderful gifts in your life. Of course, you can, and should (!) do this daily; but today, we do this in a house that smells of turkey, onion and pie spices amongst the people we hold most dear. What’s not to be grateful for?
I’ve been taking stock and counting my blessings all month. Sometimes I try to rank the things that are most important. Many things have changed in my life over the last few years. Some things are changing currently. I’ve gained much and lost some in the process. I’ve let go of some things that turned my heart inside out. There’s still more of that to do. In those moments, I am grateful for the knowledge that while there is a lot lost in the release, there is much to gain to fill the empty spaces those losses provide.
Foremost, I am thankful for my children and all the love and life lessons they provide me. They fill our home with laughter and our hearts with warmth and happiness. I am thankful for the opportunity to guide their young spirits and; I hope, show them their potential is endless. All the while getting to revel in the uniqueness of their thoughts and the boundlessness of their love.
There seems to be no all encompassing words to delineate the gratitude I feel for my family (I count my husband in this. At some point, when I wasn’t looking, he went beyond being ‘that guy I dated and married’ to ‘my family’). Each person brings such different gifts! Laughter, wisdom, perspective, friendship, not to mention the partnership and respect borne of working together on a near-daily basis! I will not pretend the moments when it is all a little too close for comfort do not exist, but equally so are the moments when not close enough exist. At those times, it is good to go work with someone you like as much as you love. I'm glad I get to do that, too.
The life I have is also a tremendous blessing. The home located smack in the center of the story of my youth that mingles with the story that is being drafted currently; the farm that speaks of generations of family and history, of hard work and great love. The pleasure of writing and working and spending days peering into the future through the eyes of the under ten set. It’s not an extremely lucrative life; but it is an incredibly rewarding one.
Good friends. Second Chances. Stars and planets! Raindrops and rainbows. I am grateful for those moments when you realize it is entirely possible the best is still ahead of you. So while I am grateful for yesterday and today, I am even more thankful for all the tomorrows yet to come!
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
The Hope in a Lilly... and her Lillyanne
Let me tell you the story of Lilyanne.
It begins with her mother, Lilly, who was born in April, 2001. I was living in Michigan, pregnant with my first baby, and had recently lost a good friend to colon cancer. I had planned to call and tell her of my pregnancy when I got home from work that Good Friday. Instead, I came home to a message from her mother on my answering machine that she had passed away. Turns out, it wasn't such a good Friday.
Lilly was born a few days after that. When I lived away from home, my new calves kept me feeling connected to the farm. Grounded and centered in who I was, where I came from, and what really mattered to me in life. Lilly's birth gave me hope and reminded me that by fall another birth would illuminate my world in ways a million calves would never be able to.
I kept Lilly's picture at my desk at work. She was always the first cow I thought of as those early years went by. She grew and brought forth six daughters of her own, three of which did not survive their youth for exceptionally unique, unforeseen and inescapable reasons.
As she aged, Lilly developed a unique personality and penchant for unpredictable behavior which usually hit it's peak just as she was about to calve. She instinctively knew that oxytocin release could induce labor and was found at the end of one gestation letting a calf help her induce her own labor. She was a genius! Within 24 hours, she gave birth to her daughter, Lollypop.
She got a little reckless after that. The next year, she decided to jump into the spreader shed on her way to the calving pen: a four foot drop to a concrete floor! Nobody thought a nine-year-old cow was going to take such a leap! Not only did she land on her feet, she turned around and tried to climb back up and into the barn! It wasn't long after that, her daughter, Liberty was born.
Her last gestation proved to be the most troublesome, however. Very early into the pregnancy, she injured herself going into her stall. It was serious. A quarter so damaged we couldn't milk it without causing her pain. The prevailing opinion was she should be slaughtered ASAP. Far be it from me to listen to logic, I decided to give her meds that would kill the quarter. Maybe she could stay as a three-quartered cow. At least, maybe I'd have the chance to get one more calf. My decision was a questionable one...
The meds made Lilly sick. She stopped milking and was put to pasture ("dried off") until her due date. As the months went by, it was plain to see, even from a football field away or greater, that her udder was in terrible shape and there would be no keeping her after the birth of her calf. She would only continue to hurt herself navigating the stalls and pasture. We all wondered what the chances were of that calf she carried being a heifer...
As her due date drew near, we mulled over the best ways to care for her. Wednesdays are auction days. We hoped this ornery cow might calve on a Tuesday so we could save her as much discomfort as possible and get her to the auction the next day. Nobody actually thought Lilly would comply, she had a knack for doing things her own way...
... But that's exactly how it went. Lilly gave birth to a heifer calf on a Tuesday morning. She went to market the next day. It broke my heart to let her go. But we went back to this little heifer calf, born sluggish and with very slack muscle tone. Prevailing logic concludes the injury and meds we used to deal with it took their toll on this little girl. I worried she may not pull through, and she may not ever be a vigorous, healthy calf...
But as the days went on, Lilyanne perked up. She ate, she stood, she walked, she ran, she bounced!
Knowing the fate of three of her sisters, I held my breath through those early months. The other three hadn't survived long enough to be weaned off milk before some random illness swept them away. Lilyanne did and continues to thrive!
So there you have it. My miracle story that began almost a year ago! Had I not had hope, had I not taken a chance my family thought I was crazy to take, I would not have this now vibrant calf bouncing around, bullying her peers, and becoming the touchstone her mother once was for me.
Hope, determination and perseverance can currently be summed up for me in one word: Lilyanne.
It begins with her mother, Lilly, who was born in April, 2001. I was living in Michigan, pregnant with my first baby, and had recently lost a good friend to colon cancer. I had planned to call and tell her of my pregnancy when I got home from work that Good Friday. Instead, I came home to a message from her mother on my answering machine that she had passed away. Turns out, it wasn't such a good Friday.
Lilly was born a few days after that. When I lived away from home, my new calves kept me feeling connected to the farm. Grounded and centered in who I was, where I came from, and what really mattered to me in life. Lilly's birth gave me hope and reminded me that by fall another birth would illuminate my world in ways a million calves would never be able to.
I kept Lilly's picture at my desk at work. She was always the first cow I thought of as those early years went by. She grew and brought forth six daughters of her own, three of which did not survive their youth for exceptionally unique, unforeseen and inescapable reasons.
As she aged, Lilly developed a unique personality and penchant for unpredictable behavior which usually hit it's peak just as she was about to calve. She instinctively knew that oxytocin release could induce labor and was found at the end of one gestation letting a calf help her induce her own labor. She was a genius! Within 24 hours, she gave birth to her daughter, Lollypop.
She got a little reckless after that. The next year, she decided to jump into the spreader shed on her way to the calving pen: a four foot drop to a concrete floor! Nobody thought a nine-year-old cow was going to take such a leap! Not only did she land on her feet, she turned around and tried to climb back up and into the barn! It wasn't long after that, her daughter, Liberty was born.
Her last gestation proved to be the most troublesome, however. Very early into the pregnancy, she injured herself going into her stall. It was serious. A quarter so damaged we couldn't milk it without causing her pain. The prevailing opinion was she should be slaughtered ASAP. Far be it from me to listen to logic, I decided to give her meds that would kill the quarter. Maybe she could stay as a three-quartered cow. At least, maybe I'd have the chance to get one more calf. My decision was a questionable one...
The meds made Lilly sick. She stopped milking and was put to pasture ("dried off") until her due date. As the months went by, it was plain to see, even from a football field away or greater, that her udder was in terrible shape and there would be no keeping her after the birth of her calf. She would only continue to hurt herself navigating the stalls and pasture. We all wondered what the chances were of that calf she carried being a heifer...
As her due date drew near, we mulled over the best ways to care for her. Wednesdays are auction days. We hoped this ornery cow might calve on a Tuesday so we could save her as much discomfort as possible and get her to the auction the next day. Nobody actually thought Lilly would comply, she had a knack for doing things her own way...
... But that's exactly how it went. Lilly gave birth to a heifer calf on a Tuesday morning. She went to market the next day. It broke my heart to let her go. But we went back to this little heifer calf, born sluggish and with very slack muscle tone. Prevailing logic concludes the injury and meds we used to deal with it took their toll on this little girl. I worried she may not pull through, and she may not ever be a vigorous, healthy calf...
But as the days went on, Lilyanne perked up. She ate, she stood, she walked, she ran, she bounced!
Knowing the fate of three of her sisters, I held my breath through those early months. The other three hadn't survived long enough to be weaned off milk before some random illness swept them away. Lilyanne did and continues to thrive!
So there you have it. My miracle story that began almost a year ago! Had I not had hope, had I not taken a chance my family thought I was crazy to take, I would not have this now vibrant calf bouncing around, bullying her peers, and becoming the touchstone her mother once was for me.
Hope, determination and perseverance can currently be summed up for me in one word: Lilyanne.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Gaining Definition
per•se•vere: intr.v. -vered, -ver•ing, -veres. To persist in a purpose, an idea or a task in the face of obstacles or discouragement.
... As in I WILL, and/or YOU CAN!
... As in I WILL, and/or YOU CAN!
Monday, October 18, 2010
Sometimes Someday is Simple
Sometimes, life hurts.
Sometimes, you go into a situation knowing it will hurt.
Sometimes, the things you learn along the way make the pain worthwhile.
Sometimes it feels like the pain will never go away.
Sometimes pain is the only thing that keeps you from moving forward.
Sometimes the only thing you can think of is how to make the pain disappear.
Someday, the pain will subside.
Someday, the only thing that will remain are the lessons.
Someday, you will be glad you were brave enough to go on the journey.
Someday, you will be stronger.
Someday, you will be fearless again.
Someday, you will take another chance, knowing it may hurt.
Simply put, as long as there is life and love and lessons to learn, there will be pain.
Sometimes you will ask if you're going to hide from pain, or really live?
Someday, you will ask yourself, and the best advisor... will be you.
Sometimes, you go into a situation knowing it will hurt.
Sometimes, the things you learn along the way make the pain worthwhile.
Sometimes it feels like the pain will never go away.
Sometimes pain is the only thing that keeps you from moving forward.
Sometimes the only thing you can think of is how to make the pain disappear.
Someday, the pain will subside.
Someday, the only thing that will remain are the lessons.
Someday, you will be glad you were brave enough to go on the journey.
Someday, you will be stronger.
Someday, you will be fearless again.
Someday, you will take another chance, knowing it may hurt.
Simply put, as long as there is life and love and lessons to learn, there will be pain.
Sometimes you will ask if you're going to hide from pain, or really live?
Someday, you will ask yourself, and the best advisor... will be you.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Picture Day!
It's picture day at the farm!
This is a little different from getting all dolled up and sitting pretty with your most cherished loved ones; squeaky clean and primped and proper for one of those bookmark-in-time moments to look back on and say 'remember how we were then?'. Actually, the people will be (judging by the weather outside today) wringing wet and possibly a bit frazzled by the end of this session. It's the cows who are primped and preened and looking gorgeous!
We have three models today: two are three years old and one is probably four or five. Good ages. The unpredictable and often hard-to-handle spunk of a two-year-old, first-calf heifer has toned down a bit as they reach three and four. They are around people all the time, familiar with being led by a halter... but this picture stuff... well, only a few have this experience! Just like human models, they have to be beautiful! These three most certainly are.
One by one, they will be led outside to a grassy place in the lawn that has been groomed and set up to accent their frames perfectly. They will love the rain and crisp fall air. That could make them a little spunky!
It will take SIX (even as many as eight are useful) people to help each cow strike the perfect pose: one to stand at her head and keep her in place with her head held at the optimum height. One person is assigned to each foot, and our photographer will instruct each person in turn to adjust each foot however many inches forward, backward, inward or outward. This is probably the most time consuming portion of this whole extravaganza! Because as you move one foot this way or that, the cow will tend to shift her weight (and thus her legs!) to a position she is more familiar with. So you get to the third leg and she moves the first one and after about the sixth or seventh time this happens you have to wonder if this picture will ever happen! The sixth person manages the tail. No, I am not kidding! The tail has to be seated perfectly square and hang straight down, not tucked, not switching from side-to-side; perfectly still.
Another fun responsibility of the tail guy is to catch whatever might possibly decide to eliminate itself from the picture with a shovel or bucket and clean the area with paper towels. You know when it's coming. The photographer has a tendency to holler "OH SH*T!" or some version thereof. Yeah, I try not to be the tail guy! I'd rather try to move one of those big feet.
If you are lucky, there will also be a noisemaker. This person's primary responsibility is to bawl like a calf, shake a towel or do anything he or she can think of to get that cow to pitch her ears forward and look like she is extremely alert. You have to be confident to do this job, because you feel like an idiot!
At the end of the session, which could be an hour or two or an all day event depending on how cooperative your models choose to be (they have been known to CHARGE off the set when they've had enough of all the fussing!), we will have (hopefully!) a great shot of each cow, suitable for using in advertisements, framing for display if she turns out to be a "dam of dams", meaning a great cow who has given birth to other great cows; and to look back on sometime in the distant future and remember this moment in time... how the world was, who we were, the direction we were taking. It's all changing. Inevitability, well, it's inevitable.
This is a little different from getting all dolled up and sitting pretty with your most cherished loved ones; squeaky clean and primped and proper for one of those bookmark-in-time moments to look back on and say 'remember how we were then?'. Actually, the people will be (judging by the weather outside today) wringing wet and possibly a bit frazzled by the end of this session. It's the cows who are primped and preened and looking gorgeous!
We have three models today: two are three years old and one is probably four or five. Good ages. The unpredictable and often hard-to-handle spunk of a two-year-old, first-calf heifer has toned down a bit as they reach three and four. They are around people all the time, familiar with being led by a halter... but this picture stuff... well, only a few have this experience! Just like human models, they have to be beautiful! These three most certainly are.
One by one, they will be led outside to a grassy place in the lawn that has been groomed and set up to accent their frames perfectly. They will love the rain and crisp fall air. That could make them a little spunky!
It will take SIX (even as many as eight are useful) people to help each cow strike the perfect pose: one to stand at her head and keep her in place with her head held at the optimum height. One person is assigned to each foot, and our photographer will instruct each person in turn to adjust each foot however many inches forward, backward, inward or outward. This is probably the most time consuming portion of this whole extravaganza! Because as you move one foot this way or that, the cow will tend to shift her weight (and thus her legs!) to a position she is more familiar with. So you get to the third leg and she moves the first one and after about the sixth or seventh time this happens you have to wonder if this picture will ever happen! The sixth person manages the tail. No, I am not kidding! The tail has to be seated perfectly square and hang straight down, not tucked, not switching from side-to-side; perfectly still.
Another fun responsibility of the tail guy is to catch whatever might possibly decide to eliminate itself from the picture with a shovel or bucket and clean the area with paper towels. You know when it's coming. The photographer has a tendency to holler "OH SH*T!" or some version thereof. Yeah, I try not to be the tail guy! I'd rather try to move one of those big feet.
At the end of the session, which could be an hour or two or an all day event depending on how cooperative your models choose to be (they have been known to CHARGE off the set when they've had enough of all the fussing!), we will have (hopefully!) a great shot of each cow, suitable for using in advertisements, framing for display if she turns out to be a "dam of dams", meaning a great cow who has given birth to other great cows; and to look back on sometime in the distant future and remember this moment in time... how the world was, who we were, the direction we were taking. It's all changing. Inevitability, well, it's inevitable.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Will This Matter When I Am 80?
That question was posed to me just this week.
"Will the dishes matter when you are 80?"
Huh! Probably not.
I was late to the barn this week. I've been late to the barn nearly every day this summer. Children rarely have timeliness on their priority lists. However, the child in me still desperately needs the approval of her father, who is also her boss! That child tends to get rather stressed when she is going to be late for work.
So, I was halfway to the barn (already late, mind you) when I hear the cry of my son behind me. His tricycle is stuck, on the other side of the yard, and my daughter and I are leaving him in the dust on our way to the barn. First, I feel the usual swell of frustration rising in my chest.
"Will this matter when you are 80?"
And I stop. What matters more? My dad possibly being angry I am late? Or drying the tears of my little boy?
The anger melted away. I walked back to my son. I smiled and told him "No big deal, we'll get there," and I pulled him and his tricycle all the way to my parent's yard. His tears dried and he talked happily to me all the way there.
We were 15 minutes late. The barn was fine, my dad was fine, the day went on...
... But the Barn Diva grew up a little.
"Will the dishes matter when you are 80?"
Huh! Probably not.
I was late to the barn this week. I've been late to the barn nearly every day this summer. Children rarely have timeliness on their priority lists. However, the child in me still desperately needs the approval of her father, who is also her boss! That child tends to get rather stressed when she is going to be late for work.
So, I was halfway to the barn (already late, mind you) when I hear the cry of my son behind me. His tricycle is stuck, on the other side of the yard, and my daughter and I are leaving him in the dust on our way to the barn. First, I feel the usual swell of frustration rising in my chest.
"Will this matter when you are 80?"
And I stop. What matters more? My dad possibly being angry I am late? Or drying the tears of my little boy?
The anger melted away. I walked back to my son. I smiled and told him "No big deal, we'll get there," and I pulled him and his tricycle all the way to my parent's yard. His tears dried and he talked happily to me all the way there.
We were 15 minutes late. The barn was fine, my dad was fine, the day went on...
... But the Barn Diva grew up a little.
Monday, August 2, 2010
The Height of Summer Glory
The apex of my summer has arrived... the sweet corn is ready to pick!
Who doesn't love sweet corn, right? But it is more than that for me. It is an excuse (and I do seem to need one) to abandon the housework, the never ending stream of dishes, laundry and what is THAT smell emanating from the bathroom (? - shudder...); trade work boots for water shoes, gather the kids and spend an hour in the creek and the corn patch!
Traded is the noise of the television and the XBox in favor of the gurgle of the creek and the giggles of my children. Hot, tired feet are refreshed as they are bathed in cool, flowing water. Though we are only a hundred yards or so from the house, it is somehow even more quiet at the creek than in our backyard!
Walking through the rows of corn, looking for ears ripened to perfection, is a chance to get lost. The kids call from the creek to make sure I have not vanished literally! And I affirm that I am, in fact, physically present among the swaths of green leaves and golden silk. My mind, however, is excluded from the roll call. I don't know where it goes nor do I care! Because it is quiet. A rare, beautiful, and very much appreciated thing. The worries of the housework left undone, bills to pay, needs of my children, are temporarily abandoned in favor of savoring the delight my senses are currently immersed in.
The walk home with a cloth shopping bag or two, filled to the brim with sweet corn, is equally satisfying. The kids are happy little birds, chirping excitedly at my side about tadpoles, forget-me-nots, slugs and a host of other fantastic discoveries. The fun continues when we get home, as I now have approximately 24 un-husked reasons to sit outside and be the exclusive audience for the exciting trampoline performance my children have created just for me. I must say, some of their stunts are truly breathtaking... (and heart-stopping!)
Once the corn is husked and it is time to return to the kitchen, I am truly refreshed. A day at a spa could not be more restorative for me than an hour in the corn patch! We enjoy a delicious dinner and the extra is frozen in anticipation of cooking it this winter. When the air is cold and the snows deep, we will have a reminder of the joy and serenity found by the creek the previous summer, and look forward to doing all again, next summer!
Who doesn't love sweet corn, right? But it is more than that for me. It is an excuse (and I do seem to need one) to abandon the housework, the never ending stream of dishes, laundry and what is THAT smell emanating from the bathroom (? - shudder...); trade work boots for water shoes, gather the kids and spend an hour in the creek and the corn patch!
Traded is the noise of the television and the XBox in favor of the gurgle of the creek and the giggles of my children. Hot, tired feet are refreshed as they are bathed in cool, flowing water. Though we are only a hundred yards or so from the house, it is somehow even more quiet at the creek than in our backyard!
Walking through the rows of corn, looking for ears ripened to perfection, is a chance to get lost. The kids call from the creek to make sure I have not vanished literally! And I affirm that I am, in fact, physically present among the swaths of green leaves and golden silk. My mind, however, is excluded from the roll call. I don't know where it goes nor do I care! Because it is quiet. A rare, beautiful, and very much appreciated thing. The worries of the housework left undone, bills to pay, needs of my children, are temporarily abandoned in favor of savoring the delight my senses are currently immersed in.
The walk home with a cloth shopping bag or two, filled to the brim with sweet corn, is equally satisfying. The kids are happy little birds, chirping excitedly at my side about tadpoles, forget-me-nots, slugs and a host of other fantastic discoveries. The fun continues when we get home, as I now have approximately 24 un-husked reasons to sit outside and be the exclusive audience for the exciting trampoline performance my children have created just for me. I must say, some of their stunts are truly breathtaking... (and heart-stopping!)
Once the corn is husked and it is time to return to the kitchen, I am truly refreshed. A day at a spa could not be more restorative for me than an hour in the corn patch! We enjoy a delicious dinner and the extra is frozen in anticipation of cooking it this winter. When the air is cold and the snows deep, we will have a reminder of the joy and serenity found by the creek the previous summer, and look forward to doing all again, next summer!
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