Last week was a challenging parenting week. Sometimes my boys choose things I would prefer they hadn’t. For example, one son refused to exit the car at the orchard, for some reason preferring to sit strapped in for that hour, rather than play among the fruit trees. Or, another example, one son had poison ivy break out all over his face. Oh, did we grieve for him! How painful! How bizarre? Did he roll in it?
Two days later, I found two empty bottles of homeopathic remedy, hidden away in our one closet. And homeopathics heal with the principle of “like cures like.” So to cure poison ivy, each pill contains a miniscule amount of poison ivy, so little that it could not hurt you in proper dosage—two to four pills. Not two bottles. Two bottles will, apparently, cause your face to break out in poison ivy rash. No wonder said son complained he didn’t feel good—poison ivy all down the digestive track! Bummer.
Such decisions distressed me. I realize anew that I cannot help my boys to be holy (or even personable); it has to come from within them, from the power and working of the Holy Spirit. I was grieving a bit yesterday afternoon, concerned about their actions, when Jadon came to me with a Bible and said, “I think these two verses might help you.” Psalm 128:2-3: For thou shalt eat the labors of thine hands; you shall be happy, and it shall be well with you. Your wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of your house. Your children like olive plants round about your table.
What a shocking blessing! To have my own son remember the words of Scripture and read them over me, words about how the children of the righteous will grow well—what a moment. And then he sat on my lap while tears ran down my cheeks and I hugged him. That, too, is a blessing, for Jadon is not an affectionate child by nature.
He also gave me two or three more verses to encourage as the evening wore on. A sweet thing indeed.
Which reminds me of another sweet moment last week. We were at the Bible study at the Bush’s house, and we each read two verses of the passage we would study. Isaiah and Jadon had not yet left the circle to go play, so Isaiah jumped right in and read his two verses clearly, with only one help from me (in the King James translation, I might add). That, too, brought tears to my eyes. It was beautiful, listening to him. And Doug Bush couldn’t even believe it. He completely lost track of where we were reading, and praised him heartily.
So my sons choose well and poorly. I guess I do, too, at times.
September 7 is the cut-off date for planting beets, bush beans, and turnips. It was down to the wire, but I managed to get my lasagna beds built enough to plant those vegetables, and then planted a little herbal garden, too. In retrospect, I probably should have left the herbal beds unplanted, then used them for my garlic and onion order that will arrive sooner or later, but I will just have to prepare other beds for those. I can start sowing lettuce, radish, spinach, kale, chard, and a few other greens at any time, and sow those until November (for some). If we cover them with low tunnels (basically just a fabric supported by half-circles of wire about every five feet, so that they look like giant caterpillars), we should be able to harvest through the winter and into next spring. At least, according to The Four-Season Harvest.
I know that vegetables are good for me, and so I eat them. And I even like some of them, especially with enough butter and garlic. However, I was stunned to learn on Saturday that there are people who PREFER vegetables to fruit. I find it hard to believe that there are people out there who like lettuce or carrots more than peaches or grapes. Inconceivable! What must it be like to have one of their tongues? No fun, I think.
Chrystal, in the paddock right before we move her. Note how well the goats have cleared the underbrush!
Today we moved the goats from our bush hogged/mostly cleared land to a new paddock with about half cleared and half small saplings leading into the woods. Phil was going to keep the fence around them somehow to move them up the hill, but I had the (not so) bright idea to strip small branches off the a tree and use them to lead the goats to their new home.
This worked really well until they saw the electric fence around their new home.
They bolted.
Escaped goats again. This time, they didn’t go so far so fast (but that might have been because they also started further down the slope). I found some of our delicious oats, and tempted Annabelle until I grabbed her horn. Phil carried and dragged her to the pen, and then, a bit later, carried Chrystal to the pen, too. Once inside, they were eyeing ways to get out (a brief taste of freedom is enough to make them pant for more), but they were happily eating brush after that. They are cleaning that area up!
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