A Hint of Drought

I pulled poison ivy until I saw vines when I closed my eyes. Although the task is unfinished, I am done for now.

Phil spent most of the day chipping saplings. The enormous pile we built when we first camped here in October 2008 we finally finished today. What a relief.

After the disasterous milking attempt yesterday, we tried milking again today. Bethany gave four ounces of yellow-colored milk, so we assume she's dried up and not worth the time to milk her. Bianca, though, gave 44 ounces, despite not being milked yesterday. She's able to milk 44 ounces after a day on the road, a day being milked by hand, and a day without milking at all—after such a rough week, we're proud of her intrepid milking!

The weather continues dry. I understand now, in my gut, the deep horror of drought. The hopeful seedlings poke through the ground, and the earth around them bakes harder. Phil sees beauty in the landscape; I see sorrow in the dry cracks in the clay soil and the crunch of dry grass underfoot.

And we fight bugs (a tick between the toes; a cockroach on the floor), and injuries (Acorn limps from what appears to be a broken hoof; sons have random scratches on face and legs).

And my sister fights for her life and the life of her unborn child, as she battles high blood pressure through bedrest, diet and drugs. Fourteen weeks till full-term for her; plenty of time for prayer.

So the world turns.