Shorn!

My sister has a friend who works in an Aveda salon. "We should have her come and cut your hair," she said a few times.

I love long hair. I always have. And even though, by the end of the week, my hair would be so tangled it took 15 minutes to comb out, and would come out in clumps, and often would make my scalp hurt for the next week, the idea of long curly locks remained irresistible. Even though my husband is a short hair man. Even though I reached a point where I didn't like my hair down, ever, and wore it up at least six days a week if not seven.

At some point, the reality of life needs to meet the dream of princess curls. Harumph.

And so, flush with the feeling of homeopathic well-being, last Friday I went under the scissors and came out looking quite different.

I like that my scalp never hurts, that I need to do nothing to my hair after I wake up, that I feel cute when I look in the mirror. One friend at church today said, "It matches your personality!"

Another friend wondered if anything was coming up around the farm. I went looking. There had been hints of daffodils back in December. Yes, the daffodils are well up now.

My bees surprised me: two hives had green pollen balls: either they have gone foraging somewhere unexpected in early January, or they have been eating their stores and clumsily dropped some bits. One hive showed evidence of a good bit of sugar crystals, and those came from their stores last fall.

The ground where the cows grazed during our absence has been thoroughly massaged. Their hooves made thousands of little mini lakes, and their grazing has left the landscape mostly free of weeds. Perfect.

Because we are moving the location of our road, Phil set hay bales out for them to graze on the old road. Perhaps the extra organic matter and manure will help that section grow well.

And I was surprised to note that my comfrey has completely died back, so that out of the mass of green this fall, there remains mere blades of green, surrounded by masses of quick-decaying black leaves.

On a completely different note, I received a collection of Isobel Kuhn books for Christmas. I had read her book In the Arena some years ago, and felt like she was a mentor. I started a short book yesterday, about some of the godly people (Second-Mile People) she has known. One section stood out to me, about a friend who told

how her Lord, as she continually looked to Him, unfolded new lessons of the Spirit-led life, the resting-in-Him life, the anxious-for-nothing life, the 'more abundant' life which is continual peace and frequent joy. Her dear laugh is forever associated now with Phil. 4:6 as she gave me 'her own' translation&mdash'Be anxious for nothing!—not even for your failures!'

Now on some level I probably knew that before we moved: that we act, and God either gives the increase or doesn't. But I had completely lost sight of that. There has been a feeling for me that after the farm becomes productive, after we have some success, that will be worthy of God.

But a dead bull? A failed market garden? A landscape that hasn't changed as much as I feel it should? Be anxious for nothing, despite that?

That's a freeing idea, indeed.