Hospitality Begins Again

Phil worked on the built-ins for several more hours on Monday. To finally finish it, he needed to sand and hand plane and use some wood filler and such. But when that was done as good as it could be, he then finished the trim around the windows and put up some crown molding. Crown molding has some quirks to installation, so that was not a fast process.

And we had unexpected visitors for a few hours. Every surface is covered in sawdust and wood shavings, but how lovely to welcome people and be able to offer even a folding chair inside to sit in. We haven't had that in a long time.

When we were first married, we tried to have visitors at least two times a week: once for church friends and once for anyone else. Sometime after that, we hosted anyone who wanted to come after church.

Once we had children, our hospitality slowed some, but the meager accomodations we've had to offer meant that our hospitality slowed to almost nil. We averaged perhaps one annual dinner invitation, along with drop-in guests at times.

But now we can begin hospitality again! We had another visitor come down this morning. I love that.

Besides visiting, Phil spent a lot of time cow wrangling today. He had separated the calf, probably permanently, yesterday. He headed out before I woke up this morning to do his best to milk. I don't think it went very well. I think he had spent about a half hour trying to milk by hand, and then got out the milking machine, but Charity was simply not cooperating.

When I got up, I volunteered to help. Charity was not much interested in letting me milk her. She slashed with her hoof over and over. My training back in 2011 with Reese the rotten Jersey stood me in good stead: I jumped out of the way over and over.

But like the goalie who finally misses a puck after repeated hammering, Charity did finally kick over the bucket. What didn't spill on the ground I poured on her back. Not that that helped anything.

Phil took the milk pail to rinse, and she actually started to stand for me so I could do two hands at once (rather than one hand milking, one hand swinging the bucket out of the way when she kicked). Maybe the spilled milk actually did help a bit? It was an intense period: cow quivering in fear and shock, me growing more tired physically from bending and jumping aside. Then the existential angst began: why am I on this farm? I hate cows! (I don't really, I don't think. I always think that in the painful first milking attempt.) What more pleasant things could I be doing with this time?

But I kept the crazy in check! And we had a quart of milk in the end. As much as my mind tried to tell me that I didn't really care about not having milk, the boys were pretty thrilled to have some to drink.

The afternoon milking went better. Phil started off, as the end goal is that he would do the milking. He hasn't ever been able to hand milk before, and we don't have a permanent set up for milking machine (or even just a stanchion where the cow would be immobilized), but he managed to get out about a quart. I had brought a jar for him to pour the milk into, so if the cow did kick over the bucket, not as much would be spilled.

I finished off, and although it took longer than I'd prefer, Charity had a good, strong let down, and gave a full gallon. (Her calf had been eating on a teat through the fence while Phil was milking, so maybe Charity could give a bit more.)

Phil put up crown molding and baseboards in several more rooms. He has several more days of trim yet to go.

Built-In Bookcase Almost Done

Phil had a long day of interesting labor on Saturday. He said once that he became a structural engineer because he didn't want to have tolerances of sixteenths of an inch. If he was going to make a mistake, he wanted to be able to see it. So I wasn't sure if he would enjoy the precision necessary to cabinetry. But he told me he was having a good time.

He had to run to Scottsville first thing this morning. They were having a nice sale, and he came home tickled that he spent only about half what he had intended. By noon, he was close to being done with the uprights.

By the end of the day, apparently the top had gone a bit out of level, so, with just the facing on the end yet to do, he decided to wait to actually finish.

Until the built-ins are done and the trim in place, the space will remain covered with a fine coating of sawdust and wood chips. It gets on our socks and into the sleeping bags and sheets. Phil wakes up hardly able to breathe from the gunk in his nasal cavity. And the boys are supposed to stay away from the construction equipment.

This morning I was looking for clothes that fit Caleb (he has plenty, but I wanted something he hasn't worn often), and I came across the long stockings and hat that a friend made for him.

It ended up getting up into the upper sixties today, so he didn't need the extra warmth, but what a trendy little guy he was in that moment.

February 19, 20, 21: Trim

At least one of us has made a trip to town six days this week. Church and groceries Sunday; furniture shopping Monday; trim shopping and an evening meeting for Phil Tuesday; early morning strategy session for Phil Wednesday (I was in bed when he got home at 1am early Wednesday morning, and I hadn't gotten up yet when he left at o'dark thirty a few hours later); early morning Bible study Thursday morning with another stop for supplies and Bible study in the evening; haircut for me today.

I'm thankful we don't usually go through a tank of gas every four days. Phew!

Wednesday was a day of prep. Last week, we had figured we were just about done with the interior, so Phil sorted out bits and pieces and tools and brought them to the barn. He had to bring them all back down. And he hasn't done much trim work in his life, so he had to look into that.

Abraham had asked if we could read The Chronicles of Narnia. Since we're wrapping up our study of the ancients and preparing to move into the Middle Ages, we read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Thursday got off to a great start. I had made a list of subjects for the older boys, and they worked through them. Phil arrived home to find seven cows grazing up in the orchard. (Some had, apparently, also gone into the barn, where they devoured the dogs' dog food. Cows are supposed to be herbivores, not lamb and chicken kibble eaters!) The boys and I helped drive them back into their pen.

Phil had mentioned that I had a lot of dead bees in front of one hive. I knocked on the hive while I was out there and, instead of the reassuring hum, I heard something move. I'm assuming a mouse or several mice moved in during the last cold snap. I took off the lid and there were still bees there, but, oh, what a bummer. I have put the mouse guards on in the past in September or October, but this last year, with Caleb's birth in early October, I didn't get there. This is my fourth spring of trying bees, and I have yet to have any honey. Argh!

Phil's exciting progress for the day was that he trimmed out a window. Now, instead of waterproofing and foam insulation, I see wood. Very lovely. One down; four windows and two doors to go.

Today I headed out at 9:45 for a haircut. I dropped Caleb off at a friend's house, the first time I've been more than a room or two away from him since his birth (oh, my separation anxiety). I went to an Aveda salon for the first time, and the little massage beforehand, and the shampoo ... ahhh. I had a major haircut in my mom's house last year, but I guess I haven't had a haircut at a salon since moving here.

Between the drive there and back, the haircut, and a quick lunch when I picked up Caleb, it was over four hours before I made it home again. Phil was finishing up the trim on another window.

He had entertained a guest while I was away (I love it when people drop by unannounced! It makes me feel extra loved, and approachable!), but had still made progress. Then he got started on built-in bookcases. I am looking forward to their completion.

We spent about an hour outside trying to get Charity ready for milking. Phil had separated her calf earlier in the day. She was one scary and scared cow, but we eventually managed to corral her, then grab her lead rope. To keep her at all under control, we wrapped the lead rope around a T-post. She was strong enough, she made good progress towards pulling the T-post out of the ground. Phil somehow was brave enough to enter the pen with her and put on a halter. I don't know how he did it, but he was like the cow whisperer. She didn't move the entire time he was doing that, though one powerful swipe upwards and she could have harmed him with her horns.

Phil tied her to a different T-post then, and let her fight with the T-post. She still didn't want to settle down. Her baby is corralled apart from her overnight. We hope that by tomorrow she will be more tractable.

Besides a haircut and some cow wrangling, the boys and I read two books today in the delightful Gerald Morris series of Knight's Tales for young children. (Some years back we read the 10-book cycle by Morris for middle grade readers, The Squire's Tales. I love those more than I can say, but the boys laugh out loud at the Knight's Tales; a charming set of four.)

And in a bit of personal pleasure, on Wednesday I played through the first two pages of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata," and Thursday I played through the second two pages. Today I played all the way through for the first time! I didn't do it quickly, and I didn't do it with great feeling, but, in a rudimentary way, I did it!

Pirogi and a Wingback

Caleb's digestion has not calmed down entirely, so for the first time ever in my parenting, I find myself up at 4am and then simply awake. He only fussed for perhaps an hour this morning, but I'm not used to my babies fussing. That's the third time in the last week that I've had about four hours of sleep, and then just a nap later in the day. There are a few hours where I feel the brain fog, but the rest of the time, I'm oddly awake. I doubt this state of high energy can last long, but for the moment, I'll enjoy the extra few hours a day of productivity. There's certainly enough to do!

The boys helped Phil castrate a calf this morning. Of the two babies born last week, one was female and one was male. Were four boys necessary? I doubt it. But they were eager to help.

I have been looking for a loveseat for six months. A sofa is too long for the space (not to mention a full set!), but a loveseat should work well. There has been nothing that has caught my eye, so on President's Day Phil and I finally decided to go shopping. (The many inches of unmelted snow meant that little would happen around the farm anyway. It was a good day to get out.) I don't think I'd ever been to a furniture store before, usually preferring hand-me-downs or Craigslist finds, but it was quite fun.

Perhaps my favorite moment was when Abraham looked at a wingback chair and said, "Look! That's what Tristan would fall asleep in!" We've been reading James Herriot's All Creatures Great and Small as we drive around town, and one of the characters did, indeed, fall asleep in a wingback chair. At the time, I don't know that the boys had ever seen such a chair in real life, so I'm pleased that our verbal description carried over into real life.

Home again, I made lasagna for the first time in Virginia. Sadly, I was also making Pad Thai for a late lunch, and by dividing my attention that way, I managed to overcook the noodles for both dishes. My frustration with both semi-ruined meals and the incredible number of dirty dishes was soothed by Phil voluntarily cleaning the dishes. It was the worst night for it yet, but he pressed through.

While eating dinner, Phil wondered aloud if it is difficult to make ravioli. The boys didn't know what that was, so we tried to explain, eventually coming up with something like, "It's like a dumpling with the flavors of lasagna."

Then Phil got a faraway expression and said, "Oh! Hmm."

"We could probably figure out a way to do it," I said.

"Do you think so?"

This exchange seemed so natural to him that he wasn't aware that I'd read his mind until I pointed out that I knew he was talking about making pirogis (a Russian dumpling) based solely on his expression and the general subject matter. Then he was quite impressed.

Speaking of food, Joe created a little set up with his stuffed animals. The large gorilla is eating multi-colored spaghetti. The tiger is eating a vanilla ice cream cone. And the little black gorilla on the end has a bowl of friend monkeys.

Today Phil designed built-in bookshelves and calculated and designed the trim for windows and doors. That is the next step. And he went up to do a major shopping trip. I think he figured he needed 42 8' sections of wood just to trim out the doors and windows! Add to that the baseboards and the crown molding: that's a major haul.

February 16: A Brief Thought on Animal Husbandry

Right after midnight Phil went out to check on the "imminent" cow. Imminence had finally come to fruition, and the newborn calf was lying, waiting, while the mama delivered the afterbirth.

Phil and I stayed up another hour, waiting to check her again. An hour later, she had just finished delivering the afterbirth, and stood up as we approached.

The calf, we were chagrined to see, was not on hay, as we had thought, but on snow. The poor baby was shivering pitifully, still fairly wet from the birthing fluids in the 20-something degree chill. Poor baby. Phil carried it up to the cowshed, kicked the other mama and baby out, and I did my best to dry and warm the calf with a towel, while Phil tried to corral the confused mama into the pen. She could not figure out where her baby went.

We locked them in together for the night. I didn't strip teats, I didn't make sure the baby ate, I didn't even finish drying the calf off. Phil's perspective continues to be: let them do their thing. So rather than try to find colostrum, rather than try to get my hands on a cow for the first time, instead we just let them alone, sheltered and confined.

It was after 1am, and we were going to bed. Would we find a dead calf in the morning? Possibly. But, as Phil said, if I hadn't checked her, we wouldn't have known till morning, and the calf has a better shot in the sheltered pen than on the snow.

As I was falling asleep, I thought about this. When we first moved here, every birth was a big event. I would go out, observe however much I could, follow the instructions of the books: supplements, toweling off, tutoring to the teat. We still had a good many lambs die.

Because we believed God had told us to start a farm, I expected we would be like Jacob, whose herds multiplied amazingly under his care. So animal births and subsequent deaths struck not only at my confidence as a competent caregiver, but at my connection with God. (I'm not saying it should have, but if I'm being honest, it did.)

That's a far cry from now. We're happy enough for animal births. But if the calf died in the night, well, we did what we felt was prudent and manageable, and that is either enough or not.

It's a little odd to have a birth be such a blase event. And yet, I think it's actually more emotionally healthy. That seems a conundrum, a curiosity.

Happily, the baby bull was standing and vigorously nursing in the morning, so the minimal efforts we expended proved sufficient.

And on a completely different note, Phil made a tent town for the boys after church. Not only did it use our comforters and blankets, but all the kitchen chairs as well. They had a good time inside!

Joe then came up with a different idea. He acted out Christian, from Pilgrim's Progress. First burdened.

Then free!

February 15: Stiff Neck

Phil had a stiff neck when he woke on Saturday. In a few hours, it had grown so painful that when he turned his head, it triggered a horrible migraine.

I have been keeping track, and that is the ninth day this year that he has been incapacitated. If he worked five hour weeks, that would be almost a third of 2014 that he has been out. Major stink, too, that being sick isn't a fun reason not to be working. If I wanted to take two weeks off, I'd rather have time to travel or time to myself.

What triggered this headache? Was it too much exhaust inhalation up in the barn the day before? He ran the tractor for some time. Was it just a muscular issue? Is the air quality in the house or on our bed so bad?

I have no idea.

I have listened to about five hours of homeopathy lectures while I cooked and cleaned this week. One of the salient questions is the question of health. Homeopathic theory says something lovely like, "The freedom mentally, emotionally, and physically to be the best you that you can be." And I think that's lovely. But the lecture this week was even more simple. "Do you have a feeling of well-being when you get up in the morning?"

That was an interesting question. I would say that in the last few weeks, I've started to not have disturbing dreams about mishaps in airports. So that is good. But on all those mornings that I had bad dreams, I did not have a feeling of well-being, but rather a feeling of dread.

Phil said something surprising. "I wake up with a stuffy head every morning. And every morning I wonder if it will develop into a migraine or if, through using the neti pot and getting outside and not working too long on the computer, if he will be able to avoid the headache.

I had no idea. That is not freedom physically. I need to study more, as quickly as I can, and figure out what to do for him.

While Phil was having a hard time, Caleb, too, was having a hard time. He had a few bowel movements daily from birth, until two weeks ago he suddenly just stopped one day. Five days later, he had one. Five days after that, he still hadn't gone again.

Online sources suggested that once a week poop is not uncommon. Breastmilk is a perfect infant food, and his body is clearly growing well, so it's not overly surprising that he would absorb virtually all the nutrients.

But he suddenly went from calm and content to absolutely shrieking in pain, frantic, horrible, grating screams.

After a little warm water enema (a few teaspoons only) and some Nux vomica to aid digestion, he pooped some (not as much as I would expect for such an intense response), then fell asleep. I was worried I would be awake all night, but he only woke once with that scream. Another dose of Nux vomica, another untroubled sleep.

Year Summaries Dredge Up Unpleasant Memories

An older woman recently mentioned that she writes a yearly summary, just for herself, sort of like an old-style Christmas newsletter, but for her own pleasure and memory.

I liked that idea. I do an annual farm retrospective, but that's not really a full-life picture. Where did we go camping when I was a girl? Who were my friends? Have a page or two of highlights annually, and that's a nice little life summary.

Since I have three years of digital calendars, I started with 2013 and worked backwards. It was pretty fun to do 2013. Many months of morning sickness, but also a trip in January for Gramps's 90th birthday and a trip in December with a magical day at Sea World. A year bookended with celebratory trips, plus a new baby, a new building. Fabulous.

And then I did 2012. We went and saw Beauty and the Beast in the theater in January. Oh, right. Because Isaiah's beloved pet duck had been eaten by the neighbor dog. It was raining that day, too. Then we had the calf die, the chicks die, the bull die. And we closed out the year with Phil taking an unwanted break to wait for his strained ligaments to heal.

Just recording the basics of that year dropped me down emotionally. That's right--I had basically despaired before I went to get a constitutional remedy from a homeopath.

It took me a few days before I was ready to even think about 2011. That was a crummy year, too. We started with the frantic push to try to get a full-service farm up in six months, selling beef, pork, chicken, dairy, eggs, vegetables, maybe even fruit. But January was spent trying to get the truck working and ordering many things in bulk. May was looking good. And by early July, we'd had a Jersey cow go from five gallons a day to dead; our egg-layers stop laying due (we think) to a virus introduced by the new chicks; a few dozen broilers almost ready for the freezer killed by a neighbor dog; hundreds of tomato plants set fruit once and die. Then the freezer conked out with several thousand dollars worth of pork that we gave away. And we spent the latter part of the year trying to pick up the pieces from the January buying spree. None of the 1000 raspberries fruited. None of the 100 blackberries fruited. Phil loves his big blue barn, but, wow, that year had its share (and maybe more) of disappointments and heart ache.

After feeling down for a couple of days, I mentioned to Phil that I don't feel like I've really healed from those years. If I think about them, I'm still really sad. Just saying that made me tear up.

"Why do you get teary?" was Phil's question. (This asked not in a snarky, mean way, but more the way a counselor might ask it, a thoughtful, tell me more question.)

That was clarifying for me. I think I had been walking around with this vague sense of amorphous yuck, this lack of resolution for a few years of deep disappointments and a whole lot of deaths.

I have been reading Timothy Keller's Encounters with Jesus. He talks about Jesus going to the tomb of Lazarus, and how, when he gets there he is, as is translated, "deeply moved."

But this verse contains a Greek word that means "to bellow with anger".... Jesus is absolutely furious. He's bellowing with rage--he is roaring. Who or what is he angry at?...

Dylan Thomas was right: "Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Jesus is raging against death. He doesn't say, "Look, just get used to it. Everybody dies. That's the way of the world. Resign yourself." No, he doesn't do that. Jesus is looking squarely at our greatest nightmare—the loss of life, the loss of loved ones and of love—and he's incensed. He's mad at evil and suffering."

It is hard for me to put into words how well-timed it was for me to read that, just as I had been contemplating the years of death that we have had. It isn't a sign that I am not a strong enough person if I'm still upset when I think of Isaiah's tears when his duck died. That was a horrible thing. It's okay to rage. Jesus did, too.

So why did I get teary? Because in those years, I was thrust into a deeper understanding of death, death piled on death. But I think it feels restorative enough, at least for today, to remember that Jesus, too, railed against death. And tears, even a few years later, is not an inappropriate response to death.

February 14: A Watched Cow Never Calves

With a warm day, the snow is melting fast. I spent much of the day looking at the imminent heifer's backside. Surely she is in labor. Look at the size of her nether regions! Look at how protruding her back quarters are!

All for naught. Phil said it's been like that for him for the last month.

Phil was back up to the barn early this morning, and worked all day on the mezzanine. I went to see it around 5pm, and he was putting up the decking.

He caught up with us in A Single Shard last night, and then we had to wait until night to find out the ending. Oh! The pain of patience!

Isaiah took advantage of the swiftly melting snow to make a snow cave, just for him.

I took some time in the morning to soak and clean some of the larger Playmobil structures. Most of the pieces are people, but we have an Alpine house and a stable that have been in pieces for a few years. Once cleaned, I managed to find the instructions online for the former, and a photo of the latter. Jadon the good builder back-engineered the stable. And the boys enjoyed the Playmobil all day. For the second night in a row, I let them keep the pieces out overnight.

And Caleb moved into year-old onesies. My other sons would have worn these at about a year, or maybe a little more. Like, this coming October. Caleb is one big, fun baby.

February 13: A Good Day to Be Indoors

About 9:30 last night, I suddenly thought, "I am really coming down with something." I wondered about mastitis, because I was having a bit of that painful-breast feeling, but Phil had been sick on Monday: we assumed it was residual chemical poisoning from his time painting, but maybe it was something else. I took the mastitis remedy Hepar Sulph, but, after five minutes, that felt like it did nothing, so I took Aconite and went to bed immediately.

I also had the baby start to eat in a new way. He has not been very good about latching: if there is any distractions, including if I happen to make eye contact, he breaks off. And in a house of four older boys plus a dad coming and going, sometimes that means he breaks off every seven seconds. So I tried lying on my back and having him eat while draped over me. I wouldn't have thought that would work very well, but it was a great improvement.

I was functional again in the morning. Not fully well, but probably 80%.

While I slept off my sickness, Phil had sat up late, tending the fire, wanting to ensure that, if the power did go out, we would be warm enough. He was concerned for the cows, too, and headed out with headlamp, apparently, to check on them. They had moved en masse out of view. He found them under protection by the trees, with icicles hanging from their sides.

We had no power outage, but Phil's day was spent in unusual ways: clearing off the roof of the calf pen, so it didn't collapse on mother and baby; bringing a hay bale to the cows through almost a foot of snow. That wasn't easy, but he managed. It took a long, long time. Thawing the water line with a blow torch.

He also watched a free movie online, Back to Eden, about gardening with wood chips. We talked about what it would take to get us from our quartet of buildings (two storage trailers, RV, and white barn) to just a duet (one trailer and the RV). We have a good amount of clean up, and we'd need space cleared in the blue barn for the five small deep-freezes, but once those are moved out of the white barn, whatever is left could be shuffled between trailer and blue barn. Imagine: the industrial-looking compound might start to revert back to nature, at least a bit!

The boys headed out to play in the snow. We'd had perhaps a foot, but it wasn't terribly wet snow. It was dry enough that the gentle wind had kept the tree branches clear.

We haven't had a good, deep snow since the first winter we were here. After four years, I have no idea where the snow pants might be, or even if we still have them. So the boys played just in pants. Those got wet.

Abraham made a snowman, with little twig arms and cool dude sunglasses.

Isaiah worked on ever larger snowballs.

Jadon worked on a large snowman.

I think he got carried away and the two enormous snowballs he made would have been impossible to lift without a forklift.

Ah, well. Good effort.

After perhaps an hour, they were soaked and cold and ready to come in. And what a wonderful treat awaited them.

For years I have been looking forward to sharing Linda Sue Parks's marvelous book A Single Shard with the boys. Finally it is time. We read all day, and as I read, I wiped off Playmobil pieces. Back when the condensation made boxes and boxes of toys mold, I moved the Playmobil up to the trailer. I couldn't handle looking at the green fuzz and dirty spots covering island and people.

Abraham has been asking for the Playmobil, though. His astounding logging set was unharmed, and he has used that multiple times to create elaborate tableau. (The bunny sits on the truck, standing guard, while other bunnies and a badger steal sausages, while the logger sips coffee unaware. That sort of thing.) He longs for a larger scope for storytelling.

I had considered dumping them all in the tub and letting the boys deal with the myriad small pieces. Instead, I took a vinegar-soaked washcloth and wiped them down, piece by piece.

This ended up being more fun than I expected. After four years in a dusty trailer, in an open box, played with on a dirty carpet, the Playmobil had turned dingy. A good wipe down made many of them shiny and nice again. It allowed me to appreciate how few pieces actually broke. And the slow, piece by piece re-introduction allowed the boys to have pleasure continually all day. Each horse was added to the corral in turn. The island gradually was re-populated with pirates, soldiers, and lush greens.

I am only perhaps half done, but that is more progress than I would have expected.

In other news, I finally decided that a computer for the boys to share is unlikely to be forthcoming in the near future, so I loaded a typing program a few days ago. I resisted teaching the boys to type while they were young (some concern about the ergonomics of using an adult keyboard with little fingers), but I think the older two are ready.

They are loving Typing Instructor so much that there is a constant vie for my computer. If I'm not working or watching homeopathy lectures, and Phil isn't researching something farm-related, the brothers ask hopefully if they can practice typing. They aren't always thrilled about alternating, and I've tried to make sure that they do not compete with one another (a threat to pull permission for a month for any offender proved quite effective), but my computer is getting a good workout these days.

February 12: Preppers for Snow

Phil has been watching heifer backsides. We have one that is set to give birth imminently, and another that could go pretty soon.

The "pretty soon" heifer delivered this morning. Phil was surprised. Apparently we have become quite the lackadaisical farmers—we separated mother and calf, but didn't check the calf to find out gender. I have been trying to follow Phil's lead, too, in trusting the cows to know what to do. The baby, born sometime before dawn on this cold, cold day, was shivering, though mostly dried off. I don't want a baby of any type to be shivering. And yet, if the mothers purposefully deliver in snow to avoid predation, on some level, the mothers must know what to do.

It's always a relief, though, to see the baby nurse.

Phil again spent the day in the barn, building a mezzanine. Snow had been predicted for the last three days, and although we haven't seen any snow here (other than a paper-thin dusting), the snow started falling heavily by 4pm, and, with the cold weather, started sticking immediately. Phil drove the van to the top of the driveway. He brought down firewood. I filled water jars. I made bread enough for a few days. Phil filled the tub. We got the humanure buckets ready. And we brought up the heifer that is set to deliver "immimently." If she delivers tonight, I don't want to be wandering around in the snow looking for her.

The forecasters say the snow will be heavy, and we should expect to lose power. We are happy to be so well-provided for: wood-burning stove in place, water ready, propane stove in the RV if needed. Piano, books, art, school work ... plenty to do.

After the first art lesson with Abraham felt a bit like a bust (since he was used to drawing whatever he wanted, to draw something on command was a bit of a shock), he must have been bored enough today to be willing to try again. The second lesson involved watercolor paper and watercolor crayons. These are a cool art medium, in which the artist colors a picture with special crayons, and goes back over with a paintbrush, which makes the crayons bleed into watercolor. Very cool.

The first attempt ended almost in tears. The instructions said to draw something first with pencil, then color it with these crayons. So Abraham did a typical intricate picture, but felt confounded in the coloring part.

How to instruct in a different medium, when I am not an artist myself? Eek! I ended up having him start over, and suggested he think large patches of color. Confidence restored, he liked the second picture, and did numerous others. (I was glad I started him off with half sheets of watercolor paper. Easier to fill, and easier to put into an album, if need be.) For those not as intimately connected with our life, this is his Beanie Baby Rocky the dog, on his sleeping bag, on his bunk bed in the dark paneled storage trailer. Out the window he could see the blue barn, the sky, and the late afternoon sun.

The third lesson was on how artists observe carefully. The instructions were to find some natural items and draw them. Abraham found a couple of twigs, a leaf, and a shell. He liked the way the shell looked when partially covered by the leaf, so he did some composition.

And then he drew!

February 11: Book Sucks Phil In

Phil overheard the boys and I reading The Bronze Bow, a story set in Capernaum during Christ's ministry. The book does a beautiful job showing the conflicts between zealots, Romans, Christ-followers, Jews. Phil started it yesterday and then couldn't put it down, confessing this morning that he had been up until the wee hours.

He spent the day starting to put up a mezzanine in the barn. We have some extra materials from building, and so he designed some second story space, cleared away stuff, pounded the dirt, and set posts.

I have been trying to figure out the best schedule. I think I found today that if I get up and get the boys fed and started with their schoolwork, that is best. Then, when Caleb naps around midday, I work, and pick up with the boys again after Caleb wakes up.

My new homeopathy course arrived today. I finished a year of study through a school in England back in September, but I'm starting again at a school in the States. I felt like I had to do too much translating, both culturally and in thought patterns. I am not a British Buddhist dyslexic. I was at one point a female Boulderite, though, and the new school is based in Boulder. So if I don't have to translate everything I'm learning, I'll be happy. And, after a three month break, I am ready to start studying again.

February 10: "Poem" by William Carlos Williams

As the cat
climbed over
the top of

the jamcloset
first the right
forefoot

carefully
then the hind
stepped down

into the pit of
the empty
flower pot

168 Hours: You Have More Time Than You Think

I recently read Laura Vanderkam's insightful 168 Hours. She builds the case that we have more time than we think we do. A week has 168 hours. If you sleep a full 8 hours a night (56 hours) and work a full 40 hours, there are 72 more hours for you to enjoy each week.

So why feel harried?

She suggests tracking your time for a week. (I made and Excel spreadsheet and tracked by hour.) It was an interesting exercise.

I get a lot done in a normal week. I usually work 20 hours for pay; I homeschool the boys; I prepare food for seven from scratch. I think at times I fall into a bit of a pity party that I find time to read for fun only on Sundays. (Of course, part of my job is to read and review books, so it's not like I'm devoid of reading the other six days.)

What fascinated me, in the week I recorded my time, is that I managed 13 hours cleaning up our storage and sorting stuff. That's not a recurring task; where did those 13 hours come from? And if I have those hours buried somewhere, why not use them better?

Vanderkam suggests that focus on our leisure time. Some fraction, possibly a large percentage, of those 168 hours is leisure time. She has a list of 100 Dreams, perhaps a bit different from a bucket list. What do you want to do with your life?

I think it would be fun to write a book someday. I still have no narrative arch, but for now, I blog to practice writing. Now that the piano is back, I long to be able to sit and play, well, hymns to begin with, but Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach one of these days. So I can take some of those 168 hours, maybe just three a week, and gradually work towards greater musical proficiency.

At some point, I think it would be fun to try the violin. (I do realize that introductory violin is probably not actually fun, but I'm curious.) I want to be a certified homeopath. At some point after that, I want to study a multi-year herbalist course. Flowers from my (not yet started) garden during all the growing months, or maybe, with (not yet covered) greenhouses, year round. Maybe learn to sing. Have people over regularly.

Those don't seem like pipe dreams any more. They seem like possibilities.

Assorted Thoughts

A young lady from our church heard a request from an elderly blind lady: "Please come paint my apartment." Phil has a servant's heart. He, along with a few friends, headed out to do that on Saturday. He was away from well before nine until after five. He served someone he didn't know in the name of Christ. It's something he does.

The boys heard about The Lego Movie on Thursday. "Can we go see it, Mom?"

"I don't know. Let me think about it."

Five minutes later: "Do you think we can see it?"

Bless them. After the fact, I can see that this was the only idea they could think about, that their imagination was fired and there was no putting it out. And the fact that, after five minutes of patiently waiting, I had not also been thinking and coming up with an answer ... I think they were as patient as they could be. As for me, I figured I would not have any peace until we agreed. Grandpa had given Jadon some money so he could take the family to a movie (we had no idea). So the four older boys and Phil went and watched it, and Caleb and I spent a restful few hours in the car in the parking lot. I talked on the phone (full signal!) and made baby faces at the baby and read a book. I felt like I could have used even more time just sitting in the car. That would have been fine by me.

***

Speaking of patience (which the boys didn't show), a friend mentioned recently that she could not sing a line of a song, "Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander / And my faith will be made stronger / In the presence of my Savior." "Every time I've prayed that prayer, it's been a really painful time. Things are pretty good right now. I think I'd rather not rock the boat." I almost laughed out loud at that and said, "Well, I've prayed for patience, and haven't seen much evidence of that in my life!"

Then I stopped and realized, hmm. Maybe I do still want things to move faster. On the other hand, I spent almost four and a half years in a little construction trailer. Maybe I have more patience than I give myself credit for.

***

Speaking of where we live, I've been thinking lately about dwelling places. I suppose it may be human nature to want to feel like, "Hey, I made a good choice." I think back to our suburban home in Boulder, in an upper middle class neighborhood, surrounded, to some extent, by friends and culture and nature and family. As I say sometimes, "There was nothing in our life that was wrong. And so we moved to make life a little harder."

And I cannot imagine living there yet. How fierce the joy to wake to the sunrise, knowing that the day holds as much as I can do, but no more and no less.

How strange to look back, through almost half a decade, and feel so utterly content with the choice to leave.

***

Which is not to say that I think the days going forward will be easy. As Phil (sort of) nears the end of his major project for the last 18 months, what is next on the horizon? Is there anything actually profitable that he can do, that fits with our passions and preferences? We can hope so, although we don't see it yet.

February 7: A Mouse in a Bucket

I woke up to a strange drumming. Was the dog's tail hitting the door?

No. Phil had brought in a few buckets of firewood, and left the mostly empty buckets at the edge of the island, waiting to bring more wood down.

Staring up at me from on the collection of bits of bark was a large mouse.

From the evidence of droppings all over my counters, the mouse had not been trapped in the bucket all night.

EWWW!

How did the mouse come in? Was it a stowaway in the buckets of firewood? When Phil went down into the crawlspace to do some plumbing and left the hatch open, did the mouse find its way up? Did it hitch a ride on the box of flooring?

None of these scenarios seem plausible, even as the idea that the mouse somehow tried to make a flying leap off the island and, oops, ended up in the bucket doesn't seem plausible.

In any case, I was glad to put the bucket outside. Phil eventually called Shadow to come and get the mouse. I know Shadow played with it, but last I saw, the mouse was not yet dead. Perhaps it will return at some point. I hope not.

The boys and I finished a third of the school schedule today. That's not as far as I might wish, but considering that I read aloud history, read-alouds, and most of the readers as well (Abraham listens in and doesn't want to miss anything), I don't think we're doing too badly. Not to mention having a baby and moving since the school year began.

I took my first shower under the new showerhead.

And Phil spent the day in general clean up. We have one area that has been dedicated to construction materials, from plumbing bits to waterproofing and the shop vac. As the months have passed, his boxes of "roofing" or "plumbing" or "electrical" have gotten mixed, or strewn about. He spent the day sorting, in the never ending fight against the second law of thermodynamics.

February 6: A Long Day of Waiting in a Waiting Room

Phil's big Christmas present was three seasons of Duck Dynasty. He tells me that they are just as funny the second time through. The boys presumably agree with him.

Jadon has taken to making duck call sounds, a grating, non-syllabic, guttural sound. I had a night with a lot of wakings by various sons, and at one point I walked by the boys' bedroom and heard a duck call. Jadon was calling in his sleep.

Phil spent twelve hours in Charlottesville today. Our van is about to hit 100,000 miles. The automatic door gave out sometime this last fall, and the other door requires an unlatch from the inside before wrenching open the outside. With five sons in the back, having no doors that readily open is a safety hazard. We really should have dealt with this months ago, but the time got away from us (and we only take the boys out and about as a family one day a week; it's easy to overlook something so infrequent).

What a mercy we received. To have the doors taken apart, repaired, and reassembled was several thousand dollars. But Toyota basically had an extended warranty available (something like a recall), so most of the repair was covered.

I think Phil was worn out by most of a day in a repair shop waiting room, but how lovely to have a safe van again.

After a few days of trying to persuade the boys that learning scales is really fun!, the older two appeared to actually believe me today. At one point, I was holding Caleb over the sink, hoping he would pee (early potty training). Joe and Abraham were laughing. Isaiah was doing something he enjoyed. And Jadon was practicing the piano. It was so domestic, busy and blissful.

I uncovered my flute as I continue to unpack. I played for about fifteen minutes, and then longed to just spend hours playing the flute or the piano, something that required creativity and produced music. It's like my soul is craving music.

At one point while I was growing up, I was debating whether to buy some classical CDs. My mom said something like, "Buy them now, because once you're married and have children, you'll have neither time nor money for such things." Advances in technology aside, there is a lot of truth to that. I don't have an abundance of spare time or cash. I might want to practice the piano for an hour a day now, but that's not practical. The boys have the ability to practice that much, but do they have the desire?

February 5: Mr. Fix-It

Phil has been playing Mr. Fix-It. I love that the honey-do list is shrinking rapidly.

He finished the transition from floor to tile, so expertly that it needs no extra transition piece.

We have an access hatch in the bedroom for the crawlspace. The crawlspace has seen plenty of action, and so a large space at the bedroom entry has been left cork underlayment and plywood. Pretty nasty to walk on, but not a high priority fix.

To finish that one spot required taking up the floor in half the room. So we moved the bed and dresser and assorted piles, and Phil figured out how to finish the floor.

He put the final knob on his dresser.

He fixed the wardrobe door, broken these last four years. What a thrill!

And he's been researching greenhouses.

To keep himself mentally alert, Phil listened to something fun. When I was a college student, Don and Wendy Everts were my mentors, and some of my favorite people. Don has written several well-received books, and he speaks on occasion on how to minister to the post-modern generation. Phil randomly, happily, came across some lectures online, and he played them while he worked. It has been a joy to hear Don's voice again.

I finished watching the Piano for Quitters DVD. The instructor taught the various chords, and said that all music is based on these simple patterns. It was fascinating then to look up online Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier. The Prelude begins, yes, with a broken C chord, and goes on from there. A page that looks like an overwhelming amount of sixteenth notes should, I think, eventually resolve into fairly easy patterns to play.

How excellent to have the internet, where sheet music and recordings are available at any time.

February 3 and 4: Small Tasks Creatively Done

We woke to rain. Which means mud. Phil took advantage of the weather to spend a little extra time with the boys. When Abraham showed signs of boredom, I got out an art program. He was not sure he liked the idea of doing an instructional assignment, and his eventual production was a grumpy pianist, practicing.

That made me laugh a bit. I instituted half hour practices, and the older two boys had to start scales and work with chords. Will this method work? We will see.

When the rain let up, Phil headed out to fix the internet. It took him hours, but he finally isolated the issue and, hooray, I had connection again.

Phil then worked on a few little things: he extended the spout on the bathtub, so the water isn't inclined to flow out the drainage hole. He and Isaiah put additional wood screws in the table, and now it is more stable than it has been for some time. He spent some hours installing a toilet. It's not connected yet, but it is in place, so we can see how it will look, roughly.

So, despite the rain, he had a productive day.

On Tuesday, Phil decided to move some piles of wood into the barn to let it dry off after all the rain. Our wood stove goes through maybe two five-gallon buckets of wood a day, which seems pretty efficient to me. He startled a good many mice, but thankfully it is not the season for snakes.

I had cured about thirteen pounds of bacon recently. We experimented with the best way to cook it. The stovetop is not the best. In the end, we figured a broiler pan, under the broiler, was the best option. Cooking up a third of the bacon, at least initially, means that Phil will have bacon for eggs almost ready for the rest of the week.

Phil designed and made the overhead shower curtain holder out of copper pipe. That took a lot of soldering!

Then he needed to figure out how to get the shower head to be positioned well, too.

And then, done, we have a functional shower in a unique design.

Isaiah figured out a way to make his spelling/handwriting practice more fun. He wrote the sentence I dictated, "The bride has a long dress." Then added, "I am glad I do not have one." He included such silly comments for every sentence, and commented several times how pleasant handwriting was today.

Caleb figured out something, too. He figured out he has feet.

February 2: One of the Sea-Sick Ones

About a month late, here is our annual "around the first of the year" photo, with boys ages 0, 5, 7, 10, 11.

I left Phil with the boys when I headed to church. Phil had been soaking while they headed to bed, and I didn't have the heart to rush four boys through the bathing process before 9:45. I relished my leisurely bath; they could have the same thrill throughout the morning.

That ended up being a good choice. When I talked to Phil at noon, he said they had just gotten clean. And, yes, each child had left his own ring around the tub.

Endearingly, not only had 5-year-old Joe played with the stackable tub toys. So had 7-year-old Abraham. And 10-year-old Isaiah.

They all had their natural skin tones on their hands! Their feet were pink, and not orange! I wasn't sure it was possible, but it was!

We all headed out in the afternoon to visit with friends and watch the Superbowl. As former Coloradans, I was cheering for the Broncos. Phil, a USC alum, was torn: cheer for the SeaHawks, with their former USC coach Pete Carroll? Or cheer for our former home team?

I have a fun memory of the first time the Broncos went to the Superbowl, in early 1998. I was in college at the University of Colorado and the game was a good game. Meaning, it was close, and tense, and the teams were evenly matched. My friend, a true fan, yelled at the screen, "If the Broncos don't win, we're all going to die!"

Then she paused, thought about what she'd just yelled, and said, more quietly, "Someday."

I couldn't stomach the game today. I missed the opening kickoff, but when I got downstairs after a minute, and saw the points from the safety ... boo.

Happily for me, we were having a little Amy birthday celebration, too.

Incredibly, our friends had 35 candles even, so I got to blow them out!

Carrot cake, chili, conversation with friends ... I had a good time.

Even if I do feel mildly Sea-Sick.