The Jawbone of a Pig

One of the most fun things about teaching the boys the Bible is that they get allusions. When I woke this morning, after boiling my pig's head for about 14 hours, it was no trouble at all to get the jawbone free. And what a massive bone it was! Samson killed 1000 Philistines with the jawbone of an ass (Judges 15:15), so I went into the house and asked Jadon, "Have you seen any Philistines nearby? I have a jawbone of a pig ready."

"Ha, ha," said Jadon, flatly. But I think his smirk betrayed that he was actually more amused than he let on. I mean, not every mom comes in with a pig's jawbone before breakfast.

Isaiah lost his fourth tooth yesterday, making two open spaces in his upper jaw. I had him pose with the jawbone for scale.

And then gave Bitsy the bone. Phil wonders sometimes what the dog eats, since she doesn't consume much of her dogfood. I'm pretty sure she survives on the softened bones from our chickens and pigs, and tomatoes from our graden. Not a bad diet.

Isaiah had picked me a flower to bless me and show me love, a beautiful present. It is from a noxious weed, bindweed, which grows with shocking speed, sending tendrils everywhere, wrapping trees and bushes. But even bindweed produces a delicate bloom, with a lovely lavender center. Even bindweed, I suppose, deserves a moment of appreciation.

Phil came in shortly after that, holding perhaps a dozen blackberry bushes. The pigs had systematically dug them up. They didn't dig up all they could have. I know what appealed to them in those few bushes. When milking, if the cow stepped in the pail or otherwise sullied the milk, I would pour a few tablespoons on the blackberries as I came up the hill. The boost of calcium is supposed to be good for the plants. Incredibly, a month later, the milk smell is still strong enough to attract the pigs. Or, perhaps, that soil just tastes better.

I hope the plants make it; we'll transplant them into a happier place soon.

Phil spent most of the day working on the greenhouse. Our greenhouse has sides that can roll up, and Phil put up the first of the side supports. Progress there, though, must come to a halt until he saws some more lumber. The greenhouse needs some wood for framing the base and sides.

While he was working, he noticed a smoke smell. By evening, the smell was rather strong. We were heading out for the evening, and I wondered if there would be a homestead waiting for us when we returned. The internet showed no signs of what the smoke might be, but on our return, we read about a 6000 acre fire in southeastern Virginia. Amazing that something so far away could cause a heavy haze to obscure the Blue Ridge Mountains, only a few miles away.

Should a fire come, I have no plan. We can't evacuate a dozen cows, let alone nine pigs, over a hundred chickens, skittish sheep. How did settlers deal with forest fire? How would one fight a homestead fire without running water (for if the electricity stops, the pump stops, too)?

Something I have no control over, and so I leave the farm, as I always must, in the hands of the Creator and Sustainer of life.