We had our first children visitors today. How delightful to see the farm, and the animals, through their eyes. To remember the excitement of holding a chicken, or finding an egg hidden in the hay. Adult visitors tend to be more interested in the workings of the farm; the children were all about the animals (and the trampoline). And our cows were very patient with the quick-moving, excited little ones. I kept thinking, "I prayed for protection today; I hope the animals are listening to their Creator, and don't use their horns untowardly!"
But no problems, and one cow let us pet her back, as she didn't bother to stand up. No accidents with bees, either, despite one little person picking daisies, in happy unconcern, right at the entrance to their hive.
Phil and I moved the sheep this afternoon. The last time he set up fencing for the sheep, he broke one of the new branches off one tree, and the central leader off of another tree. He needed a little help to just keep the netting from snagging on the trees.
The way we rotate the sheep right now is really not sustainable. We were both out there for an hour, so that the sheep could mow a little section of land. "Real" farmers talk about time as money, and how if you spend time doing one thing, you're not doing another. So my stress level increased. As I looked at the trees, too, they continue to have little spots on their leaves, perhaps little "rust" spots. What spray would take care of that? What additional nutrition can we give them? How can we help?
Phil continues to work his way through sheep shearing, as he did another one today. I didn't recognize her, she looked so different. He also tried to encircle the chickens with netting, to keep them in their pen so they will lay eggs in the nesting boxes where we can locate them. Sadly, they all flew out, so we still are missing quite a few eggs (or so we think).
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
We Work with a Will
I got up to make breakfast, and the bucket of eggs that I've been collecting since I returned from my Colorado vacation, the bucket that I haven't wanted to touch because some eggs we found in odd places and don't know how old they are, yes, the bucket of eggs I don't want to sell or give away, that same bucket said, "Empty me!"
So I cracked about 20 dozen eggs, one at a time, onto a plate. If it passed muster, I put it into a Ziploc, and every dozen, I'd put into the freezer. So I have twenty dozen frozen eggs, ready for scrambling.
And I found about six totally rotten ones, and maybe another dozen that were on their way out. Isaiah was with me when I cracked an egg that EXPLODED with toxic fumes. (Not really toxic, but definitely gag-worthy!)
I had naively expected, when starting egg production, that by not washing the protective membrane off the eggs, they would remain in unadulterated, unrefrigerated, happy complete food perfection ... indefinitely.
Well, not really, or at least, not entirely. I would do my best to make sure only the most fresh eggs went off the farm; I made my family eat the older ones. But it does make me wonder—did an older egg slip by my eagle eye? Have gifted rotten eggs exploded across Albemarle County, to the detriment of the "Farm Fresh" movement (and, more to my heart, the Lykosh farm specifically)?
Time will tell.
For now, we have fresh, lovely eggs in our little refrigerator, and unless we know the eggs are only about a day old at collecting, we'll use them ourselves, with great care.
And, should we ever come across the stash of 100 eggs that we know the chickens have laid somewhere in the woods, we shall use them ourselves.
After the great egg-cracking extravaganza, I had to clean my campstove. The rotten egg residue had to go before I would do any food preparation. And besides, it has been 11 months without a good cleaning, and it was time.
Phil assembled our new fly catcher. Although the cows are rotating through the pasture, and I had hoped the chickens would take care of all the flies, that has not happened. So we bought an ugly, industrial-looking structure that, basically, entices flies to hit, then fall into soapy water where they die. I can't say it seems quite as effective as advertised ("kills a pound of flies a day!"), but maybe it'll work better as time passes.
Wonderful neighbor Butch came and scraped our winter paddock into a compost windrow. He first came with his skidsteer, but realized within a few minutes that it did not have enough horsepower. Indeed, he almost had to be towed out! We had almost a foot of compacted manure in spots, and the skidsteer couldn't push that weight uphill.
But, as a man with many tools, he soon returned with a bulldozer.
In the space of an hour, had built a four-foot tall pile, about 48 feet long.
Wow! Phil and I are thrilled! So much lovely manure to turn to compost! I purchased compost last year, and I know how expensive it is. And this will be even better, because besides the bovine microbes, we added biodynamic preps to help it compost well, and some kelp for a full range of elements, and some of our minerals, to bump up the level of awesomeness even more.
Phil figures that the pile will be ready for use this fall. Our garden can grow! Our fertility will improve! The process is starting.
Moving on from the compost pile building, I planted the 16 tomato plants given to me over the weekend. Now I don’t have to wait for my two-inch tall tomato plants to mature. Wonderful!
I harvested potato onions. From 8oz of starters, I had almost six pounds of onions, or a 6 to 1 return. I can’t even fathom what a 100-fold expansion would look like.
I harvest a little more garlic, too. I think I should have watered more, since most heads so far are grocery-store size or smaller. It is good to have a crop, though, even if it’s not perfect.
After harvesting fun, Phil helped me assemble the long-anticipated cold frames. We bought the windows back in March; we picked up old hay bales these last few weeks; the cardboard box as a weed barrier came in early May.
Phil hauled the 50-pound hay bales uphill for me. I’m glad he was there. Then, while he sheared another sheep, I filled the haybales like a lasagna gardening bed: layers of old, moldly hay, peat moss, some bone meal, the old purchased compost from last year; repeat.
After a thorough wetting, I scattered on top three varieties of cabbage, then pressed the seeds to the soil with my bare feet. I pray these seeds grow into many luscious cabbage heads, so that I can make sauerkraut enough to satisfy Phil’s craving every day this winter.
Such a productive day!
So I cracked about 20 dozen eggs, one at a time, onto a plate. If it passed muster, I put it into a Ziploc, and every dozen, I'd put into the freezer. So I have twenty dozen frozen eggs, ready for scrambling.
And I found about six totally rotten ones, and maybe another dozen that were on their way out. Isaiah was with me when I cracked an egg that EXPLODED with toxic fumes. (Not really toxic, but definitely gag-worthy!)
I had naively expected, when starting egg production, that by not washing the protective membrane off the eggs, they would remain in unadulterated, unrefrigerated, happy complete food perfection ... indefinitely.
Well, not really, or at least, not entirely. I would do my best to make sure only the most fresh eggs went off the farm; I made my family eat the older ones. But it does make me wonder—did an older egg slip by my eagle eye? Have gifted rotten eggs exploded across Albemarle County, to the detriment of the "Farm Fresh" movement (and, more to my heart, the Lykosh farm specifically)?
Time will tell.
For now, we have fresh, lovely eggs in our little refrigerator, and unless we know the eggs are only about a day old at collecting, we'll use them ourselves, with great care.
And, should we ever come across the stash of 100 eggs that we know the chickens have laid somewhere in the woods, we shall use them ourselves.
After the great egg-cracking extravaganza, I had to clean my campstove. The rotten egg residue had to go before I would do any food preparation. And besides, it has been 11 months without a good cleaning, and it was time.
Phil assembled our new fly catcher. Although the cows are rotating through the pasture, and I had hoped the chickens would take care of all the flies, that has not happened. So we bought an ugly, industrial-looking structure that, basically, entices flies to hit, then fall into soapy water where they die. I can't say it seems quite as effective as advertised ("kills a pound of flies a day!"), but maybe it'll work better as time passes.
Wonderful neighbor Butch came and scraped our winter paddock into a compost windrow. He first came with his skidsteer, but realized within a few minutes that it did not have enough horsepower. Indeed, he almost had to be towed out! We had almost a foot of compacted manure in spots, and the skidsteer couldn't push that weight uphill.
But, as a man with many tools, he soon returned with a bulldozer.
In the space of an hour, had built a four-foot tall pile, about 48 feet long.
Wow! Phil and I are thrilled! So much lovely manure to turn to compost! I purchased compost last year, and I know how expensive it is. And this will be even better, because besides the bovine microbes, we added biodynamic preps to help it compost well, and some kelp for a full range of elements, and some of our minerals, to bump up the level of awesomeness even more.
Phil figures that the pile will be ready for use this fall. Our garden can grow! Our fertility will improve! The process is starting.
Moving on from the compost pile building, I planted the 16 tomato plants given to me over the weekend. Now I don’t have to wait for my two-inch tall tomato plants to mature. Wonderful!
I harvested potato onions. From 8oz of starters, I had almost six pounds of onions, or a 6 to 1 return. I can’t even fathom what a 100-fold expansion would look like.
I harvest a little more garlic, too. I think I should have watered more, since most heads so far are grocery-store size or smaller. It is good to have a crop, though, even if it’s not perfect.
After harvesting fun, Phil helped me assemble the long-anticipated cold frames. We bought the windows back in March; we picked up old hay bales these last few weeks; the cardboard box as a weed barrier came in early May.
Phil hauled the 50-pound hay bales uphill for me. I’m glad he was there. Then, while he sheared another sheep, I filled the haybales like a lasagna gardening bed: layers of old, moldly hay, peat moss, some bone meal, the old purchased compost from last year; repeat.
After a thorough wetting, I scattered on top three varieties of cabbage, then pressed the seeds to the soil with my bare feet. I pray these seeds grow into many luscious cabbage heads, so that I can make sauerkraut enough to satisfy Phil’s craving every day this winter.
Such a productive day!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Kombucha
Saturday was another workshop on biodynamics. I drove the six hours and had such a refreshing time. I put one CDs of the Psalms and sing, and then I'd feel the urge to pray for a while. Then I'd confess, and sing some more. What a refreshing little mini-retreat.
The class itself had a fascinating lecture, and then an explanation and demonstration of how to crush quartz into a talcum-like powder. This silica is specially treated and sprayed on crops and has many beneficial affects on crops. The demonstration went on a little long for my taste, but overall I had a good time.
We headed up to church this morning, then took an extended lunch break at Chipotle with friends from church. My patient sons, despite having no real entertainment, sat for about two hours. What good boys.
It was over 100 degrees in Charlottesville. We were happy to eat in air conditioning, and then happy to attend Bible study with a group from church; another house with cool air circulating! And so nice to have a little extra time to get to know the beautiful believers we worship with every week.
Before Bible study, we stopped and bought another eight watermelon for the coming week (all eight from last Sunday having been eaten with great joy). And I bought another 106 pounds of sugar; that should last at least this next week. Every cashier I have expresses astonishment at the quantity of sugar I purchase. No kidding.
Some of that sugar has gone to kombucha production. Have you ever had kombucha? It's a health food, a cleansing, detox drink that's naturally fizzy. I like it better than soda, and definitely more than beer, though I think from a "refreshing" standpoint, it could take the place of either. To make it, I bought a couple bottles of GT's kombucha from the health food store. Using GT's as a starter, I added sweet tea and let the mixture sit for about a week. It transforms into a completely different drink. Some day, I suppose, I'll have enough on hand, but for now, all six of us wish we had more.
I've been doubling my production every week (there's a "mother" culture in every bottle of GT's, and as it grows, I can make more), so it won't be long until we have enough for us all every day. Very exciting!
My encouraging thought for today: I've been struggling the last few weeks. But Pastor Bill read from James 1, how the testing of your faith works patience, and patience must finish her work, so you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing. He said, "The scariest place to be is off in the corner where Satan doesn't bother you; it means you're totally ineffectual for God, so powerless that Satan doesn't even have you on his radar."
That was helpful, in some ways, to hear. The frustration and hopelessness I feel is a testing of my faith; but even that will grow something good—patience. And what a relief that even Satan's attacks mean that something good is going on in me and on this farm.
Which is all to say, YAY!
The class itself had a fascinating lecture, and then an explanation and demonstration of how to crush quartz into a talcum-like powder. This silica is specially treated and sprayed on crops and has many beneficial affects on crops. The demonstration went on a little long for my taste, but overall I had a good time.
We headed up to church this morning, then took an extended lunch break at Chipotle with friends from church. My patient sons, despite having no real entertainment, sat for about two hours. What good boys.
It was over 100 degrees in Charlottesville. We were happy to eat in air conditioning, and then happy to attend Bible study with a group from church; another house with cool air circulating! And so nice to have a little extra time to get to know the beautiful believers we worship with every week.
Before Bible study, we stopped and bought another eight watermelon for the coming week (all eight from last Sunday having been eaten with great joy). And I bought another 106 pounds of sugar; that should last at least this next week. Every cashier I have expresses astonishment at the quantity of sugar I purchase. No kidding.
Some of that sugar has gone to kombucha production. Have you ever had kombucha? It's a health food, a cleansing, detox drink that's naturally fizzy. I like it better than soda, and definitely more than beer, though I think from a "refreshing" standpoint, it could take the place of either. To make it, I bought a couple bottles of GT's kombucha from the health food store. Using GT's as a starter, I added sweet tea and let the mixture sit for about a week. It transforms into a completely different drink. Some day, I suppose, I'll have enough on hand, but for now, all six of us wish we had more.
I've been doubling my production every week (there's a "mother" culture in every bottle of GT's, and as it grows, I can make more), so it won't be long until we have enough for us all every day. Very exciting!
My encouraging thought for today: I've been struggling the last few weeks. But Pastor Bill read from James 1, how the testing of your faith works patience, and patience must finish her work, so you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing. He said, "The scariest place to be is off in the corner where Satan doesn't bother you; it means you're totally ineffectual for God, so powerless that Satan doesn't even have you on his radar."
That was helpful, in some ways, to hear. The frustration and hopelessness I feel is a testing of my faith; but even that will grow something good—patience. And what a relief that even Satan's attacks mean that something good is going on in me and on this farm.
Which is all to say, YAY!
Friday, June 11, 2010
Inordinate Frustration Over Lost Labor
After working on a project for Sonlight much of the week, I went to send it off, completed, when the program crashed, and it turned out that, for whatever reason, none of my work had been saved.
Doggedly, I began again, only to realize after about 90 minutes that, despite appearances to the contrary, the program was still not saving my work.
This made me almost frantic, and I think I had a little taste of what it would be like to do something, day in and day out, that I felt had no purpose. To work for a week on a project that doesn’t come to fruition frustrated me inordinately; to work for a lifetime on a job that served no one—that would be more devastating than I can imagine.
This has been a weepy week for me. I suppose that happens sometimes. I realized this evening that, since visiting Colorado, there's been a little wish within that we weren't here doing this crazy thing, that I had countertops free of thousands of flies and one muddy cat, with kitchen cabinets and Costco, with sister and brother and family. Once I acknowledged that, the next words that came to mind were from a Keith Green song:
"So you want to go back to Egypt, where you're warm and secure?"
Oof, these moments of spiritual growth. Not always comfortable.
This is a little taste, perhaps, of how the Israelites felt. They had a spiritual high while leaving Egypt, saw God's amazing faithfulness and experienced freedom. But as they wandered in a hard place, the memories of slavery faded, and they remembered only the fresh green vegetables and, probably, their hovels.
I haven't really understood the appeal before. They were eating manna from heaven, for pete's sake, following a physical manifestation of God in the cloud.
But transition and change, week after week, no real settlement, no real home—that is wearying.
That said, they were stupid to want to return to slavery. I, too, am not smart to long for ease, when I'm called to be here.
Doggedly, I began again, only to realize after about 90 minutes that, despite appearances to the contrary, the program was still not saving my work.
This made me almost frantic, and I think I had a little taste of what it would be like to do something, day in and day out, that I felt had no purpose. To work for a week on a project that doesn’t come to fruition frustrated me inordinately; to work for a lifetime on a job that served no one—that would be more devastating than I can imagine.
This has been a weepy week for me. I suppose that happens sometimes. I realized this evening that, since visiting Colorado, there's been a little wish within that we weren't here doing this crazy thing, that I had countertops free of thousands of flies and one muddy cat, with kitchen cabinets and Costco, with sister and brother and family. Once I acknowledged that, the next words that came to mind were from a Keith Green song:
"So you want to go back to Egypt, where you're warm and secure?"
Oof, these moments of spiritual growth. Not always comfortable.
This is a little taste, perhaps, of how the Israelites felt. They had a spiritual high while leaving Egypt, saw God's amazing faithfulness and experienced freedom. But as they wandered in a hard place, the memories of slavery faded, and they remembered only the fresh green vegetables and, probably, their hovels.
I haven't really understood the appeal before. They were eating manna from heaven, for pete's sake, following a physical manifestation of God in the cloud.
But transition and change, week after week, no real settlement, no real home—that is wearying.
That said, they were stupid to want to return to slavery. I, too, am not smart to long for ease, when I'm called to be here.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
My Garden Grows
The bees stung me twice today. I cried both times. The sting itself is such a small pain, but as the stinger remains in, the burn grows and grows. A baking soda and water paste helps draw the heat, but as the swelling begins, the discomfort grows. And I know now that the swelling will continue for three days, so I think about fat and ugly knees that can hardly bend to get into the house, and I wonder if these still-ravenous bees are worth it.
They did not sting in anger. One was on the cloth I used as a pot holder as I brought them food; I absent-mindedly set it on my leg as I bent to pick up the empty pot, then stared, stupidly, at the defensive bee, stinger still in my knee. The next time I brought them food, I started to walk away, and a bee must have been in the hem of my shorts, and felt threatened.
Options? Get a haz-mat suit and get dressed and undressed the multiple times a day I need to check on them. Maybe even just have jeans at the ready, or maybe waterproof pants to pull on over shorts.
Eight stings so far does seem a bit unkind, but I’m trying to remember that the bees act on instinct, not purposeful malice.
Little things like that can plunge my spirits so quickly. Phil, male, stays on an even keel emotionally. I envy that at times.
As Phil and I continue to recover from the planting marathon, we find so many piddly things to do, but nothing seems terribly important. Phil continues to look at fencing options. We were fairly set on a mix of cattle panels and electric, but we do worry about the boys and their safety, if we run electric near their play areas. It’s hard to decide what is best.
Even something as simple as corner posts give me fits. I hate the idea of pressured treated lumber; I hate that it contains poisons and that it’s bad for the environment. But to spend, perhaps, twice as much on black locust or cedar or some other tough wood that doesn’t rot—we don’t have infinite money. It’s hard to know where the trade off is. Hard enough it brings tears to my eyes. What is the right thing to do?
Bits of my garden grow by the day. I harvested two softneck garlic heads today. I saved one and we ate one. I think it was a mild Inchelium Red, with red paper around each bulb. I also pulled most of the potato onions, and will let them cure.
I have also been on a seed harvesting journey these last few days. I left some of the peas to grow on the vine, and have saved them for next year. I didn’t really harvest much of anything to eat, which was a bummer, but I figure I didn’t lose much except my time, as long as I get back about the same number of seeds I planted. And the few I get are perfectly suited to my environment.
I have a bowl of kale seed, and am acquiring a bowl of spinach seed. I am thrilled about the former, and not so happy about the latter. Why gather it, if I don’t much like spinach? It feels too wasteful not to.
My herb seeds did not sprout, so I overseeded that bed with pumpkin and butternut squash seeds.
The tomato and pepper seeds I planted last weekend continue to grow fairly well. They had been outside, but chickens kept jumping up and pecking the baby seedlings, so I brought them inside and added them to my limited RV counter space. They aren’t getting much sun, but it is warm in there, and they will, at least, live until they are outside, not pecked to death.
I have one cheery nasturtium growing bravely near the electric box; I had planted many, but at least one survived the late frosts and the poor soil. It makes me smile, with its happy orange face.
We watched a movie last night about a man fighting to provide raw milk in Canada. This morning, Phil watched a brief movie about raw milk dairy.
Yet another thing we know nothing about, but need to figure out soon. Build a milking parlor, buy more equipment, hope it works for us.
They did not sting in anger. One was on the cloth I used as a pot holder as I brought them food; I absent-mindedly set it on my leg as I bent to pick up the empty pot, then stared, stupidly, at the defensive bee, stinger still in my knee. The next time I brought them food, I started to walk away, and a bee must have been in the hem of my shorts, and felt threatened.
Options? Get a haz-mat suit and get dressed and undressed the multiple times a day I need to check on them. Maybe even just have jeans at the ready, or maybe waterproof pants to pull on over shorts.
Eight stings so far does seem a bit unkind, but I’m trying to remember that the bees act on instinct, not purposeful malice.
Little things like that can plunge my spirits so quickly. Phil, male, stays on an even keel emotionally. I envy that at times.
As Phil and I continue to recover from the planting marathon, we find so many piddly things to do, but nothing seems terribly important. Phil continues to look at fencing options. We were fairly set on a mix of cattle panels and electric, but we do worry about the boys and their safety, if we run electric near their play areas. It’s hard to decide what is best.
Even something as simple as corner posts give me fits. I hate the idea of pressured treated lumber; I hate that it contains poisons and that it’s bad for the environment. But to spend, perhaps, twice as much on black locust or cedar or some other tough wood that doesn’t rot—we don’t have infinite money. It’s hard to know where the trade off is. Hard enough it brings tears to my eyes. What is the right thing to do?
Bits of my garden grow by the day. I harvested two softneck garlic heads today. I saved one and we ate one. I think it was a mild Inchelium Red, with red paper around each bulb. I also pulled most of the potato onions, and will let them cure.
I have also been on a seed harvesting journey these last few days. I left some of the peas to grow on the vine, and have saved them for next year. I didn’t really harvest much of anything to eat, which was a bummer, but I figure I didn’t lose much except my time, as long as I get back about the same number of seeds I planted. And the few I get are perfectly suited to my environment.
I have a bowl of kale seed, and am acquiring a bowl of spinach seed. I am thrilled about the former, and not so happy about the latter. Why gather it, if I don’t much like spinach? It feels too wasteful not to.
My herb seeds did not sprout, so I overseeded that bed with pumpkin and butternut squash seeds.
The tomato and pepper seeds I planted last weekend continue to grow fairly well. They had been outside, but chickens kept jumping up and pecking the baby seedlings, so I brought them inside and added them to my limited RV counter space. They aren’t getting much sun, but it is warm in there, and they will, at least, live until they are outside, not pecked to death.
I have one cheery nasturtium growing bravely near the electric box; I had planted many, but at least one survived the late frosts and the poor soil. It makes me smile, with its happy orange face.
We watched a movie last night about a man fighting to provide raw milk in Canada. This morning, Phil watched a brief movie about raw milk dairy.
Yet another thing we know nothing about, but need to figure out soon. Build a milking parlor, buy more equipment, hope it works for us.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
"Dust of Snow"
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
Robert Frost’s poem came to mind several times today, as I had several little joys that made disappointments not sting quite so much.
I had headed into Charlottesville for a workshop on fall and winter gardening. I want to grow vast quantities of cabbage and make vast quantities of sauerkraut.
But though the email reminder and the website advertised the start as 7pm, the time should have said 5:30-7, and I missed it entirely. That part of the day I rued.
My friend Johanna, on her way to join me, suggested we walk The Mall (a walking mall designed by the same man who designed Pearl Street in Boulder, so we feel right at home). We stopped at a coffee shop and sipped drinks outside, enjoying the unexpected freedom of no immediate responsibilities. That was my “dust of snow.”
On the way home, I bought out the grocery store of their meager supply of cane sugar (again). I did a quick calculation, and it is just possible that it will be sufficient until the next time we’re near a grocery store. Rue and thankfulness, mixed.
Phil attended his first men’s meeting with our church. He came away so encouraged by the discernment and thoughtfulness that attends every meeting and interaction he’s had. We feel quite blessed.
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
Robert Frost’s poem came to mind several times today, as I had several little joys that made disappointments not sting quite so much.
I had headed into Charlottesville for a workshop on fall and winter gardening. I want to grow vast quantities of cabbage and make vast quantities of sauerkraut.
But though the email reminder and the website advertised the start as 7pm, the time should have said 5:30-7, and I missed it entirely. That part of the day I rued.
My friend Johanna, on her way to join me, suggested we walk The Mall (a walking mall designed by the same man who designed Pearl Street in Boulder, so we feel right at home). We stopped at a coffee shop and sipped drinks outside, enjoying the unexpected freedom of no immediate responsibilities. That was my “dust of snow.”
On the way home, I bought out the grocery store of their meager supply of cane sugar (again). I did a quick calculation, and it is just possible that it will be sufficient until the next time we’re near a grocery store. Rue and thankfulness, mixed.
Phil attended his first men’s meeting with our church. He came away so encouraged by the discernment and thoughtfulness that attends every meeting and interaction he’s had. We feel quite blessed.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Altogether Blessed
Abraham volunteered to pray at dinner. “Lord God … bless this food. … Bless this farm. … Amen.” His sweet sincerity makes me think that is the most blessed this farm has ever been.
This was as precious as something Isaiah said a week ago (which I may have already written about; I think about it enough, I don’t remember). We were talking about the verse in Proverbs that says, “May I have neither too much nor too little, lest I either forget God in my pride, or steal in order to live.” And Isaiah said, “Just like us! We have neither too much nor too little.”
I looked around our 224 square foot construction trailer, complete with roaches and 88 degree weather, but also containing love and the provision of the Lord.
“Isaiah, you’re exactly right. Just like us.”
Phil spent some time in continuing education, as he read more about grazing management. There is so much to learn, and so much of it has to come on the fly.
A few seeds, after four days in the soil, are poking up. New life! New promise!
Phil finished the new chicken pen, complete with roosts and nesting boxes. He seeded one of the boxes with eggs, because I think the birds are confused by such luxury. What?! A dedicated place to lay eggs?! Amazing.
This was as precious as something Isaiah said a week ago (which I may have already written about; I think about it enough, I don’t remember). We were talking about the verse in Proverbs that says, “May I have neither too much nor too little, lest I either forget God in my pride, or steal in order to live.” And Isaiah said, “Just like us! We have neither too much nor too little.”
I looked around our 224 square foot construction trailer, complete with roaches and 88 degree weather, but also containing love and the provision of the Lord.
“Isaiah, you’re exactly right. Just like us.”
Phil spent some time in continuing education, as he read more about grazing management. There is so much to learn, and so much of it has to come on the fly.
A few seeds, after four days in the soil, are poking up. New life! New promise!
Phil finished the new chicken pen, complete with roosts and nesting boxes. He seeded one of the boxes with eggs, because I think the birds are confused by such luxury. What?! A dedicated place to lay eggs?! Amazing.
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