Echo Farm

 An extraordinary night finds me alone in my house. I haven't been alone in my house since Covid hit our country 9 months ago. I have been with my family. Constantly. I say that tonight I am alone, but I should clarify that I am only bereft of people, not animals. Covid has turned my lovely, Georgian home into a muddy farm. And I am thankful. 

Rowan kicked off the spring by planting 2000 pumpkin seeds. A 40 row garden went in next. 

We built a barn and Rose got a pregnant cow. Rowan began raising, butchering, and selling chickens.

We got a piglet.

Geese were added to protect the chickens and barn kittens were secured to keep the barn in order.

Turkeys were someone's bright idea and 6 of them gobbled in the field. 

I started to go a little crazy and wore overalls and straw hats every day in the summer.

I have had many dreams in my lifetime but I'm pretty sure this was never one of them.

But I try to take what comes, listen to my kids ideas, and if at all possible, help them make those ideas happen. Sometimes, like when the cow tries to trample me, I think I may have gone too far. But then, nothing really bad has happened yet and our bacon tastes great. We are not completely self sufficient, but close. We eat our own meat out of the freezer, drink our own milk, crack our own eggs, and saute our own veggies.

Rowan and Rose are the driving force behind everything. Dave comes home from work and helps when he can. Grant just shakes his head and mutters that we only got him frogs. Avonlea is always willing to help between her school and work, but almost everything falls on Rowan, Rose and me. Rose and I get up every morning to milk. I strain and play dairy maid while she cleans stalls and sees to ducklings, rabbits, chickens, and kittens. Rowan feeds dogs, meat chickens, geese, turkeys, and quail. I go back out and give extra milk to animals who had 5 gold stars for attitude and obedience and then I distribute pumpkins (although we sold hundreds, we still have a few (hundred) left over). The chickens and the cow love overly ripe pumpkins ripped open for them. I love feeding and nurturing so we are all very happy. 

We named our farm, Echo Farm. I believe that the words we say and the actions we do will live on through our children and echo down through the generations. This summer as my mom, Avonlea, and I weeded the garden together and Rose and Rowan wandered by feeding and walking animals I knew that none of us would ever forget the sound of this particular echo. That my mom, who sacrificed time and money we didn't have when I was growing up, so that I could become a dancer, enabled me to sacrifice my time and dislike of dirt and dirty animals so that my children could realize a dream. 

Maybe having a farm was never a dream of mine, but whoever said we have to only make our own dreams come true? This echo of sacrifice started long before me or my mom. It started with our Father God and it is echoing still in this world. Echoing in places we'd least expect to hear it. Like in a barn. 

Although maybe, that's the most natural place in the world to hear it. 

Merry Christmas.

The Nine Days

Rose came into this world on a rainy morning in April. She was pink and beautiful and precious. Dave was in the room and so was little Avonlea. Avonlea was six at the time, nine days from her 7th birthday. She had prayed for years for her sister Rose to be born and I thought she might want to be in on the action in the delivery room. 
As she held her new sister, I asked her, "So what did you think of little Rose's birth?"
She thought for a moment before replying, "It was very....private."
Later that day, I had the realization that in 2020, for nine days, I would have 4 teenagers. Rose would turn 13, and 9 days later, Avonlea would turn 20.
Of course at the time, I didn't really believe that day would ever come. If they grew up that would mean that I'd have to grow up, and I had no intention of doing so. I loved my babies being babies. I loved kissing soft little faces, holding grimy hands, and listening to their hilarious thoughts. 
Sometimes I wish life was a book that I could read as many times as I liked. The chapters have flown with adventures and heartache, laughter and pets, and it's 2020. 
Last week we ushered in the Nine Days.
Dave and I had made all sort of plans. We were going to Hawaii, a Victorian Tea House, a hike, 2 restaurants, etc. It was going to be a huge party, a celebration of 4 teenagers, all of whom we think are absolutely amazing people. But alas, COVID19. 
So the Nine Days that would have been spent in celebration are spent in isolation.
During the Nine Days we found out that the government ran out of money for small business loans and we had to lay off all our employees. Our business is considered essential but we do our business to "non" essential businesses so we had no work. 
Rose had kind friends who drove over and sat on blankets 6 feet apart from eachother to celebrate her day. Her grandparents stopped by with a present. We went on LOTS of walks with the dogs. We played games, did puzzles, went to a protest, prayed, and watched old movies. But the Nine Days looked nothing like I envisioned it looking. 

This is what a birthday party looks like during COVID19. We are doing a Bible Study. 

One of the things I did during the "stay at home" order was read through all my old journals starting with my marriage. I was constantly being surprised in my journals. Marriage was way more work than I thought it was going to be. Babies were surprisingly challenging. Homeschooling was alarmingly unvaried. House cleaning never ended. But even though so many things were not as I had anticipated them being, I still dove right in and enjoyed what I could and endured the rest (like diapers). 
So with the Nine Days. Another chapter. Another journal entry. Another surprise that I wasn't expecting but that I dove into anyway, thanking God for the good and enduring the rest (like Rose's zoom ballet class for 7 hours a week). 
I woke up this morning and knew the Nine Days were over. Twenty years ago I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. It was as if Dave and I had planted an unlabeled seed and we've had such pleasure in watching her become herself over the years. Avonlea is a delightful surprise and she has bloomed in extraordinary ways. 
I'm pretty sure my kids haven't stopped surprising me and life isn't done surprising me and I guess I should just dive in and enjoy what I have to endure because this is it. And I suppose the biggest surprise is that the kids have managed to grow up....but I haven't.

Before

After

Before

After

Before

After

The Slopes

Yesterday, Dave took the boys skiing. 
It was a beautiful spring day and they had all kinds of dangerous, adreneline pumping fun. 
I stayed home and vacuumed and schooled Rose. Later, I took the girls on a stroll through an antique store and ended up at a restaurant for dinner. 
We all missed each other.
After having Avonlea away last year we are profoundly grateful for the times when we are all together. Because we know it's not going to last. Avonlea's year in New Zealand was the beginning of the end. Grant leaves in July for his year in New Zealand and Avonlea has boys circling the house like vultures. So the nights of Catan and movies and dinner around a candlelit table are expiring and therefore precious. But truly, they were always precious.

Dave said the weather conditions up skiing yesterday were interesting. At the top of the lift it was sunny with blue skies but as he skiied down the mountain it misted over and then began snowing! Different altitudes had different weather and he only had a brief time to marvel over it as he manuvered the hills and landed the jumps. 

I understood this. Conditions are constantly changing around here and I have only time to blink in amazement before my attention is demanded for navigation of the terrain.  A few weeks ago the kids were all in the office playing a game and I was cleaning up a desk and reading alternately. I went to get something and Rowan called out, "Mom, come back. You're the sunshine in the room." This random little comment stopped me in my tracks. Do I help decide the climate of their lives? Yes, I do. I wonder if they'll remember their childhood as tropical or polar? Probably both or somewhere in between. 

So I vacuum. I have the kitchen painted blue and the living room painted red (Dave wins again). A barn is going up behind Ma Glo's apartment. It will house a milk cow and Rowan's tractor. There is a big vase of tulips on the counter next to a plate of cinnamon coffee cake. As hard as I try to make their home beautiful and cozy, it's actually my heart and hands and smile that make the difference in their lives. I know I forget this. I get grumpy cleaning toilets and begrudge them the crumbs on the floor. But this counteracts the very thing I'm trying to do. Which is, make their lives beautiful, colorful, engaging and then point to the one who is the Creator of all creation. I've been manuvering this terrain for twenty years, through all types of weather. And although I'm tired, I realize there's no where to lay down. I'm still on the slope. 

There are days when I'm ready to check in my rentals, but there are also moments of exileration that encourage me to keep going. My adorable and shrinking, 79 year old mother, goes downtown to Portland every Tuesday evening to pray for homeless people in line for the free dinner. She braves the cold and dirt and occasional violence to offer people the love of Jesus. She mentioned to Rowan that sometimes people ask for Bibles but that she doesn't have any to hand out. Rowan gathered his siblings together and asked if they'd put their tithes and offering toward buying Bibles for Ma Glo to distribute. The purchased 600 New Testiments with commentary on how to become a Christian. 

Moments like that, when I see them loving well, I realize afresh the faithfulness of God. 

For faithful He is. In all kinds of weather through all different landscapes. He persistantly takes my world and shakes it up and teaches me to appreciate the changes instead of whining about them (even though whining is unfortunately part of the process for me). The changes change my life when I submit to His work in me. 

So today, I drop off kids at class, stop by the clinic for blood work, cut up watermelon for the ducks, make a pot of tea and read a book aloud to lunching children. I do these things in His Name for a kingdom I cannot see, but one I highly anticipate.

I know that we won't all be together forever on this earth, in this (clean) home, but I'm doing my utmost to make sure we're all together in another home for eternity. 
These are precious years.