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.

Remembering our Royalty

The days are dominoes. Slipping softly one after another or clanging loudly on top of each other aggressively. I am fairly passive in this process. My mold for each day, stuffing minutes like play-doh into the shape I want it to form, is gone. I tossed the mold at some point or maybe it exploded when the minutes became combustible. Entering the world of teenagers and middle schoolers has pretty much annihilated my game plan, and made me very very tired. I grab after laughter like ointment, the only thing that heals my chapped optimism, and I talk. I talk late to my boys. I see this world through their eyes and I feel the confusion and temptations that come with growing into manhood in this culture. I lay my time and heart out in mothering like I never have before and, yet, I can't guarantee anything. I pray for a faithful heart that doesn't grow weary.

Our new couch was a little bit bigger than I anticipated it being!

Earlier this week I found a few minutes to curl up on our new couch with a magazine. The door opened and I saw my mom come in. I continued to read until I sensed an undercurrent of excitement in the room. Now, I love my mom, but her undercurrents of excitement usually stem from things like discovering that peanuts are solely responsible for obesity in America. (MOM, what have I told you about clicking on those ads on the computer). So I hesitated to look up, finding the magazine much more safe. I lifted my eyes to see her fidgeting at the edge of the couch.
I braced myself but not enough.

"I just found out that we're related to King David."

Just found out? As in angelic messenger? As in an old genealogy hidden in a secret compartment in Grandmother's jewelry case?

"No, my sister got a new app on her phone that traced us all the way back. She just kept pressing the back arrow and there was King David!"

That's a lot of back arrows. I tentatively asked, "How can they know the lineage that far back?"

"Oh, they kept very good records of royalty." She swished back out the door and I could almost hear her purple robe trailing behind her.

I love this woman. I want to throw in the towel and howl and she's content with knowing that she's royalty. And she is, she is God's daughter, whole-heartedly, and she never forgets it.

She reminds me, that I too, am of the generation of faith. I have a cloud of witnesses who lived this life faithfully before me. I may or may not have the blood of King David running through my veins, but I do have the same Spirit, and so do my children.

So I smile and ruminate that the royal line wouldn't be intimidated by the tactics of the enemy.
I open my Bible, ready to form a new game plan.
I continue to lay my time and my heart out in mothering like I never have before and I have faith that the words and actions I lay on this alter of love will help shape a generation, one life at a time.

Later, I go upstairs to tuck in my little daughter and I can sense an undercurrent of excitement in the room. I try not to groan, but an undercurrent of excitement in Rose usually stems from things like telling me how many scoops she got out of the litter box that day.
So I braced myself, but not enough.

"When I start my period will you get me a bunny to celebrate?"

I tuck in the slightly shorter version of my mother into bed and get my royal self downstairs.

When Jesus Comes To Your House

First, thank you my friends for your texts, emails, and comments over the past few days.

We had an incredibly sensitive and difficult situation to deal with concerning family trauma. Everyone is okay, still on our knees, but okay. Mom and I battled together for spiritual victory in the life of someone dear to us. Many of you joined in the prayers and we are so thankful for you.

Yesterday, I told Dave I would hire a landscaper if he just gave me some names to call.

Today I got a text from Dave that said, "Call Jesus." Followed by a number. Even though I knew that probably wasn't how he pronounced his name, I had to smile.

I thought, that's what I've been doing all week, calling Jesus.

I called Jesus. He didn't answer so I left a message. Again I smiled, I've left many very important messages this week for another Jesus.

I started to text Dave back when Jesus called. He was kind and told me he could come tonight by 6pm. Jesus called back, and he made me a priority.

At 5pm Jesus pulled up, I wasn't ready for him and was caught off guard. When I went out to meet him, he introduced himself as Jesus and then the man who was with him introduced himself as Jesus also saying, "He's the father, I'm the son." I did a quick glance around for the Holy Spirit.

I left them in the yard measuring for bark dust and I had a good laugh. Somehow...through a Craigslist landscaper....God reassured me that He hears, that He shows up, that He always exceeds my expectations. That He's full of surprises.

Jesus made me laugh.

The Usually Unusual

I believe late summer always finds me extremely random.

It's some strange combination of too much sun, too much time to think, and lots and lots and LOTS of time with my kids. Whom I love. Even when they whistle. Even when they whistle songs that don't exist outside of their heads. Even when they are 15 and still mispronounce "legend" by phonetically saying "leg end" and leave me thinking tibia while they are talking Sleepy Hollow.
See what I mean...random.

I have to record a story right now because it needs to take it's place in the halls of our family history. But I'm warning you...do not continue reading if you are faint of stomach.
You may (or may not) recall that we went to Hawaii in April. Well we left a pregnant cat at home. With my mom. I gave my mom implicit instructions on how to deliver Persian kittens. Persians need help cutting the umbilical cord and delivering the placenta. I told her whatever she does, to NOT LEAVE the cat once labor started because they will let their kittens die if they don't have help. My mom took all this in with a half skeptical half terrified look. I assured her she's make an excellent doula and began to pray.

We got a frantic call in Hawaii that the cat was in labor and when Mom tried to help the cat bit her and broke skin. So she said something like this on the phone, "I'm bleeding. I hate that cat. I'm going to the store to get band aids. I hate that cat." And I wanted to say DON'T LEAVE THE CAT, RECONCILE, there are Band-Aids in the cupboard. But seeing as how I was laying on the beach and my mother was bleeding I wisely said, "I'm so sorry mom. You go get band-aids."
Let's fast forward over the part of this story where she came home to 2 dead kittens. She sent me a picture of the one live one and I had to ask..."Mom is that a dead kitten in the background?" Oops, 3 dead kittens. The good news was that about a week later she found another live one also.

Fast forward to last week. It was Grant's first week home from Trinidad and we celebrated by having friends over. On Monday and Wednesday, several groups of people came to play. Avonlea mentioned at various times during the week that people didn't want to play dress up because it smelled in the dress up area. Finally Mom commented that she thought the cat had pooped on a little pink costume. So later on Wednesday, after all our company left, I grabbed the offensive costume and had Avonlea throw it in the washer. When I opened the washer after it was done, I almost fainted from the smell. I took out the clothes and there was the poop, still solid after a round on sanitize. What had this cat been eating?? I scooped it up with paper towels and found myself looking at a kitten. Or what was left of a kitten. From April. Oops, 4 dead kittens.

Can I just say that this was one of the grosser moments of my life, and if you recall, I have four children, so that's truly saying something.

I don't really feel like writing (or eating) any more after that. But if I did...I'd tell you about my time on the hammock down on the island at the cottage. I took off my glasses and looked at the world, blurry and beautiful. Suddenly I felt like I was blurry, indistinct. I melded with the waving leaves and the laughing brook and the birds flitting all about me. I must have melded for quite a while because when my world came back into focus, I was looking at Rowan yielding a machete (it was actually a stick, I was still fuzzy). He said with concern, "You have been gone for so long! I came to rescue you!" Totally worth putting my glasses on to see each freckle on that precious face.

See I kept writing and I started eating trail mix, too, so that kitten story must not have been that bad.

On Sunday, the people who sold us the cottage came by it to meet us. I officially have new FAVORITE PEOPLE. It was amazing to talk to them and hear of God's faithfulness over the years and how He honors a Godly heritage. We were so encouraged and again recognized God's hand in leading us there.

Next time I write, it will be from a place of school and order and schedule. And I will live a whole year before I have the time to be random again.

This is a good thing.


Photos by Avonlea unless she's in the picture

Amen

I have my arms around the toilet when she says it.
It's cleaning day and my girls are scrubbing with me. Rose complains about this inconvenience to her plans.
I reason, "Rose, do you know how gross it would be if we didn't clean the toilets and the floors?"
She scours the sink and retorts, "I think we are going to think differently about some things in life."
I slow.
Yes, we probably are.

My mom lives next door to me. We think differently about quite a few things.
She's violently enthusiastic and I'm tentative.

This is what a violently enthusiastic person looks like

We hold differing views on lots of things, but we love each other and we know that we are God's good gifts to one another. We help each other, we offer perspective to the other.

This is good. This is the way God intended family to be. Not a collection of Russia stacking dolls, but unique, different, complimentary.

I need to remember this when my children stretch out of my box of comfort. I need to remember I am not trying to raise perfect little me's (which is in itself contradictory). I am trying to raise God loving/serving/fearing men and women who delight in the individuality of who God has made them.

Rosy sleeping with her babies.

Avonlea on Bald Butte overlooking Mt. Hood

Grant loving his dog

Rowan carries everything in his overalls

what I tend to think my children should look like

what my children actually look like

We explored the attic this week. Avonlea found an old dress of mine from high school. Rowan found the vest to my dad's first suit that I used to wear. They wore them. In public. On purpose. And they were completely themselves in them. They used my things as an accessory to themselves.

Someday, I may come across one of my mom's flags and maybe I'll give it a wave. Maybe Rose will decide never to clean her toilets but she'll love to write poetry while taking a bubble bath.

The possibilities are endless. The potential is amazing. Family is a whole lot of fun.


And one more of my babies will leave the nest next week. This is a video of Grant telling about his mission trip. However, he messed up and cracked us both up. This right here is what I will miss for the next 5 weeks. Please remember him in your prayers.

The Days That Pass

"I stopped there in my field and looked up. And it was as if I had never looked up before. I discovered another world. It had been there before, for long and long but I had never seen nor felt it. All discoveries are made in that way: a man finds the new thing, not in nature but in himself."

-David Grayson

 

 

I learned a lot this summer. And as summer revolved into fall I grappled with my knowledge, trying to own what I knew, desperate to apply it.

One life change led to another. Avonlea gone for two months became Avonlea home but at school every day. We don't blink at her gone for 7 hours a day because her mission trip accustomed us to life without her. The tragedy of seven hours absence is quelled in comparison to two months. She is her own responsible, independent, mini adult. That change was birthed on the mission field for her and for myself, it was birthed in an orchard.


Avonlea at the Colosseum

All summer long, I walked the orchard every night that we were up at the cottage. It was therapeutic to walk down row after row in prayer and praise and communion with the Maker of nature's fruit. Up one aisle, down the next. The kids would either be in bed or occupied when I slipped away, but sometimes they weren't. Sometimes they'd ask to come and I'd resist, I'd been with them all day, I wanted to be alone with the Lord. But they only learn what they see, so sometimes I'd take one of them. We'd take turns praying aloud. Up one aisle, down the next. And my heart would break wide open in the blessing of this. My child and I, side by side, talking to the God of the universe like He was walking next to us. A new faith was birthed in that orchard, a far costlier fruit than the pears that hung thick.

Dam building at the cottage

 

There was pain this summer. Physical pain. My mom fell down the stairs at our house, while we were gone, and broke her tibia. My husband had a tooth implant that got an infection that spiraled him into unbearable pain for 12 days. My mom and my husband, my support system, knocked flat by pain I was completely helpless to alleviate. I felt it deeply, my daughter was gone beyond my help or influence, my closest loves were suffering intensely, and I had no control. At one point Dave woke me in the night to pray...again...sleep was intermittent at best for over a week and we were both exhausted. I pulled myself up and told Dave, "God is sick of my voice!" But He wasn't. He isn't.

My voice calling out to Him in every situation is exactly what He wants. I experienced the truth that though circumstances made me feel out of control, I was exactly where He wanted me. That I am never so well provided for, so perfectly centered, as when I am out of my control and in His. That any time I feel in control, I am being hallucinatory.

So we swing forward into the next season and I struggle to live this every day. To teach it to my children. To make sure they know that no matter what, God's got them. They are His, He will never forsake them. Sometimes my love for them becomes my driving force and I have to mentally go back to the orchard. Walk with them, teach them to pray, remember the fruit.

 My life will never look like it did before this summer. The birth of one thing requires the death of another. I've known that before and now I know it again. This summer birthed a new era of our family and there is mourning sometimes for the era that is past. But my husband's mouth and my mom's ankle are healing, growing strong again, and I know that we will too.

 

And until then, He's got us.

 

And when we're thriving in this new now, He'll have us still.

 



A Letter to my Aunt

Dear Aunt Karen,

Thank you for coming to visit my mother, your sister. You make her so happy.

She has had a bad couple of weeks of pain. As you know, she fell down my steps and broke her foot.

She was actually using a walker which aged her considerably. I told her to stop using it because when I was with her, it also aged me. I can not possibly be old enough to have a mother who needs a walker.

But when you came, the walker was tossed aside and she walked blithely.

My children loved you because you bought them books and called them "normal" (a word I've certainly never called them).

They also loved you because you called their Grandma "Tootypants".
Which is accurate.
They loved that you showed them pictures of your funny, beautiful grandkids.

I loved that you are an easy laugh. I loved that you probably disagreed with 75% of what I said, but you didn't let on that you did, (except for that slip about the rapture). I loved that you only wear cotton or linen and that you have Hebrew words around your neck.

I loved that before I took this picture you ran off to "put on your lips". Which is something that is apparently only done in your home state of Texas. Mom and I thought you were going to come out with wax lips or maybe a Mr. Potatoehead smile.

Ma Glo and Aunt Karen with her lips
 

My mom finally got her desire for a little sister when she was nine years old. You made her very happy. Except when you wet your pants. I am sorry she made you wash out your panties even though you were only three. It was cruel. She deserves to be called Tootypants. And apparently I deserve (for reasons known only to yourself) to be told that story every time I see you. To quote your favorite movie, "let it go" Aunt Karen.

You still make her very happy. Even though you ran out of my house claiming you were about to wet your pants. I wonder what she would have done if you had. We may never know. Although there will be other visits and your not getting any younger.

Again, thank you for coming Aunt Karen.

Thank you for flirting with the waiter at the pizza place to make my mother laugh.

I'm sorry my tea gave you hot flashes.

Your loving, laughing niece,
Annie

Generational Naughtiness

I've been missing this space. This white page...waiting....for black laughter and stories to dance across it. Iconic letters and captured picture moments and the record of a life lived. Cuneiform etched into brick. Words typed on a page. A life processed through fingertips tapping.

Today is my mother's birthday.
Last week she came to our life group because we were doing an India night. I wanted her to come share about the work she did there this summer at the orphanage. She came and sat in front of our little group and held up a big map.
She pointed out India and said, "It's right here next to the Bay of Ben Gay."
We all kinda cocked our heads, trying to remember why that didn't sound quite right. Dave piped up with a, "Are you feeling stiff or achy Gloria?"
At that I dissolved. She will never live that down.

So today we had the following text conversation.

Me: We've got all kinds of birthday crafts going on up here. You might need a bigger house
Mom: Would it justify a second story on this one?
Me: Remember your 73 now, you won't be able to walk up steps much longer
Mom: STOP! I can run thru a troop and leap over a wallllllllllll
Me: And afterwards you can take a swim through the bay of Ben-gay
Mom: U r so naughty

It's a little hard to wrap my brain around the fact that I'm in my late 30's and still being called naughty by my mother. Serious repercussions coming on this, can't I report her to child protection services or something? Oh wait, then who would do my dishes? Never mind. But speaking of naughty children...

Rose was in RARE form on Tuesday. Now those of you who have the pleasure of interacting with Rosy know that she is usually a wild card. There is no guessing what is going to come out of her mouth at any given moment. But on Tuesday she surprised even me. We had friends over and she came and planted herself in the middle of my tea party. I told her to go play and she asked if she could have candy. I told her no, she didn't need candy. She looked at my friend and said, "I have to cry to get candy. I just cry and they give me candy to make me stop. But I don't even cry anymore, I just go into the bathroom and put water on my face."
I was speechless. For one thing it's untrue, for another it's so naughty.

Where in the world does she get it?

Birthday Babies, Fairyland, and Pigs

Today is my mother's birthday.

Happy Happy Birthday Ma Glo!
This morning at 5am she got a phone call.
There was a birthday present on the way....
Another call confirmed it's arrival....
Mom got a great-granddaughter for her birthday!
My sister's daughter had her baby two weeks early!
Yeah!

Rowan and Rose spent the entire day making presents for Ma Glo.
I commented at one point that life would be much easier for me if she had a birthday every week.
Everyone was so occupied.

She finally opened Rowan and Rose's gifts after dinner.
They gave her lavender in a bunch (picked from her garden), a handmade placemat, a crown and necklace made from paper (see above), and Rowan gave her $5 (see below).

In other news, three of my children have begun taking regular trips to fairyland.
Avonlea made up the game in the basement, I thought it sounded charming.
UNTIL.....
I came down and saw this....

Apparently, only girls can get into fairyland and so Rowan needed a disguise.
I AM NOT OKAY WITH THIS, even though it gave me a very needed laugh.
Rowan is henceforth banned from fairyland unless they can accept him as he is, masculine.

I'm thinking these pictures will one day be worth a whole lot of money.
I'm expecting a little more than $5 in my birthday card.

Rowan spent the night at Ma Glo's house last weekend. He came up in the morning, with his holster and gun over one shoulder and a metal bucket of puppy food in one hand. "Well," he said, "I didn't get any sleep last night. Ma Glo snored SO loud."
I had warned him. "Well Rowan, I told you..."
He interrupted, "No Mom, I'm not complaining, I loved it!"
Later when Ma Glo apologized for the nocturnal chorus he re-emphasized his delight, "Oh it was fine Ma Glo. I loved it. It was like sleeping with a pig."

I think maybe Ma Glo should have gotten more than $5 in her card, too.