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As I was in the garden this morning, planting and caring for the fall crop of vegetables, hands dirty and soul full, He began to speak to me, yet again, through this farm life we live.

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As I listened and looked around, this is what I saw…

Broccoli, growing with onions. Lettuces, tucked under peppers and eggplant, enjoying the respite of the sun’s heat. Kale, standing tall amongst the broad leaves of giant mustard greens.

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Radish seeds being tucked in for a short nap, as the brussels sprouts wait for their complementary leaves to come forth from the ground. Basil, sage, rosemary and thyme intermingle with it all, purifying with their fragrance.

As my eyes were lifted from the vegetable filled beds, I noticed dozens of Gulf Fritillary butterflies enjoying their breakfast from one of the many varieties of Zinnias growing on the west side of the garden.

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I walked over for a closer look with my camera, intersecting the highway of buzzing bees, making their rounds to all the available basil blooms. Hummers flew from the lantana to the spider lillies, which are so abundantly beckoning the fall season upon us.

Scores of song birds welcomed the morning. Jays, busy bickering amongst each other. Mockingbirds, irritating all the true singers of songs. Cawing of crows in the distant and a squirrel barking at a cat, whom we call Dog.

Wrens, woodpeckers, chickadees, bluebirds… All unseen, but purposefully contributing to the symphony of life on our little sanctuary.

Then the hens chimed in, as if telling the others to come and see the glorious morning. The roosters, and the boy goats, calling to their ladies in grandeur.

The peacock slowly, yet confidently, walked down the hill, his colors radiant. Regal. One simply must stop and respectfully watch him pass.

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As I went on about my work, sowing seeds to bring forth life, the diversity that laid before me and around me… it was abundant, and astounding.

Powerful.

Beautiful.

All of it, despite evident differences, working together for the greater good.

Life, as it should be…

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Soul Grabbers

We are unschoolers. Simply put, we learn by doing what we love. Every single day.

And for the past six months, a very large part of that learning, albeit not always out of love but neccesity, has been centered around raising four Nubian goat kids and a livestock guardian pup.

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This new adventure did not come on a whim. For months, we, as a family, carefully contemplated all the pros and cons, researched, and respectfully considered each other’s input on the matter.

From barn design, breed research, bookkeeping and bottle feeding to animal dynamics, discipline, disease and death.

The learning has been deep, imperfect and, at times, painful.

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For months there were multiple feedings required each day. Bottles had to be washed. A lot. Milk had to be warmed. Even on those nights when we’ve just wanted to put on our pjs and call it a day, the babies needed our time and attention.

Stalls had to be mucked. Sleepovers away from home had to be rescheduled, for duty calls. One more trip to the feed store because we miscalculated on a bag or two. Stormy days when we reeeeeally didn’t want to trudge back to the barnyard and lock them up for the night. Seemingly endless trips to pick up milk for the growing babies.

Shots and medicines to give. And yes, even death…

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Raising these goats was seeming more like scutwork, rather than fun.

Scutwork is defined as “trivial, unrewarding, tedious, dirty, and disagreeable chores; usually inherent in the operations of a larger project.” I. Love. That.

And I’ve come to learn that the soul grabbers are almost always intertwined with the seemingly mundane. The scutwork.

Like the deep, belly laughter radiating from a girl frolicking with her goat. The goat kids and human kids calling to and answering each other in a language perfected. Heads butted and hearts stolen. The immense knowledge that is gained through experience. Patience and gratitude and grace and mercy abounding through the actions of sisters working together. The selflessness of girls who let their momma sleep in from farm chores on Sunday mornings. And so much more…

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Scutwork, in its most authentic form, is LIFE.

And when we, with humble hearts wide open, take this gift of every day life – the trivial, unrewarding, tedious, dirty, and disagreeable – seeing each and every moment as an opportunity to grow in awareness of a God that marvels in His creation… well… then we are truly living.

And truly learning.

 

Farm Livin’ – June

Wow. June is gone? Half the year is gone?

How is that possible??

Those of you who follow along with our adventures via Facebook and Instagram may have already seen some of these photos! But, for those of you who have not, here’s a little look at some of our June happenings on the farm.

It was a full month. Wonder what July has in store?

Blessings to ya’ll… 🙂

Living Fractals

Many years ago, before my homesteading days, I read The Shack. The entire book rocked my world, but there was one chapter in particular that spoke to me so profoundly, so intimately, that I read it again and again, marking up the pages with a red pen as the words just seemed to come alive to me.

That chapter being A Long Time Ago, in a Garden Far, Far Away…

“As he rounded the trees, he saw for the first time a magnificent garden and orchard somehow contained within a plot of land hardly larger than an acre. For whatever reason, Mack had expected a perfectly manicured and ordered English garden. This was not that!

It was chaos in color. His eyes tried unsuccessfully to find some order in this blatant disregard for certainty. Dazzling sprays of flowers were blasted through patches of randomly planted vegetables and herbs, vegetation the likes of which Mack had never seen. It was confusing, stunning, and incredibly beautiful.

‘From above it’s a fractal,’ Sarayu said over her shoulder with an air of pleasure.

‘A what?’ asked Mack absentmindedly, his mind still trying to grapple with and control the pandemonium of sight and the movements of hues and shades. Every step he took changed whatever patterns he for an instant thought he had seen, and nothing was like it had been.

‘A fractal… something considered simple and orderly that is actually composed of repeated patterns no matter how magnified. A fractal is almost infinitely complex. I love fractals, so I put them everywhere.’

‘Looks like a mess to me,’ muttered Mack under his breath.”

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Come alongside, if you will, as I share with ya’ll some of the mess, the fractals, that make up the seemingly simple and orderly life we live here on the farm…

Rewind back to 2004. Two years married, two precious babies under the age of two. Bad decisions catching up with me. With us.

Brad and I lived in town in a little house that my sweet granddaddy had helped me to fix up. Oh how I loved that little house. He and I poured lots of time and energy and love into that place. Many memories were made that will forever overshadow the heartache that would soon follow.

As a result of those bad decisions, we would lose that house in the spring of 2004.

I was heartbroken, for many reasons, and completely unsure of what the future held for our young and struggling family.

We took country rides a lot, always dreaming about what it would be like to have a place away from the noise of town. Brad had a dream of building, with his own hands, a home for us on that land. I thought he was crazy. 🙂

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But one day, as we were riding and dreaming, we happened upon six acres and a tiny mobile home. And God practically threw it in our laps.

It was an escape for us. An escape to peace and quiet and away from the whispers and judgmental glares of those who knew our story.

We immediately branded our new place “the sanctuary”, because that’s what it was. A place of refuge and safety. For me and Brad. For our girls. But we hadn’t the faintest idea of just how far that name would go. And the thought of homesteading? Well, that was nowhere remotely close to even being a thought.

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Upon our move to the country, a sweet elderly couple from across the way befriended us. They began to visit us regularly, bringing fresh eggs, vegetables from their garden and m&ms for the girls. But most of all, they brought us friendship and through that we began to learn what “community” was all about.

In the meantime, our baby girl was born and Brad went to work offshore to provide for our family. I quickly became overwhelmed with being a single mom while he was gone. The amount of time it left me alone with all the duties of being momma and daddy was too much to bear, and to be completely raw with ya’ll, I resented him deeply for his decisions. I had a full time job as well, and could not keep up the house, the kids and with six acres while he was gone.

I wanted to move back to town. Where I had reinforcement. And stores. And convenience…

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But Brad didn’t take the bait.

So, one day while he was off in the Gulf of Mexico, I was walking around in the overgrown yard thinking, “Something’s gotta give…

“What are we doing out here?”

“Why do we even have all this land??”

“I don’t even have a lawnmower, for crying out loud!!”

Actually, I had never even mowed a yard before. Sad, yes. But true.

Sometime after that, this was given to me — “The Lord will send a blessing on your barns and on everything you put your hand to. The Lord your God will bless you in the land He is giving you.” (Deut. 28:8)

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I remember thinking, “Uh, okay. We don’t have a barn. And right now I just wanna set a match to this place. Move me back to town!!”

And then, “But you were created in a garden for a reason, Erin.”

Hmm. Pullin’ out the big guns now, are ya? Well, I’m not biting. Nope. That’s what we have neighbors for. And grocery stores.

So, in 2008, we built our first garden… 🙂

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It was beautiful and I was hooked. I felt purposeful for the first time in a long while. The garden quickly became my happy place. A place where the world and problems and all my other duties ceased to exist.

That rocked on and one day my sweet neighbor asked me if I wanted to learn how to can vegetables. Yes!! So we canned snap beans. Jars and jars of snap beans in the midst of my tiny trailer kitchen. It was nostalgic, sitting there around the table, the whistling of the canner in the background, her telling me stories of how, when she was a young girl, they canned on a wood burning stove.

The following year, we began homeschooling, got some chickens, and those sweet little neighbors of ours introduced us to fresh cow milk. I never will forget when Mr. Ray called and said, “Hey Punkin’, you interested in some raw milk?”

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Now, I was quickly becoming a country girl, but “raw milk” had me so confused! But, I obliged, and through that I was introduced to another wise woman who would inspire me and grow me tremendously.

One day, in December 2010, upon visiting that wise woman, she asked me if I was ready for a milk cow of my own. Brad and I had talked about it, but we were also about to begin the ever adventuresome project of building our own house, and had decided we should wait. Until after the house was built.

Well, one month later, in January of 2011, we welcomed Bess the Jersey cow to our growing farm. 🙂

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That was the single worst year of my entire life. I had never – NEVER – milked a cow. And SHE had never been milked. She had a two week old calf and fire in her eyes. Talk about a rodeo. I feel quite certain that all of eternity sat around with their popcorn, placing bets on how much milk I could get in the bucket before Bess stuck her foot in it.

Oh, but there were soon many, many things God would teach me through that cow. The first being the memorization of James 1:2-4 – “Consider it pure joy, my sister, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.”

I quoted that durn scripture nearly every day while milking her. Mostly through my clenched teeth.

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He taught me how to let go of my need for control, and taught me self control in its place.

He taught me to replace “I can’t” with “I CAN.”

There were a multitude of other lessons learned. Too many to recall. I wish I had journaled them all.

We began building our house, with our own hands, in the summer of 2011, in the midst of Bessie’s first year with us, and would continue building it for the next five years. Much of our blood, sweat and tears was poured into those years. Literally.

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During that time also came a bigger garden, increased knowledge, more canning, more learning, more understanding, more growth, lots of reading, a more vivid purpose to live fully. Chickens have come and gone and come again. Yearly calves have stolen our hearts and we have made the shift to unschooling our girls.

Early this year, through much prayer and consideration, we welcomed four Nubian dairy goats to our farm and said goodbye to our Jersey girl of six years, rehoming her with a sweet family to be their first milk cow.

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2017 has also been our first year to raise and butcher meat birds. We’ve welcome a few hives of honeybees, expanded our gardening efforts and are dreaming of even more ways to encourage and inspire and teach…

The growth that has occurred in our family, through farm life, is exponential. But for myself, personally, it’s simply nothing short of a miracle.

Ya know, many people refer to this life as “the simple life.” The definition of simple being “that which is easily understood or done; presenting no difficulty.”

This life is far from that. We get up before dawn and we work hard. Every. Single. Day. Difficult lessons are learned. We lose crops. Animals get sick and die. Predators attack. Cows repeatedly cross ditches in search of greener, unfenced pastures. Things happen that you are not equipped to deal with and things happen that you just can’t explain. But so goes life.

It’s all part of the fractals…

At the end of that chapter in The Shack, Mack has been helping Sarayu clean out an area of the garden. She thanks him, and he says…

“I didn’t do that much, really. I mean, look at this mess.” His gaze moved over the garden that surrounded them. “But it really is beautiful, and full of you, Sarayu. Even though it seems like lots of work still needs to be done, I feel strangely at home and comfortable here.”

The two looked at each other and grinned.

Sarayu stepped toward him until she had invaded his personal space. “And well you should, because this garden is your soul. This mess is you! Together, you and I, we have been working with a purpose in your heart. And it is wild and beautiful and perfectly in process. To you it seems like a mess, but to me, I see a perfect pattern emerging and growing and alive — a living fractal.”

Wow. A perfect pattern. Emerging and growing and alive.

Living fractals.

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“And when I study the amount of complexity in a fractal — zooming in closer and closer, yet never losing any resolution or altering its appearance in any way — I am reminded that the same painstaking detail went into God’s plan for my life. I break out in praise. And then I want to zoom in a bit more.”

Humble blessings to you all… 🙂

This week on the farm…

As usual, it’s been a full week on the farm. Here’s a little of what we’ve been up to this week…

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We harvested our first mess of snap beans early this week…

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We were planning to wean our Nubian kids this week, as they are approaching the age of four months. However, upon weighing them, we weren’t very please with their gain since cutting bottles back. So, we’ve decided to keep them on milk for at least another couple of months in order to breed late fall/early winter.

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Our Cochin hen, Skit, hatched out two of the cutest, tiniest little chicks you ever did see! The girls have lovingly named them Tipper and Skippy. 🙂

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Blossom end rot also reared its ugly head in the garden this week. We have treated this go ’round by inserting 2 or 3 TUMS into the soil at the base of each plant for a quick release of calcium via the root system. Give it a try!

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The unseasonably cool mornings we’ve had this week allowed us a nice trip to a local blueberry farm, where we picked 6 gallons in just over an hour!

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I’ve also been side dressing pepper plants with Epsom salts to increase growth and fruit set…

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And of course, with fresh blueberries comes blueberry cobbler!

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Landry and I check on the swarm hive that we caught last week. Lots of comb being drawn out, as you can see here, but no evidence of brood just yet. Soon though!

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Our purple hull pea patch is looking very nice!

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And the girls even managed to get away from farm chores one cool morning and work on their fort. 🙂

Hope you all have a wonderful Memorial Day weekend!

Blessings from the farm… 🙂

Sanctuary Scutwork

A repost from a few years back. Sometimes, old words are the best motivators for new words…

Happy Friday, ya’ll. 🙂

 

“The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden to work it and take care of it.” – Genesis 2:15

I love that verse. I love the fact that as soon as God breathed life into the nostrils of man, he put the man in a garden. To work it. To take care of it.

I love that the Hebrew word for “work” here is ‘abad. It means so much more than the four letter word we translate it into. Out of the 290 times it is used in the Old Testament, 227 of those times it means “to serve”. To serve! God put man in the garden to serve Him by working the land He provided.

Not only did God put man there to serve Him by working the land, he put him there to keep it. To shamar it. To retain posession of it. To guard it. To observe it. To give heed to it.  To preserve it. To protect it.

Is that not fascinating?!

Well, maybe it doesn’t fascinate you as much as it does me. 🙂  But we take it pretty seriously around here. It’s how we came to name this place where we reside, “The Sanctuary”. A sacred place, and a refuge. This is where we serve God by getting our hands dirty. This is where we worship Him by exercising the skills He has gifted us with. This is where we observe and protect and guard His creation. This is where we retain posession of a parcel of land that is sold out for His work, not ours. This is where we preserve His will for family (Deut 6).

Sssooo, once a week, I’d like to invite you to The Sanctuary. It’s not a long trip. Just to your inbox. 🙂  Come and see what we do and how we live. There are always projects of some kind going on. And we’d love for you to be a part of it!

It’ll be as if you are getting your hands dirty, too. Come alongside…

 

 

 

 

Adventures in Churning

If you have never enjoyed fresh butter made from the fresh cream of a jersey cow, stop reading this right now. Go buy yourself a cow. Learn how to milk her. After kicking, screaming, crying, whining, and asking yourself “what was I thinking??”… make yourself some fresh butter. Seriously, it alone is worth all the hardships of owning a cow. 

No? Well, feel free to stop by and visit me one day and I’ll make ya some myself! Anyway…

Last year, in our initial endeavors of becoming milk cow owners, we did not purchase our own butter churn. My sweet neighbor – whom also has taught me MUCH about all things farm life – allowed me to borrow her dasher churn, handed down by her mother. I’m a sucker for nostalgia. And using the dasher churn that belonged to my 70+ year old neighbor’s mother was just the thing for me to get my fix.

Or so I thought.

As the cream level in the milk increased, frequency of churning quickly increased. From once a week to once every other day. And after churning 4 pounds of butter in one week, I was SICK of that dasher churn!!!!! 

It’s work, let me tell ya. And messy too. I would have cream sloshed out all over me, the couch, and the living room floor. 

So, we breathed a sigh of relief when Bess was dryed off, and immediately determined to purchase a paddle churn for the next go ’round.

(Thank you, Lord, for the season of respite that comes along with a dry cow.)

Now, seeing as how we had three months to purchase a new churn, you would think we would have everything lined out for calving two weeks ago. Not exactly. I had actually ordered one but it was on backorder until March, so I canceled the order. No churn.

Enter my birthday and my very thoughtful momma, who always pays attention to detail…

She surprised me with this antique paddle churn last weekend for my birthday!! And it works like new! Still requires some elbow grease, but it’s much less cumbersome on your back, hardly any mess at all, and it has a glass jar so you can SEE the whole butter making process coming to life.

See…

Butter!!

 

This. Is. Yummy. Beyond. Words. Sure you don’t wanna rethink buying a cow? 😉

One day soon I’ll write a step by step post on the whole butter making process, the difference in fresh and store bought, and why real butter IS good for you. It’s all very interesting and quite amazing. 

But then again, God created it… why wouldn’t it be?

Blessings ~ Erin