It's Eight O'Clock!

A.M. and were out of here!

My room is clean, (I'll get the rest of the house in tip top shape tommorrow morning when I come back for Dirt and the trailer)


The car is packed.

Oh wait I'm not going without my lilly. It fell over in spite of being tied up. Thanks to the rain. But I am secretly glad because I can never bring myself to cut them and they have never been so late that I have left for my Huckleberry Fest before they were all done blooming. *sniff* Ahhhh.


Bye, see you next week sometime?!?!

A Good Conversation With a Good Wife

Talking to my second oldest daughter, Michelle (married to Mike), today. And we really covered some ground. At first I had to wonder about how she started off the conversation. She just bolted out a question within seconds after I said hello.

"Mom, if I was thirty years old and not married yet would I live at home?" Bold and blunt came the question, so much so I couldn't grab hold of where she was coming from, so my only response possible was complete and utter honesty to her question.

"Well," I said, "We do live in America, and we wouldn't be able to make you live with us. But if you were unmarried, no matter what age, you would always have a place here."

Really? No matter what?" she continued to question with a rather forceful voice making it hard for me to understand what this was all about. She has been married for four years.

"Uh, ya. No matter what. Like I said, your father and I can't make any of you children do something you absolutely refuse to do once you are eighteen, but you would have had a place here. If your sisters are never married, they will always have a place here."

" Wouldn't you make us?" She demands.

"No. I couldn't make you. But I would hope that you would choose it."

"Wouldn't you tell us we should," she asked, still rather forceful, still rather hard to read.

"Well, your dad and I would certainly do our best to point out to you where we come from scripturally on our understanding that unmarried women should live at home." I trail off hoping that my answers to these blunt questions don't spark a hot debate. I was thinking she was calling about our impending camping trip, that I am supposed to be starting today.

"Oh," her voice relaxes, " so you would tell us, teach us that it is best that we stayed with you?"

"Ya," I answer, my voice wavering between continued apprehension and relief. "It is what your dad and I see in scripture."

I hope that this relaxed feeling continues as I think, "But I thought you knew this?"

"So an unmarried woman is supposed to live with her parents?"

"Well, your dad and I get our stance from scripture. In the Old Testament, no wait. Before we go there let me say, that we look at the Old Testament and the law that we no longer live under, through what Jesus did with it on the Sermon on the Mount. He took it to a whole other level, so not just don't murder but don't say someone is an idiot and tear him apart with words."

"Yeah"

"So," I continue, "There are many places in the Old Testament that speaks to the protection of unmarried women."

"Just unmarried?"

"Well for instance, in, I think Numbers, it talks about how if a woman is unmarried and she enters into a contract and her father doesn't approve of it, it is null and void. The same goes if it is his wife. But if he doesn't care she is held to the contract."

"What if she was married but now her husband is dead?"

"Then she is on her own." I reply. thinking we are winding down.

"But what about me? If Mike died would I be on my own?" now worry has shot into her words and without thinking I answer quickly.

"Well, but the New Testament also says that the church, which we are to you over the fact that we are also your family, is to take care of their widows and we would certainly do that! We wouldn't leave you out there if you needed us."

"Oh," is the relieved response.

The rest of the conversation goes to her and her friends having a discussion about her submitting to her husband. She was getting some flack. You know the score dear reader; "Men and women are equal" and "I need to know my man values me and listens to me," it goes on in to self-discovery and independence, things we are never called to as believers. And it is spoken with condescension toward our young girl, married four years and twenty-two years old. I'm not going to say, "only twenty-two", because I do not believe youth is a curse for marriage, but that is another conversation, not this one.

This one, Michelle directs, is about getting her friends to understand that her listening to her husband's lead, frees her, not binds her. And that having spent her singleness submitting to her parents helped her be a better wife. She tells me what I know, that for her it is hard, but she knows without a shadow of a doubt that it is right. I wonder as she tells me that if I could have done a better job showing her the beauty of being lead by a husband. But it is what it is, this is where I hope that my children go far beyond where their parents were and where we took them.

We continued to talk about how some of her friends want to hold out for their husband, or man, to be perfect, a man that can be trusted to lead gently and appropriately. Ah, this is a hard one for me because I do have a great leader. It is very easy for me to hand my life over to him for him to take care of. I haven't always done so but it was always there for me, an easy road. But we talk about how God doesn't give us that out. We talk about how men do not rise to the occasion by being held out on or manipulated or nagged. That quite frankly, most men do not do well if they perceive that they have come to God or responded to God's main call or the call to a manner of serving because of the woman in their life. We are their help mate it is true and Michelle and I agree to talk further on that score also.

Oh yes, it was a good conversation. I am glad that even though some of this doesn't seem to apply to her right now, she is eagerly seeking out what God says on the issue, we did talk about where to find understanding in the scripture and futher study. She is eager to know so that she can speak better about what she knows, a knowing that for now comes from deep down inside but lacks reference and concrete support that others often need and that God tells us to have. 'Be prepared to answer about the hope that is in you' - somewhere in Peter's letters and paraphrased. But the clarity she gains will serve her well: in pointing the thirsty to the Real Well of living water; in being a good wife; a daughter of Sarah: and for raising her children. This is what God designed her for.

So I am getting reminded, Godincidences are swarming, to get Dirt and I started on writing out those principles from our class, the class that was meant to spring board a larger body of work on building a future of purity for generations to come. A writing that would hold our stories and our children's stories that show that when we trust and follow God in through the narrow gate we have a peace that surpasses all understanding. Principles that ultimately say, purity in body and spirit, lived out in the grace of God not the Law, gains a life much, not only in heaven for eternity but here on earth in an abundant life, a free and unbound, unfettered, unshackled life.

Getting Packed

We are soon off for a time in the hills. We will be right in the center of some of the big mountains here. South of Rainier, North of St. Helen's, West of Adams.

The main purpose - well the purpose a few years ago that was the main purpose - is to pick Huckleberries. Not those puny lowland red things that look like something you fish with, but huge purple, dark purple, shiny, juicy huckleberries that are more flavorful than a blueberry.

But now it doesn't seem to be about the Huckleberry any more (although I would not try to stop me if I were you). What started out as Dirt and I trying to get one other family to join us in something I was raised doing, has now turned into ten families, maybe eleven if Jim and Carol make it up, gathering for some wonderful times. I love it, even if I have momentary lapses of overwhelmedness, I love a party. The more the merrier!

Highlights that keep us coming back (not all highlights trip every one's trigger(and I have forgotten many)).

• Huckleberry picking at the 4,ooo foot level, up a treacherous road. (that's all I need)
• Famous Fry Night, it started out as a little cook-in and has now turned into a major event with rules!
• Walking around the campground to see the giant trees
• Scavenger Hunts put on by Autumn
• A trip up to see St Helen's and her growing lava dome, and to stop off and see the lake with a zillion black tad poles in it.
• Fishing with poles or your bare hands.
• Quiet place to read or stare into the trees and think
• A waterfall
• Incredible views of God's creation
• Campfire stories and some of Mike's best renditions of extended family life
• Fantastic meals
• Nice camp hosts who are easily bribed with chocolate chip cookies!
• Instant oatmeal and cup o' noodles when you don't want to cook
• Lots of dogs but no cats
• Camp robbers of the right kind
• Great Hikes and Terrific Naps

But mostly it is getting together with really good friends and talking about everything imaginable, the ultimate church gathering.

Dirt and I hope that God will see us through some day to having a tavern, a road house, an inn call it what you will, we haven't figured out what to call it other than "our tavern ministry". A place where people will come and eat, rest, talk, laugh, find some new friends, catch up with old ones, confess, exhort, be encouraged, heal, serve, teach, learn, birth....

Iron Creek Huckleberry Fest on Labor Day Weekend and other times, seem to be a starting ground.

So Dear Reader in a day or two I will be where there isn't anything but piped water, vault toilets and no electricity. Suffice it to say that I will not be able to blog while I am gone from the farm. Danelle and Ashley, the young ladies that we have commissioned to take care of the farm, will be taking care of everything as if I were here myself. But not the blog. I will be taking my trusty lap top so that I can have all of our gathering loaded and ready to hit the blog running when we get back.

Tia, Your The Greatest!

Tia, my photography consultant, swung by the farm today with a catalog and current prices of the cameras that we talked about on Thursday while she was here.

She takes phenomenal pics. She photoed my second oldest's wedding in '04 and those pictures were stunning!

She is great! and if you would like to see her stuff or have her take your family pics or somin' like that you can find her at http://capturedbytia.thesocs.com/.

If you go to this second one you can see pics of second daughter's wedding! http://capturedbytia.thesocs.com/photos.php?gallery=7 , they are Mike and Michelle!

Saying for the coming month: 'Encourage young entrepreneurs'.

Okay I'm done, Dirt is about ready to ban me from blogging so, ttfn.

Not Many Pictures Lately

One minute you're eating breakfast at the breakfast counter, and the next minute you're fixing your daughter's camera that your wife broke, well really she was just holding it and cleaning the lens when it broke itself. (Shouldn't personal responsibility extend to inanimate objects too?)


This is what the insides of a camera look like. This is what happens when the photography consultant that you hire says that the professional fix would cost as much as the camera.

That and the fact that you have Techno Man living right under your very own roof.

Thanks Dirt, hope you can fix it.

Elisabet, aka Bet or Baby, does have a camera that works quite well. It does however eat batteries for lunch, breakfast and dinner. So I am not used to using it as much as Anna's. Can't wait to get my own digital camera, see my needs list. Okay, wants list, but I believe I explain the confusion in the title on the side bar.

Speaking of side bars, check it out all the way to the bottom.

A New Trick For An Old Dog

Some folks are salesmen (or saleswomen). Some salesmen are salesmen by trade, some are salesmen by nature, some are both. (Everybody whip out your Venn diagrams.)

Dirt will attest to the fact that I am not comfortable with salesmen, especially those who are both so by trade and by nature and find themselves in the car business (furniture business runs a close second).

To say that I am uncomfortable with them I suppose is really misleading. I dislike them and will do anything I can to avoid them. The second to the last vehicle we bought caused Dirt to go to the lots all by himself only to learn that the salesmen do not like to bother showing and discussing a car, without the wife the man is buying for being present. Even though Dirt told the fellow that I have a deep affliction that keeps me from car lots, the fellow would not engage him in anything more than, "This is what we have, mister." without me.

While shopping for the very last vehicle we purchased from a lot, I spent a great deal of time in our truck waiting until Dirt had talked with the fellow. On top of that, this place was one of those no-dicker places, the price is the price take it or leave it. Ahhhh.

I am pretty sure that my aversion to salesmen comes from those in the "salesmen-by-nature" group, and my severe childhood gullibility. A bad mix to say the least. Now, I am not at this time in my life blaming anyone but myself, I'm just saying at that time it was very difficult for me to avoid being talked into doing something or saying something that ought not to have been done or said. And no matter how hard I tried to resist those in the salesmen-by-nature group I spent most of my childhood getting a lecture or some form of reforming punishment or ducking furiously either of those once I recognized I was an idiot before an authority did.

But I am here to say that I, Lanny Person, am ready for a new out look!

Not all salesmen-by-nature are bad or destructive, i can at this moment agree to such a statement. And, I am older if not wiser and somewhat discerning, thereby making it possible to avoid embarrassing or criminally prosecutable moments at the hands of those who have salesmanship in their genetic makeup.

I am looking forward to a bright new future. A future that will make it possible to like, ney, love and embrace those in my husbands circle of friends (okay, no physical embracing) who are of the salesmen-by-nature category. (Lord protect me, please.) I vow to put aside all suspicion and jaw tightening and relax.

The Gross Gift Abuser and Freddy the Freeloader

So, dear reader are you wondering who the terribly disobedient child is or who the poorly mannered ungrateful gift receiver is? They are both myself.

It is easy for me to see some obvious gifts, blessings, I have told God, "Golly, that's nice but no thanks" on. Distant refusals, while I still suffer the consequences, are less painful now for of course I no longer live there. Some others sting much deeper, for they are not distant but in the now of things and I have refused these gifts after I assumed I learned to trust and accept.

The first very noticeable refusal of His gifts for me was children. I was well into my marriage and the mother of four girls before I finally recognized how hideously I had been refusing to take a blessing from God in the form of children I thought I didn't want. My first refusals were rationalized because the gift would ruin my life and show me to be the sinner I am. My second and last refusals because it was "best" for the children I had, our financial position or because I was tired.

Unfortunately when I finally realized what I had been saying all those years to God, who only had good things to offer me, it was to late to open my arms and my heart to all that he had for me. My selfishness is truly irreversible, the individual moments of selfishness: abortion, and "family planning" and then my final stance of selfishness, permanent sterilization, are mine to hold forever.

Am I forgiven? No doubt remains in my mind anymore at the level of my forgiveness in the hands of my Father. I am free from the spiritual bondage of those sins but the consequences in this life remain and the missed blessing is only to be mourned, but never marveled at. Those gifts are ones I can no longer call Him up and say, "golly, I sure am ready for them now."

Fortunately, my second very recognizable refusal is far more redeemable. Marriage and what a blessing, daily, moment by moment, that it is, was very overlooked by me for a very long time. Even when I was enjoying the fruits of a "good" marriage, I still managed to refuse the entire gift. I refused to take the gift and its blessing to the depths of my heart, to cherish every nuance, to breath in deep the earthly embodiment of His unfailing love.

For a long time I refused to see how much God worked through my marriage to grow me, to bring me closer to holy. I refused to "use" the gift how it was meant to be used and instead insisted on using it as I wanted to. I finally came to see, accept and apply, "use" the gift the way it was meant to be seen, instead of something that just made me more socially acceptable and kept me from being lonely when I didn't want to be lonely.

So you would think that I would be done being abusive to the gift Giver and to the gifts He gives from the lessons of those two gift refusals let alone the countless other little daily things. I am after all of somewhat average intelligence. At least on the up going sweep of the bell shaped curve.

But no, I still am a gift receiving dork, and not just a dork like someone who just doesn't know how to hold their knife or which fork is the salad fork. It is not just about knowing spiritual "social graces", it is about not trusting to be led by God on how to use and care for the gift.

So not unlike the person at the get together who first refused to take home the gift on the grounds that they had so many gifts that they just were unsure that they could handle any more gifts, is my ridiculousness in telling God that I did not want to have a spiritual gift He had for me because I was not sure I was ready to deal with it. I was not sure I knew enough about it.

I did not for a minute remember, or I chose to not remember that it was coming from God himself. Did I really think that He forgot that I might not be good at something that might be connected to that gift? Did I really think that He forgot that people might not be willing to accept things from me, because they knew me before I received the gift? Did I really think that He just didn't realize that giving me the gift would be a waste of the gift?

Yep. I really must have been thinking those things because of the way I have acted. I have acted as if I knew better than God what I was. I have acted as if my inadequacies are greater than God. I have squirmed and wormed and wiggled, not looking to God for my strength, just whining and whimpering.

Oh my, how humble. No. not really. Not humble at all and when it is written out it is seen for what it is, gross arrogance. Because when put in the context that I wrote about in my first post on this (Some Things on My Mind) it is easy to see. You all, my dear readers, saw it for what it was, gross, stinky, horrifying arrogance that did not deserve another gift, ever. And even though some tried to put it in good light (but realized that there really was no good light), when it is revealed that it is God who gives the gift, all excuses and face-saving fade away. God would have known that I was a vegan and not in need of a canned ham. It is then that there is no longer any doubt, I am revealed to be what I am, as Dr. John so eloquently, succinctly put it, "nasty."

How horrifyingly arrogant for me to think I know better than God when or how much or what type of gift I should receive. How gross and nasty my heart, that I would refuse to take from God what he generously holds out to me. What an idiot I am to not hear "lean not on your own understanding" and instead stare at those words and be ignorant of them.

Cut from the same cloth but sewn slightly different is the disobedient child that I am, Freddy the Free Loader. Wanting to be a part of the group but only willing to do the things I see fit, thing I want to do, that I think I can handle , that I think I will do well at, that I can't fail at, that won't interrupt my sweet life, that I think others really deserve. Eh? We were travelling along so well until that last one. What the heck? I'm disobedient, reluctant to do what God calls me to do, because I think people don't deserve the whatever it is God asks me to do?

Wow, how much more arrogant does this get? Well at this juncture I could console myself and see that I am in pretty good company with the likes of Jonah. Oh, I can easily disguise that refuse, garbage, and wrapped it up in more palatable excuse of: "people aren't going to like me, people aren't going to want to hear this, people are going to hurt me because of this. Oh, so then what a surprise then to get the reaction Jonah got instead of St. Stephen! Now I'll just go up and sit under my stupid fig tree and whine about not being not-liked or not being not-appreciated.

Ultimately, ultimately, no matter what I say I believe or have learned or live by, ultimately my disobedience, my delayed obedience, my out right refusal, my continually bargaining for a "better" job, tells a story of mistrust. A mistrust that is profoundly undeserved. Not only because no matter what I know, I know that God is God and what stinking more can a human say, there is nothing He can not do, nothing. But secondly, personally known like no intellectualizing can permit, in my very own puny life I have nothing but riches to claim at His hand on my behalf. The only crap in my life is strictly conjured up by myself. He brings me nothing but good all the days of my life.

So dear reader, please hear my confession. That I am an unlearned, unrepentant foolish gift abuser and disobedient freeloader. I am sorry that I am such an arrogant snob, especially if my confessing is hurtful to you. I wish it were not so. I wish I was the nice loving person I would like to be.

Oh, oh how I desire to leap to my defense! To justify myself, declare to you all the valid, culturally acceptable, reasons I am so gross but alas then I know I would never heal, for I am not my own justifier, I can only trust my Lord as my justifier, at the begining, forever and for always. Without confession, without dragging my all into the light I cannot heal. In secret I would only fester and infect. Eventually the poison would spread to the very walls of my dwelling not unlike staph in old hospitals rendering them no longer a place to rest and heal but places that sicken.

Smell That: Summer Style

Mmm ummm ummm umm um,


I sure wish that through the miracle of technology I could share the scent as well as the sight of these beauties!


But then some of you would have to quickly escape until the fragrance dissipated. To which I am not sure I get.

I know there are some things that obviously don't smell to everyone like they were intended to smell. I have a friend who has always thought that Channel #5 smells like horse sweat, but then again maybe it really does smell like that cause I personally love the smell of horse sweat, others might too.


There is a perfume that Nordstrom sells, or used to, that I always thought smells like wet tobacco leaves to me, but then again I could see that really they meant for it to smell like that, what little girl doesn't love the smell of her grandpa's cigar, and gentlemen surely love cigars so maybe it really is supposed to smell like wet tobacco.


The following floral treat could, for some, smell like cat spray, for that is what poor Dirt thinks of my lovely lilies that I so look forward to every year. He is a darling to suffer "cat spray" for a month. I hope that is not the case with you dear reader.

I hope dear reader, you can enjoy and perhaps in your mind smell the sweet delicious aroma that completely engulfs my funny little living room at present. (It is cold outside and terribly so last evening but I just can't close the windows for fear of missing a moment of their scent.)







These light pink ones, which I don't remember the name of and the white ones, Casa Blanca are right outside my living room window to the north.




This last group of lovelies are potted up and sitting inches away from my living room window on the south side of the house. So my living room really is filled with their fragrance. But if it isn't enough for you to sit in the room and breath it in deeply you may go outside and bury our face in the lovely blossoms. Not to fear the yellow pollen because I always do my best to remove the anthers so that they do not spoil the pristine white or prematurely age the blossoms. Please enjoy.

Purr Bob Wants To Know

Purr Bob, would just like to know, "whadda doin taday?"

"Ya gunna bug da quakers?"

Try out new bisket?

Er sit'n ol fayvrit?

Git squished b sumbuddy oo luvs ya?

Blog yer brains out?

Hang wit chor kin?

Er confab wit da crazy udder side?

Er mebee just lukin perty taday?

The Other Thing On My Mind

I'm sorry for the confusion, I did not intend for you to think that I was the gift giver in the preceding story. (scroll down please, if you haven't read it or tossed your comments into the ring).

I certainly, most certainly, have appreciated your input to my inquiry! I just wanted to clear that up before I went on to the next item on my mind, because the children in this next item are not Dirt's and my children. Not that our children are not capable of such naughtiness, they are children after all. But really, these stories are taken from real life but they are not us.

Thank you for the sympathy, for there is someone who is deserving of it.

So let me have your input on this one from a parent's perspective:

You give your child, Freddy, a job to do. A simple straight forward task, nothing you wouldn't have done yourself.

You've done all the things parenting psycologist and experts tell you you should do: You've set the parameters and you've given a pretty decent explanation of how to do the job. You have supplied your child with everything they need in order to do as you have asked and you are on hand to help them if they need it. And, by the way, before you think yourself mean and ruthless, your child is perfectly capable, age wise, physically, mentally and in every other way, of accomplishing what you asked of them. Your a pretty smart cookie, you would have given the job or task to someone else or just done it yourself if they were not capable or if their arms were broke.

But tell me how you would have felt, if Freddy trotted right off and not attended to the task you gave them?

It gets worse.

So then you give your other child, Johnny, the job to do. He does a perfectly fine job. You knew he would because Johnny has done this sort of thing for you before. But you are disappointed that Freddy trotted off and didn't do his work.

What makes matters worse is that without saying anything Freddy then does the job a day or a week later. Mind you, the job really kinda needed to be done when you gave it or certainly within that day. But there is Freddy, doing the job that you gave him days ago to do. And he is pleased with himself, even comes to you and wants you to praise him, maybe you're the type of parent who pays for such things and here is Freddy wanting his payment! What do you think of the behavior of such a child?

Around our house, because this does actually happen a bit around here (not so blatantly perhaps) we have a saying: delayed obedience is the same as disobedience. Not unlike how my father would speak of lies and truth when he said that a lie by omission was still a lie. But as usual I digress.

You have seen Freddy pull this several times or something very similar. Freddy has been known to drag his feet while doing a job until you step in and just do it. Sometimes he has flat out told you "no".

How do you feel? I know that we don't parent by our feelings but by the "right" thing. I'm pretty sure we know the right thing to do even though it may be different for different parents or different for individual children. What I am really after is, what the heck does this make you feel like as a parent?!?

You've even spoken to Freddy about the benefit to him of doing a job promptly and well. You've told him even if he messed up while doing the job it would be more beneficial to him and everyone if he at least did his best instead of always trying to get out of it. You tell Freddy you want him to grow up to be a productive contributing member in his community and you and those around you agree, that in order for him to learn and grow he really needs to start obeying right away and he agrees with you! Whole heartedly agree with you.

So how do you feel when so many efforts to get him to move forward is shunned by him?

I am asking, how do you feel as Freddy's parent?

Some Things on My Mind

I want to dance like the girls on the Target commercial, the two girls setting up their dorm room. I've thought this more than just once. I really want to dance like that.

But really, I have a question for you, dear reader.

Lets say, you were in the habit of giving lovely gifts to friends and family. The people you give gifts to know that you always give pretty stinkin good gifts. Lets say though, that you come to a party and have gifts for many of the people there.

However, this one couple or individual says to you, "No, I (or, we, as the case may be) really am not into your gift right now. I (we) have a lot of things already and I'm (we're) not sure what we would do with any more gifts"

You're kinda stunned but you re-offer your gift. But they continue in their blowing you off. (I know, you're shocked that someone could behave this way! But really it has happened and I want to know what you think.)

So after the get together, you pack up your stuff and the present that didn't get given. You continue to have a nice friendship with this person (these people). Every time they talk to you or see you they act as if nothing awkward has occured, so for now, you don't mention it.

But then out of the blue, they call you and ask if you could give them the gift.

"What the heck?!?" You think to yourself: "And what was wrong with just taking it when I had it to give? They think I just have it sitting around my house and now I'm going to run right over and give it to them. They know how I like to wrap gifts and that I feel the wrapping it is part of the gift. But now they expect that the present is still looking good after being shuffled from room to room?

"Okay fine, I'll give them the present no matter what. It was a gift to them after all." You say to yourself choking down your pride.

So you go over and you give them the present. They get all excited and thank you profusely and tell everyone about it. You smile sweetly and are happy they are happy.

But then a couple of years later nearly the same thing happens. And since the first incident, you find out that they have criticized the first present to all your friends. And you see for yourself that they haven't taken very good care of it.

Now I know we are supposed to just give gifts and not attach strings to them. The blessing is the giving. But come on, if this happened to you, and happened more than once, what would you think, or feel?

What Time Is It?

It is 2:15, I am not living on the Artic Circle, consequently it is very dark right now, but in spite of that our rooster is crowing, a lot. And of course Dirt has his conspiracy-nut-job radio on. Is he listening? No but if I turn it off he'll just turn it back on. I am so happy to hear that a disabled turtle was fitted with prosthetics in the form of a skate board so that she can mate again.

Ahh, the things you too could learn if you were up late at night listening to confused roosters crow. My toe aches so much I am not sleeping well but I guess maybe there are some people and situations that need prayer and if I run out of prayers I could read Teresa of Avila.

Yes, dear reader, I have her back so we can begin to go through Interior Castle together.

A Draft Saved Is A Blog Earned

I was cleaning up my archives, adding, dropping, condensing labels, and I found this draft. I wonder why I didn't finish it. ? But then there are a lot of things that I could wonder exactly that about.

So now I will share that draft with you, dear reader, because someone must be the recipient of my house cleaning.

It's spring (not no more) and that means flowers, working in the dirt and kitties. Vicktory kitties are taught the farm ropes by their mommies who are experts at keeping the vermin at a tolerable level. The only mice and other rodentia that I see are dead ones, that for me is a tolerable level. I find our cats to be very good organic and natural pest control.

When they were little, our girls would stuff their pockets with kitties and then attempt to get their chores done. Those kittens grew to become famous, extraordinary cats with delightful personalities. Our girls are still often seen wearing a few kitties around the farm. There is not a kitten that isn't observed, played with, packed around and named.

This is Purr Bob

If I get out old pictures of kittens we have had before, the girls remember the kitten's name, its quircky habits and who they went to. But then again these are the same girls who can tell our Suffolk sheep apart and recognize who is whom clear across the pasture. That is like telling thirty black labs apart from the opposite end of a football field.


I am happy to report that all our kittens (except Purr Bob) went to good homes this summer. Including one my girls had intended to keep, the old fellow who called had a good story. Unfortunately all but one of our momma cats are missing. I hope that the last varmint killing instigated by Martin, and done in by Dirt, the girls and some friends will end the case of the missing cats and missing poultry. But this lose of mommas could mean the end of the famous Vick kitties.

Dirt Is A Turkey

Oh dear, and a cranky one too. For now he has rolled over, turned his back on me and dismissed our daughters to their room.

Bet asked why he was upset. And he said rather flatly, "Because, your mother is going to turn this into a blog and call me a turkey."

"Oh, good night then," with a giggle in her voice and off both girls went to bed.

So what prompted this exchange?

It was a very busy day today, or not, but at least a day that everyone in the family was separated.

Grandson Kai had spent the night and he and the girls were over to Terry's by 8 a.m. to grandpa sit until Kai's mom, Stephanie, arrived to take me over to stay with Terry's dad and pick them up, so that Bet and Anna could help her cook dinner for Eric's youth group. (Eric is Stephanie's husband and father of Kai and Aksel). We barely had time to say good morning to one another. Dirt had dashed off as soon as Steph arrived so he could get into the feed and hardware store when it opened.

The night before we had gotten home after dark and when Bet had gone out to put her turkeys away, one of the young blue ones was missing. Dirt had asked me later this afternoon, when we were waiting for Terry and her family to get home, if Bet had found her turkey this morning. I thought it was funny that he was asking me because: one, I didn't know a turkey was missing until just then; two, he probably saw more of her than I did that morning,

So as the girls and I were brushing our teeth tonight before bed I asked Bet if her young blue turkey had showed up.

"Yes, he was 'balurp, balurping right outside the door of the turkey pen this morning. he seemed very nervous and worried that he had spent the night out."

"Oh that's so cute, I love it when they 'balurp, balurp'."

"Not me," she says. "I think it is sad."

"Really? You think 'balurp, balurp' is sad? I love their 'balurp, balurps.' But you really think it is sad?" I ask, looking for an explanation.

"Ya, they only 'balurp, balurp' when they are hungry or looking for someone. When they are lonely. That's sad. They're either lonely or hungry. Sad."

"Oh" I say quietly, noting to myself to change my opinion of turkey's balurp.

The conversation had moved to my room while I stayed in the bathroom brushing my teeth. My husband was asking something about the group of littlest turkeys (the missing one came from an older group).

"Oh, they were all at their box," she tells him.

"Their brooder box? They had gone back to their brooder box?" Dirt asks as I am coming into the room.

"Ya, they always go to their brooder box when they get out and are nervous."

"Really!" I say.

"Oh, ya," says Bet. "Didn't you know that? Turkeys hate change."

At which I began to howl, and Dirt began to turn over and excuse the girls.

Dirt, he hates change.

Closer to Done

The living room portion of our little house is the original 1890's log home of Sam Sorenson the original homesteader of the farm we rent.

The outside of the living room, note the flat sided log construction.

When we found out within a year or two of living here that the original homesteader was a Scandinavian American it just made everything seem that much better. My husband's grandmother comes from Lulea, Sweden and his grandfather from southern Sweden. I had already totally embraced Dirt's heritage as I was a typical American mutt. My girls have been raise entrenched in nearly everything Scandinavian.

Early in my marriage Carl Larsson quickly became my favorite artist. My living room is painted in colors that come from paintings of his life and home. It was the first room in my house that I was daring and painted in color (something besides beige) after my mom died (she thought beige was the best color to paint homes). There were other inspirations but Larsson is my main draw.

I'm not sure that knowing all of this will help you appreciate the colors in my house or not. But I have had it painted this color for over ten years and I, the queen of change, just repainted it the same color scheme. So obviously I like it, a few of my friends have commented that they do to, the ones who don't have been kind so far and kept their opinions to themselves, but its okay, I know it won't be every one's cup of tea.

The built ins in these pics, my latest painting project The Great Thing About Being A Girl, were originally closets. They became these clever little built ins ten or so years ago updated in the last four years with great sliding drawers in the lower part. Built ins were very popular in Sweden especially for beds. But that would be a different room,
This year our TV died and we had to buy a new one, which of course meant finally putting in built ins in the opposite end of the room to accommodate the enormous thing but more importantly complete the room. Many things are not finished in the room like the floor (just ripped out the carpet The Carpet Has Left The Building ), the track lighting that needs to go, the window treatment that needs to change to what?, my rolling coffee cubes and the covers that need to be reconstructed for them and many other projects but I just wanted to show you these pictures of my latest accomplishments.

Yesterday morning as soon as the paint was cured in the built ins, Bet wanted to set up her Playmobile viking ship. When I went in to see her set up I let out a little squeal of delight. There it was after a whole week of whining

my very own addition to the dragon hunt!
I love that my girls have always loved to play and continue to play as grown up girls. So many of us, under the pressure of peers, stop playing before childhood really even ends and don't pick it up again until the birth of children or grandchildren.

And just because my girls still play doesn't mean they don't work, they are very hard workers and in fact that is what we are about to do. More shearing and landscape management jobs. I'll take the camera and see you back here later dear reader, have a good day till then.

Way Too Much Fun In The Pool

It hit nintey-four degrees today, so the pool is just what the mommies (and daughters) ordered.

The house got a good tidying before we left, but leave we did! The plants looked pathetic when we drove out even though they were watered quite well and late in the day yesterday. It was a good thing that Rebecca came and picked us up or I would have stayed a little longer to water some more. Not that it would have done any good.

I hope you like the following pics. I forgot to switch over to 'sport' mode on the camera until the last pic and the battery died. So pardon the blur but I just couldn't go without sharing the day.

~

Nothing to do but just go in!

Okay, me too!

Where'd everyone go?

In!

Like this!

And again like this:

Some of us like it like this!

How?

Like this

Or even better like this!

Well we like it like this!

One, two, three

Okay, I'm done. It was a lovely swim. Thanks Mike and Rebecca, for having a pool just for us!

Now lets get dressed for Gathering!

Last Evening's Sheep Grazing

A tired sheep shearer, sheep dealer, sheep driver, takes a nap with his sheep safely in their pen.

Bet with Janie and some reading material for our family evening out back with the sheep.


Do you see our Anna across the pond?


She has been inspired by the Olympics.

Up the hill she comes.

She's huffin, she's puffin. She's still smilin.


But she collapses.

While we are out here I will try to catch a picture of a dragonfly for a little thing that a blogger friend is doing. Oh well they are too fast out here too.

Up over the hill and here is Dale, our landlord, and Eddy, his little helper.

One more try at the dragonfly thing, they seem to fly slower over the grass, so I'll lie down and see if I can get one this way. Oh bother all I get is blue sky and munching in my ear.

Munch, munch, munch,

munch, munch, munch

The sky is changing a lovely color and the moon is rising.

time to head the sheep back home to the protection of the barnyard.

The mountain is a beautiful color out here as we pack up and head the sheep home. But when we get home this is the sky that greets us:

And that was Thursday's wonderful end.

This evening, Friday, we are at the Bowerman's for a quick swim before the gathering of the Body.

See you soon dear reader.