Of Words and Wounds

I re-learned a word today.  It's actually one I've known a long time but have pronounced incorrectly pretty much all my life.  The word is 'poignant'.   Learning its correct pronunciation took on an added dimension for me today.  

Poignant is an interesting word with several nuanced meanings:

1.  keenly distressing to the feelings: e.g. poignant regret.

2.  keen or strong in mental appeal:   e.g. a subject of poignant interest.

3.  affecting or moving the emotions:  e.g. a poignant scene.

4.  pungent to the smell:  e.g. poignant cooking odors.

Take definition #1.  I experienced that kind of keen distress today.  Mid afternoon I found myself in a state of shock, covered with blood (wearing church clothes no less) and pretty much unable to function.  The whole fiasco was of my own making.  I take full responsibility for the events that led to having to break up a blood bath dog fight and getting injured in the process.

Definitions #2 came into play shortly thereafter.  It was a poignant concern that my wounds get medical treatment and the sooner the better.  Dog bites are no laughing matter.

Definition #3 has defined the rest of the experience and what follows are some poignant lessons from the day.

1.  Proverbs 27:10b.  Better is a neighbour that is near than a brother far off.   I was already eternally grateful for the family friend who dropped everything to take me to the ER today. Even while I was still in shock his stories helped give proper perspective to the situation and take my mind off the whole thing.  

2.  The curse of sin is alive and well on this earth.  We've lived with enough shelter and peace in this culture that we find ourselves shocked at the capacity for horror that lies hidden in both our own hearts and the precious animal friends that live on this earth with us.  Men like our friend (see #1) who have been to war are more aware of it and somehow manage to live fruitful productive lives despite having been exposed to that.

3.  God is always in control.  Apparently I lost my watch in the incident. I always thought it only told time but today it protected the most vulnerable part of my arm.  It stopped forever when it stopped a dogs teeth on that part of my wrist. That's a dent dead center in the middle. You can't see it but there's a bit of blood next to number "7" between  the pushed down face and where the crystal used to be.

And how did anything as poignant as the pronunciation of poignant come up in all this?  Honestly I don't remember. It was late on the way home.  That's ok -  it led to some good conversation and despite all the negative poignancy about the day the lessons in the school of hard knocks were learned well,  and the kindness and care from both near and far are deeply felt and will be long appreciated. 


The correct pronunciation of poignant may be heard in this  youtube video.  It's worth learning!

Red

But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, easy to be entreated,  full of mercy and good fruits, without variance, without hypocrisy.
 James 3:17

Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful. Luke 6:36

I'm out of chicken food. I'll get more later this morning.

But I did have some grain that had weavels in it so I took it out to the chickens first thing this morning. It was the first time I sat on the back steps to feed the chickens and I didn't know what to expect, but I knew I wanted to give the laying hens and the momma and chicks priority. That's why I poured it in piles around my feed and sat there. The hens and chicks are used to that.

Some curious and hungry roosters did come along wanting to eat. I'm ok with that as as long as they behave themselves. Smut is one of our two pretty roosters. I call him that because of the dark colored neck and plume feathers. In between is every color of the rainbow. I try to take care of him as his brother, Red, continually runs him away from food. All food, all the time.

The mama hen and the babies found a pile of cornmeal close that they were happily working on. Smut got brave enough to get close to me . . . and promptly started bullying the little ones to get out of his way! Not on my watch Dude! He met each transgression with a small rock. I don't know if he got the idea or not but he did give up as he didn't care for the rocks.

We were about half way through the grain when Red discovered what was going on. Red is the big boss of all the chickens. He probably has every shade of orange known to man on him with an awesome blue/black plume. I watched with amusement as he surveyed the situation with great dignity, and cautiously approached center where momma and the babies were feasting on cornmeal. I had a rock ready for him.

And I didn't have to use it. That big powerful bird stayed at the outskirts of the cornmeal pile and gently ate alongside the little ones as though he were one of them.

I sat there in complete amazement. Red rules the yard and the coop. He keeps the other roosters in check. So it amazed me that rather than bully the small ones away from food like all the other chickens he deferred to them when he hadn't had breakfast himself.

When the food got low and I knew momma and the chicks had ate plenty I went back inside. After getting a cup of coffee I looked out to see the same pattern – momma and the chicks were safely eating beside him center stage with all the other chickens leaving them alone.

Momma told me that Red was being what a father is supposed to be to his family – a sacrificial protector. To quote one of my kids, it warmed the cockles of my heart. I guess God knew which rooster needed to be #1 in our yard. And I think I'll throw him and extra handful from now on. 

Thoughts On Being Chicken

We have chickens.  Maybe they have us -  that could be debatable.  Whatever the case, I am mobbed with them whenever I go outside these days. And I always subconsciously hear Karen Carpenter softly singing  "Why do birds suddenly appear . . . ?"  I know the answer to that one -  FOOD!

They stay cooped up most of the year as we don't particularly want them eating Norman's berries or the fresh vegetables we love most of the year. During the winter months though, we let them out.  At first they are hesitant, but slowly venture further from their normal domain.  They eat bugs, slugs, seeds and anything else they can scrape or catch.  And chicken feed.  Lots of chicken feed.  The better they're fed, the better they bless us with eggs.  I sometimes joke to my husband that those bright orange yolks he loves are probably recycled palmetto bugs.  If you don't know what a palmetto bug is, it's like a monster cockroach that feeds off decaying wood and leaves.  They function sort of like an above ground earthworm but are a lot grosser.

The black copper hen blessed us with chicks Jan 1.  It was a nice way to start the new year.  We knew from previous experience that chicks are particularly vulnerable as many wild critters are hungry in the wintertime.  We've known of coyotes, hawks, bobcats, coons, and possums all  to venture up here on the hill in hopes of feasting on foul.  These chicks were two or three days old when I heard some hawks screeching in the tops of a pecan tree making plans to swoop down.  They flew when I hurled some choice words their way.  I'm sure they had no idea what I was saying, but I like to think they knew it was for them as they left in a hurry and we've not seen them since. 

Regardless, baby chicks need to eat, and regular laying pellets aren't exactly formulated for them.  So I trucked down to the feed store and got some chick feed - it's small with a bit of medication to protect them from diseases.  I fixed a real nice setup on one side of the barn for them - it had plenty of food, water and shelter and momma hen and babies were all happy in there till the horses smelled the feed.  I came out one morning to find them loose and their nice little home broken into by a big nosed horse who was too greedy for anyone's good.

It left me with a dilemma:.  With open feeding, that is, me throwing food for all the chickens, how was I supposed to feed the babies without the big chickens getting their food?  It took some work, but I did it.  And it was simple.  I earned their trust.

Talk about a process. Chickens are by nature, well, chickens.  They thrive on calm and run in fear from almost everything. I had to learn to move slowly and not scare the daylights out of them, something I did a lot  as I really enjoy hurling chunks of wood at big mean roosters. Momma Hen knew instinctively knew what food  the babies needed and while she never particularly cared for the stick I held to push the other chickens away from them, she did figure out that it wasn't for them. Now days I put the chick feed behind the wheel of the riding mower and the babies eat just a few inches away from me.  They're not scared.  Every once in a while one of the other hens or roosters want to take over their feeding spot, but I'm there and they don't try much anymore. Momma Hen eats with the big chickens now, and the babies, maybe a yard from her, eat in safety and play on the underside of the mower till she calls them.  She'll find a quiet spot, gently cluck and they'll run and scurry under her wings.  Everybody's full, everyone is happy.

It's crossed my mind several times that I'm a lot like those chickens.  I'm small, weak, and vulnerable to a lot of predators, mostly my own failures and weaknesses.  And I've got Someone who cares for me a lot more than I care for those chickens.  But do I trust Him enough not to go flying and squawking away every time He shows his might and power or some new threat screeches from the top of a tree?  I've had to admit at this stage of life that I face many fears that I didn't know existed when I was younger.  And I confess that I sometimes respond by running away rather than running to my Savior.

So yeah, I'm chicken.  I just desire to be like the ones who recognize the Parent's voice and run to safety, not like the fearful ones who run from everything and get slaughtered.

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together , even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!  Matthew 23:37

Facing Fall

Well, I've got 18 more minutes of Sept. 1, 2009 and I'm still wondering what happened to August. Most years I dread August. Here in the southeast corner of AL it's a miserable month with miserable heat and humidity. I've dealt with it mentally for many years by quietly counting the weeks till the temperatures let up.

I've not had to do that this year. We left early in the month and headed north. Brian had a long anticipated meniscal transplant and we went up to be with them. It was our first trip to Raleigh since he and Bonnie got married. While it was still hot there, except for walking Lucy, our grand-dog, we didn't feel it too much since helping them through those first few rough days after surgery was priority - which meant staying inside. Bonnie has some great shots if anyone wants to venture over to their blog . . . and yes, I was sewing during the surgery. It relieved the frustration of endless CNN newscast repeats and I secretly wished the bags I was stitching were voodoo dolls of certain persons whose leftist lies we had to endure in the waiting room. Making family members endure health reform brainwashing tactics during a stressful time is not the way to win them over.

Coming home was better than anticipated - Norman stopped at Ikea in Charlotte and gave me the tour. At home we were greeted by a tropical storm! I love those things. They don't do nearly as much damage as hurricanes and tornadoes, but do bring blessed rain and cooler temperatures. We even dipped below (gasp!) 70 several nights.

Of course we had an overgrown yard, overgrown garden, piles of mail and projects and bills to deal with on return . . . all expected, and still not all dealt with yet. But we're home and trying to slog through it all. There have been a lot of joys - seeing Beck back to college by the skin of her teeth, reuniting with old friends, Bible study with my peeps . . . and there have been some devistations too. I take comfort that God's got that under control.

In other news, Cindy has taken it upon herself to continually bless us all with her wry humor. I have to be the #1 fan of FriendADay. Those 100 visitors yesterday . . . I love Facebook posts!

The days around the fourth weekend were interesting. Mike, Heather and a friend drove to the west coast to be in a wedding only to be rear ended in southern CA and miss the rehersal after getting lost. Then the minister, our much loved BroJo, came up missing Sunday morning. Our cat, Lucky, (and yes, we heard the crass jokes about her getting lucky) had four sweet kittens under the guest bed while hoards of frantic friends and family, ourselves included, tried to find Joel across three thousand miles. My reward for helping find him finally, and then finding the kittens, was being hissed at by a newborn kitty. I thought I was imagining it at first, but it pretty much hisses at me every day. Ok, so maybe they're not all so sweet - the jury is still out on that one.

I also got to the jail late because of all of the above, only to be turned me away because they were under quarantine.

Then last weekend we doubled our apiary when another beekeeper threw in the towel and we obtained their bees and equipment. God bless my dear husband for his support and help, and for enduring multiple stings after his first encounter with a hot hive.

So now it's, whoops, two minutes into September 2 and my calendar is already bulging. I worked at the computer so long today I thought my eyeballs were going to melt out of my head, and after making a cute repurposed purse, well, here I am again. At least this is somewhat more pleasurable.

So if you see me sometime this month, you can be sure I probably need a hug, a big one even. Between the bees, upcoming classes to teach, upcoming projects to complete, upcoming trips, another farmer's market starting and trying to hold down the fort at home, yeah. . . . it's good to be home.

Dead Mice Offerings (image deliberately omitted)

We have two cats, Stitches and Lucky. They are about as opposite in personalities as it’s possible for two felines to be. Stitches is demure and doesn’t like to be held, yet she’s the one who will cuddle against my backside in the sewing room chair when given the opportunity. Lucky on the other hand is a Tigger; impetuous, playful, and affectionate.

We don’t know which one of them is leaving us “presents”.

It started this spring after we were gone for a week. We came home to a thoroughly disgusting dead mouse on the porch by the back door. The unspoken message was, “You weren’t here to feed us, we don’t want you to leave again so we’re going to feed you.”

There have been two this week, and neither were on the back porch by the door . . . no, they were in the work area of the kitchen where thankfully I didn’t step on them. I’ve not figured out what the meow message is supposed to be, unless it’s something like, “I’d like mine medium rare”, which of course we know isn’t going to happen.

It crossed my mind this morning while disposing of mousie #2, (found intact next to the refrigerator unlike it’s predecessor that had internal parts missing) that our offerings to God must seem a lot like that sometimes. I know my cats mean well. My mom told me years ago that it’s their way of taking care of their family and showing appreciation. Yet what possible use could a dead mouse be to a human other than something to throw out and maybe fertilize the garden . . . like compost? And when you consider the diseases that mice can carry do you even want to do that??

I’m reminded that my own works are like that to God, pretty disgusting. While I may mean well, and be very sincere, if it’s not led by His Spirit, and washed in His Blood, it’s not worth a whole lot in eternity’s economy.

And eternity, under the shadow of his wings, is where I want to live. So no dead mice for my God today! He wants my heart and I’m glad to give it to Him – just not on the kitchen floor.

Finding My Inner Farmgirl

My friend Rachael visited over the weekend. Rachael's visits are always a delight. We do all kinds of crazy stuff like dig in the trash gully on my property, rob bees, sit and sweat for hours, and enjoy insane animal adventures. This visit she went on a swarm call with me and actually found the queen bee in the swarm bucket, by herself! Rach is a true renaissance woman. She's every bit as much at home in a frilly Victorian frock as she is denim and flannel. She makes fine bonnets and can handle a pistol or tomahawk with equal skill.

Needless to say I look forward to her visits.

This time she left me something priceless - a couple of magazines featuring bees and honey as their topic of the month. You know me, if it's honey related, I'm all for it!

One of the magazines is Mary Janes Farm. I have to admit, I was pretty much a goner with the first photo I saw, a little girl in a bee costume. The old timey bee embrodery patterns were a treat too. Interviews with beekeepers, recipes, etc were all presented beautifully and tastefully.

Then I saw the website . . . it turns out Mary Jane is a real person. Her vision, hard work and passion have touched many lives and there are "Farmgirl" chapters, each sporting it's own unique apron, all over the country. It's a great site to peruse while on hold. The networking is awesome - today I found Aunt Daisey , tea jellies, and all kinds of cool crafty blogs. Talk about inspiration! Between all the adorable aprons and links to other women out there doing their own thing, I felt my kind, our kind, of different was a special thing.

So Thank You dear Rachael for your own precious friendship, and also for helping me appreciate my Inner Farmgirl.

Wild Life

Life around here is usually pretty tame. We've got our routines and all the animals pretty much know what to expect. The cats have their regular times for going in and out. The chickens pretty much leave the coop in the morning, roam all day and go back to the coop at night. The cows and horses have their favorite hangouts and we all exist peacefully together.

Till today! I woke this morning to a ruckus just outside my bedroom window that would wake the dead. The chickens were having a holy fit about something and I made it outside and around the corner just in time to see a hawk flee from a bush the chickens were hiding behind.

Tonight on the way home I saw the biggest, most beautiful buck I've ever seen just beside my pasture fence. I couldn't believe my eyes and slowed down and just stared at him. Obviously I spooked him because he turned around, jumped the barb wire fence and went back into the pasture. I've got a few more days to maybe put him in the freezer.

I was still in shock over the deer when I drove around the corner of the house to my favorite parking place. What should I see but my dear kitty, Stitches, face to face with a possum about double her size. I don't know if she was staring it down or what, but the nasty thing ran like a son of a gun when it saw me. I blessed my kitty for being a good guard cat.

So maybe it's an illusion that things are tame around here, or maybe it's just that it's winter and the wild critters are hungry.

Buster and the Chickens

We've noticed for a while that our dog thinks he's a chicken. We got him as a small pup and he grew up with our free range chickens. While he IS a dog, sometimes he does chicken like things. Like eat banana peels and cantaloupe rind. I guess as many times as they've helped themselves to his dog food when his back was turned he may as well hog theirs when the opportunity comes up.

Two weeks ago my dh had to confine the chickens to the coop. It was a hard decision as we all enjoy them so much, but they were scarfing down the tender young vegetable plants in the garden as soon as they came up. There was no way to keep them out without encasing the entire garden in chicken wire, including the top. Large garden plus lots of chicken wire equals lots of expense. Nope. The chickens had to stay put a while.

Enter heat wave. Yeah, it's been bad here. Even with extra shade and plenty of water they've not done well and we lost three layers this week. My dh was devastated. He buried two of them deep near the edge of the garden yesterday.

We knew the dog missed the chickens. He had caught him in the coop with them (he'd dug himself in) just hanging out and enjoying their company a couple of times. Maybe he was "sharing" their scratch feed and water too, we don't know. But this morning as I enjoyed a quiet moment on the screen porch before it got too hot I heard something sad - Buster was howling just off to my left. I wasn't able to see him, but he was howling - a sad slow howl. It seemed odd but I didn't give it a lot of thought till I got the car a bit later.

The howl came from a spot where a dead chicken lay. It was a pretty bad sight and I wasn't about to go near the disgusting thing, so I did what any good farm wife would do. I got my husband. Turns out Buster had dug her up. I don't know if he was trying to encourage her to get up and walk around with him or what, but he was howling, mourning over his friend.

There's a verse in the Bible about all creation groaning in travail while the earth waits for redemption. I would have never thought that a half wolf dog would mourn over the loss of a chicken, but that's exactly what happened.

Blessed Saturday

Today has been one of those Saturdays I live for. Let me rephrase that, I don''t live for Saturdays, but once in a while I have one that leaves me quite fulfilled. Today was such a one. I didn't accomplish everything I hoped to do but that's ok. What was done was worthwhile. Highlights:

Hitting the Mother of All Good Yard Sales. Good products, good prices. Among other things I purchased three cast iron skillets (0ld seasoned ones!) for $2.75. Sweet!!!

Cooking for the masses. I have breakfast for our Sunday School tomorrow. Part was cooked today, part will be tomorrow.
Chased chickens off the porch

Cleaned Sewing Room. It needed it bad.
Set up table for Beck's studio.
Awesome quiet time with God.
Chased a chicken out of my kitchen.

Cleaned back porch, sort of.
Reorganized screen porch, at little.
Decorated front porch. It looks real nice now.
Fed the cat.

Hauled stuff to the barn.
Took clean empty supers off beehives and put them into storage.

Scored points with the cows by giving them hay. Lost points with the horses by not letting them bully the cows to get said hay.

Mowed the grass.
Made supper.
Loaded more stuff in the truck to move

Stung Norman and myself. Yeah, that sounds strange. I did confer with L. Thompson about it beforehand as he's the apiatherapy expert. Norman had been wanting me to do it for something like a wart on his arm. I had something similar on my calf so took a hit too. It's one thing to get a random sting when you aren't expecting it. Picking up a buzzy little girl with a pair of tweezers and deliberately putting her pointed little rump in a specific spot is a whole different experience. It's not easy to pick up a wiggly bee without squishing her. Anyway we each took one sting tonight. Monday we'll each take two an inch apart on either side of said wart thing, then three in a triangular pattern around it on Thursday. He called it "circling the dragon." After that we'll see what happens or what else needs to be done.

The best part of the day was laughing and working with my family. Beck was gone most of the day but Norman and I had a good time doing stuff. He followed me around the yard on the big tractor for a while just for laughs while I was mowing. Passerby had to think we were nuts. I'm glad to have that done as it will make getting pecans so much easier. Looks like a bumper crop this year.

Presently I'm fixing to (that's a southern term for "about to") pass out. I'll finish that cooking in the morning before church. G'nite all.

Weekend Wonderment

As the weekend draws close I find myself musing about some of the small, and not so small miracles in our little corner of the world.

The one that has blessed me most is the miracle of music. After a long dry spell and some heart rending experiences our Becky is composing again. Part of the hiatus has been merely the busyness of life, but part is out of deep emotion too. Whatever the case what I'm hearing is more beautiful than anything that's come before and I stand in awe of what God does through this child.

On a less dramatic note, our sterile chickens are laying eggs. It took a year and a half for them to develop from steroid stuffed nearly dead fryer rejects to real chickens. But grow they did. They've been free range all summer, sharing the pasture with the cows and reclining under the shade of the big pecan tree during the heat of the day. Silly funny pets, that's all they were. I guess the good life agreed with them.

And Norman has successfully transplanted Tennessee rhubarb to southeast Alabama. His biggest obstacle has been . . .chickens. I don't know if rhubarb is to chickens like catnip is to cats but they won't stay away from it. He planted it under the aforementioned pecan tree and well . . . hmmm . . . I wonder if it had anything to do with the sudden appearance of eggs.