It has been a very busy summer here on the farm. We’ve been adding critters left and right…or so it seems. Piglets born in February, April, and July. A calf born in April. New chicks arriving non-stop for two weeks in June. I do believe we are done for awhile. During these busy times it is sometimes hard to slow down and appreciate the beauty that surrounds us even in the busy times.
During this hectic time I have taken my camera along to capture some of these treasured moments and I have shared them with my Facebook friends and family. They are bombarded with pictures of glistening spider webs in the early morning sunshine, wildflowers swaying in the gentle breeze, new chick pictures almost daily filling their newsfeed. There are pictures of colorful bugs and slimy slugs. Images of pig snouts, mushroom sprouts, and wooded turn-outs. The list goes on of the natural beauty that I capture with my camera during the most mundane tasks of farming.
Why do I take the time to capture these images? Why do I continually post these images to Facebook? Why do people continue to look at such ordinary images? I’ll tell you what I think – I think that many people are not in a position to see the beauty in the ordinary. They live in cities devoid of endless variety of natural life. They are busy running from home to job to shuffling kids around to endless sports activities. They live lives that are removed from the rhythm of nature and the heartbeat of country life. I think in some small way I am bringing the beautiful into their lives – encouraging them to stop and see the intricacies of creation all around them.
I hope in some small way I am helping others to see a loving Creator that thoughtfully planned a beautiful world for His creatures to enjoy. Take a moment and look around you as you go out your door tomorrow. See what beauty is in your own backyard – and relish every moment.
Tranquility, by definition, is the quality of being tranquil; calmness; peacefulness; quiet; serenity. It is a quality that is sorely missing in today’s society of instant gratification, fast-paced living, and endless consumerism. It is a quality I find every day on our little slice of heaven on earth.
Tranquility for me comes in many different forms. There are times that calmness settles over me at a job that must be done – such as holding my old, dying hen while she breathes her last breath. There is sadness, of course. There is also a knowledge that she had a wonderful life on our farm. She was loved and cared for. She held a special place in my heart as one of my very first chickens – a chicken that always would stand behind me and peck at my boots, jeans, or shirt until I acknowledged her by reaching behind me to pet her. That same mantle of calmness wraps itself around me hours later when making the decision to euthanize two other old and not-so-healthy hens. A decision not taken lightly by any means – but a decision to sidestep a slow deterioration to death. A swift end to birds entrusted to my care and protection. Birds that had an amazing life and gave years of joy to our family.
Tranquility also comes in the form of quiet days lived without the constant noise and bustle of towns and cities. It is choosing to say no to endless activity outside of our farm. It is choosing to leave the radio and television off in order to communicate with each other as a family – to listen to the sounds of the farm and nature instead of the incessant noise of modern entertainment – and I use that term loosely.
Tranquility at is best is the peacefulness and serenity I find in the fields surrounding our house. It is the gentle grunts of momma pigs as they call the babies to the milk bar for dinner. It is the peeping and chirping of mother hens calling to the chicks to follow. It is the sound of momma cow chewing her cud as her calf eagerly suckles his dinner. It is the sound of crickets, bees, and all manner of insects busy among the flowers and grasses of our fields. It is the peepers that sing their evening song as the cooling breeze floats through the open windows of our home. It is the distant song of the birds in the woods bordering our fields that echo around me as I soak in the peace of nature.
If I could wish one thing for you, it would be that you take the time to stop, look, and listen to the beauty that surrounds you. Pursue tranquility in this bustling, noisy world – and when you find it, don’t let go of it. Return often to drink in the peacefulness that washes over your soul at the smallest delights that are all around us.
The skies were heavy this morning when I awoke from a good night’s sleep. I knew the forecast was for showers and thunderstorms, but I took a bit of time for tea and a bagel. Alas, by the time I had finished, the rain was beginning to fall.
As I made my way to the barn to fill up grain buckets, the sound of the rain pinging on the barn roof greeted me and the thunder rolled in the distance. There is something quite nostalgic and comforting about the sound of rain on a tin roof. It evokes images of simpler times from the past.
Rain on a tin roof brings forth images of cows and horses contentedly munching hay and grain in roomy stalls. It evokes the smells of dusty haylofts filled with freshly cut hay where children would play, cats would pounce on unsuspecting mice, and chickens would hide clutches of eggs to set and hatch. It recaptures a time when the family worked together, played together, and stayed together.
Our barn is a work in progress – it houses animals and hay in the winter, equipment in the spring, summer, and fall. Our barn will be ever evolving as our farm grows and changes – but it is my hope that our barn will evoke fond memories for our daughter someday when we are gone.
The sodden landscape is now obscured by thick fog and the thunder continues to echo around the farm. The rain is heavier now, creating a loud cacophony on the barn roof. The animals are all tucked in, dry and comfortable in their shelters and I have another blog post ruminating in the back of mind.
You see, my father-in-law has taught me that a barn is a living thing….
May Day traditionally marked the return of spring. Through the years, the celebrations have changed and morphed until it now passes, in most cases, as just a day on the calendar. While I have always thought the celebration of May Day was quaint and nice, I have never actually participated in the more traditional celebrations – maypoles and leaving flowers on a neighbor’s doorstep. My May Day celebration was a more visceral and practical celebration on our farm.
The day began as usual with chores – of which I shall not bore you with another run-down of feeding animals – breakfast, Bible reading, and prayer followed by homeschooling. We always “do” our homeschool first because if we become involved in other pursuits, well…
After finishing up our school work and having leftovers for lunch, I headed out to the garden. I had a nice crop of weeds taking over the vegetable beds – and I needed to remove the volunteers before planting what I want to grow. The weather was almost perfect for me – cool, cloudy, and breezy. I prefer that kind of weather when working outside. Cool means I don’t sweat like a hog – which by-the-way, do not sweat; they roll in the mud to keep cool. Cloudy means I do not look like a lobster with goosebumps by the time I am done gardening – I’m sensitive to the sun and end up with an itchy, bumpy rash when I am sunburned. Breezy means natural bug control – I hate bugs. So my day was shaping up quite nicely. I blew through most of the garden this afternoon making it look pretty presentable and ready for planting. Hubby was kind enough to dump several loads of composted manure into the finished beds – so now begins the turning and mixing in of dirt and compost to make a most amazing canvas for vegetable and herbs.
After dumping the weeds in our brush pile, I completed afternoon chores – complete with calf time while momma was eating her grain. Sammy is so silky soft and eager for scratches behind his ears – and then jumpy and nervous that someone besides momma is touching him. After momma was done, I turned my bucket over and sat in the pasture watching momma and baby grazing contentedly. I feel sometimes that I could sit all day watching the farm animals – but there are many other things pulling at me that prevent such a luxury as lounging in a field all day.
As I reflect on the day, I am thinking of spiritual connections between gardening and our lives. I have shared before how my main crop tends to be weeds. I can grow them bigger and better than any flower or vegetable. As I was pulling weeds today, I thought how weeds in the garden are a picture of sin in our lives – weeds, like sins, start out small and do not seem harmful. We can overlook them until they take a firm root in the fertile soil of our lives. Weeds with deep roots- deeper than we can dig out- are like unchecked sin in our lives. It takes root and grows, snuffing out the good fruit that should be in our lives. Weeds, like sin, take over until all that is left is ugliness and an uncontrolled life. It takes the gentle hands of the Master Gardener to dig deeply into the soil of our hearts, loosening the fingers of sin until we are free from the ugliness of it. The Master Gardener cleans up the garden of our soul so that real fruit can grow and thrive in the rich soil of our hearts.
It was a great day.
We have been expecting our cow to deliver any day. We happily found a beautiful bull calf Thursday afternoon when we went down to her pasture for treat time. We quietly stood outside the pasture talking in hushed tones so as not to startle the very new calf. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts at standing, he clumsily got to his feet and wavered as if each puff of wind would blow him over. Momma kept a calm and watchful stance, guarding her precious bundle from harm.
As I have written before, Sleepy is a cautious yet gentle cow. She is not the type of cow that demands constant attention or prolonged human contact – independent is a good way to describe her. We have slowly acclimated her to our farm, gaining trust and learning her body language as we all settle into a routine together. Now we start building trust with her calf, Sammy.
On Friday, we took her afternoon treat of grain down into the field. I stood a short distance away so day old baby pictures could be snapped. My husband held her grain tote as she eagerly munched it down. Sammy danced his way around momma’s massive frame, gently nosing his way toward my husband. We decided on this first close encounter not to attempt touching him. We were slowly gaining trust.
This morning, my daughter and I went down to the pasture and just stood talking to Sleepy and Sammy, letting our presence be known but keeping our distance. This afternoon at treat time, I was home alone and decided to spend time in the pasture with Sleepy and Sammy. I sat elegantly on an overturned 5-gallon bucket watching and waiting for them to make their way to me. Sleepy was in a stubborn frame of mind and would not budge from her spot in the trees. I picked up my bucket, dumped it over the fence, and made my way down to the queen’s court.
The queen acknowledged my humble offering and made her way toward me with her gangly boy in tow. While holding her grain tote in one hand, I tempted the calf with wiggling fingers on my left hand. Curiosity overtook his two-day old brain and his pink nose nudged my hand. I lightly scratched his nose and forehead as he pressed in next to me for a neck rub before scampering off behind momma. He quickly made his way forward again, pressing against me while sticking closely to his momma for comfort. The softness of his head and his gentle eyes have captivated my heart.
Little by little, day by day, I will build trust with mother and son – and love every moment of it.
This morning as I set about doing chores, it crossed my mind that all is well on the farm. A farm, even the smallest – such as ours, goes through seasons of change.
There is the gritty season of getting through the snow and cold of winter – including keeping piglets and mommas warm and dry, making sure hay is rationed but plentiful so you have enough until spring, and making sure water is running and not frozen solid.
There is the sweltering season of summer (I know I missed spring – I did that on purpose). During the summer months, grass is thick and rich for the cows. The pigs lounge in the fields or under trees taking several mud baths a day to keep cool, water is chugged by the gallon and it is a never-ending cycle of filling water tanks. Chickens are fat with plenty of bugs and grass to eat – the feed bill goes down for sure! Everywhere you look is lush and green. Hay is made on the hottest, driest days of summer, stored under cover for winter use.
Autumn brings preparation for winter. Moving animals to winter pastures or barns, stocking up on feed, sending pigs to Freezer Camp, prepping the chicken coop for winter. Making sure equipment is winterized and put away until next season – the list goes on. A busy time for sure.
Then there is spring. The time of new life on a farm. Hens tend to go broody and want to sit on fertilized eggs in the spring. Farrowing of piglets which started in the cold days of February are easier now. No concerns of frozen piglets during the springtime! Momma pigs are taking long, leisurely walks with tiny tumbling piglets in tow. The grass is emerging in rich, vibrant greens that the cows are eager to digest – gone is their hay ration – on to greener pastures! That was bad, I know. Waiting for the first calf on our farm to make it’s entrance into this world – hoping that it is born on a warm and dry day. Pigs are eating the luscious green grass as well – yes, pastured pigs eat grass – pigs are omnivores (as are chickens) and will gratefully eat just about anything if you let them. The trees are budding and the hillsides are awash with a patchwork of color – the reds of leaf buds, the soft greens of tiny leaves unfurling, the whites and pinks of flowering trees dotting the landscape to make a gorgeous earthen quilt. Birds sing joyfully as they flit here and there gathering nest material for their homes.
Life seems to get easier when winter gives way to spring – busier for sure with baby animals to tend to – but easier. Concerns melt like the snow and you decide that farm life is a pretty good life to live. All is well.
This morning was one of those quietly magical mornings where you could envision woodland fairies dancing in the forest.
Fog lay thickly over the pastures and wrapped it’s ghostly fingers among the still bare trees. Pale gold leaves left over from last fall stood out starkly against the wet dark trunks of the trees and the creeping gray fog. The birds were quietly chirping their morning songs – almost as if they were trying not to break the spell that seemed to be hovering over the landscape. The animals seemed hesitant to wake – as if they, too might chase the peaceful shadows away and bring reality back to the forefront of my wild imaginations.
I walked quietly from barn to pastures, speaking softly to all my charges. I paused in the front pasture to play with our youngest piglets while Momma Rose enjoyed her breakfast rations. I fed Henry and Ruby then walked down the hill to find Sleepy nestled under sheltering trees. Even the chickens held their peace on this magical day.
The morning cried out for silence and praise to her Maker as I made my way around the farm. The sheer beauty of such whimsical gloom wrapped me up in its peace – contentment stealing into my very soul. I knew the skies would remain low and heavy throughout the day and then give way to rain and storms by evening – not because the weatherman told me – but because mornings such as this do not release their hold easily.
So tonight as I listen to the dripping of rain off the eaves, I hear the peepers blending their voices to sing the song of spring. The fairies have all gone back into hiding, blending back into the landscape and waiting for the next magical morning to reappear in the distant future.
There is joy in the little things – and I hope you take the time to seek and to find those little things all around you.