grandma's honesty

I got so much feedback from yesterday's post. A few heartfelt phone calls, some kind emails and really thoughtful, nice comments. Thank you. Solidarity is so comforting. And empowering. I'll try to remember this solidarity as get on my hands and knees to remove dried banana paste from the kitchen floor each night. Or every other night. Or once a week. Or maybe I'll just ask Rory to do it.

I think I've written this story before, but I think of it often. Especially when we're on the topic of honesty in motherhood.

I remember my grandma writing in an email once about a hard day in her own mothering. She was at her wits end, with all sorts of laundry to iron and things to do and couldn't see an end to any of it. There was a storm coming across the prairie with wind howling and moving violently through the trees. She said she walked out of the house alone and walked towards that storm and she screamed. She yelled and said everything she wanted to say.

She said she wanted to load the little kids into the car and head to the Black Hills.

She didn't do it, but I remember talking to my cousins at length about how helpful that story was for all of us mothers. Because grandma was remarkable in every single way. She set the bar so high for mothering and home making and church involvement and service to the community. But somehow this story helped put a bit more human into the wondrous woman that was our grandma.

I assume she went back into the house, ironed the clothes and got the kids to bed. And then she went to bed herself and likely prayed for the strength and grace to do it all over again. And I'm glad she did. She has seven remarkable kids as her reward. And her kids raised remarkable kids. And that family really rocked it in the 80's.

on mothering a one and two year old

Oh man. I saw this book at the library, read the title and added it to the stack. I couldn't agree with the title more. I grew up babysitting. I used to call mom's and ask if I could come over and play with their kids. Ha! I worked as a nanny, babysat every day of the summer for families with working mom's. I took kids on bike rides, plane rides and entertained two sweet boys on a tour bus. I babysat all through college, seminary and even while married and living in Montana, I babysat.

So when we first got pregnant I didn't feel a bit apprehensive. I knew babies. I knew toddlers. I knew tantrums and bedtime routines and how to get herds out the door and into the car. I was ready.

But yesterday I called my mom bawling. I told her I just wasn't cut out for this. I have a cold, Elsie is so fussy lately and isn't sleeping. She was up all night the night before and I was running on no sleep. Ivar is testing, always testing. Trying to find every boundary. And yesterday I just couldn't see any relief. This is my every day. My weekends look no different than my weekdays. And it feels like I am on some perpetual crazy cycle of wiping noses and then wiping bottoms and then noses again and bottoms too.

Yesterday I took a phone call with a woman I really wanted to talk with. I had just made mini muffins (from a box) and as I tried to keep my kids quiet enough so I could really contribute to the conversation, I fed my children a dozen mini muffins. A dozen. Twelve! Mini muffins! Just to keep them quiet.

But thankfully, as happens with every day of motherhood, bedtime came and I got a good nights rest in me. And I woke up feeling ready for this day.

It makes me feel so manic, but I am starting to think that maybe motherhood is manic. My patience has never been tried like this before. I am finding my ugliest self inside of me, a sinful girl that I used to be really good at keeping at bay. But she's tired and irritable and impatient and hungry and selfish and sinful. And she's me. I'm trying to come to terms with that...the girl I thought I was, versus the girl I now know I am. Motherhood is a different kind of refiners fire. And I find myself humbled, aware of my weakness and able to see my inability to do it on my own more than ever before.

our reference books

We have a few favorite books that we refer to a lot as we make our way on this little farm. The Backyard Homestead was Rory's first book in this genre, purchased years ago, and sort of set a vision for us way before we moved to this property. Back to Basics was the next book we got, and Rory poured over every single page telling me things excitedly like, "we could make our own cheese!"

The most recent reads are The Self-Sufficient Life which is my personal favorite and the top two that we got from the library.

While at Mount Carmel we were up late each night playing The Game of Things with our cousins. I really love that game, sort of a balderdash of sorts, except instead of definitions to words you make up an answer to a thing: ie: things you shouldn't say in a hospital, things you shouldn't regift etc...

One round the card that came up was "Things that hang."

We giggled and then everyone wrote down their answers. After they were collected each answer was read aloud by one person. We then had to guess who wrote what.

In the mix was this answer: Braided Onions.

I laughed until I cried and never did recover that night. I knew exactly who had written that one. Rory, the love of my life, who was reading all about root cellars.

Because Braided Onions should hang. And if hung properly, you can increase their edible life twice as long.

And now you know.

year one at the grovestead

We just hit our one year mark. We've been in our new house now for 365 days. In lots of ways I can't believe we've only been here a year. But in other ways I clearly know that a year has passed. Because this six day old baby I am holding here, on the day of our move, is now climbing up the stairs and pulling herself to look out the windows.

Rory and I were throwing the frisbee around last night, reflecting on year one. He commented that his biggest learning this first year was the pace of time. He said that every project he worked on (his office in the woods, building the chicken coop, getting someone to plant our field, evaporating 90 gallons of sap into maple syrup, and tilling, planting and laying drip irrigation in the garden) all felt like projects that took forever. But in looking back, it is amazing how much was accomplished in this first year. Every item on the to do list looks like a huge mountain to climb, but day by day we kept getting to the top.

I think this year will go down in the record books for me as Most Personal Growth. I'd accept that award, bawling at the microphone, blubbering on about how a baby can really throw you off a bit. I'd talk about how the move from city to country was actually a way bigger adjustment than I ever acknowledged while in the midst of the transition. I'd talk about how this winter never ended and I thought I was going crazy, and how sometimes I really, really miss our cat Toonces. And then they'd flare up the get-her-off-the-stage music, because I would have just mentioned my old cat, which took it too far.

But the other thing that comes to mind when I think about this first year in our new home is this: We have learned so much. The knowledge that Rory and I have acquired from just one year in the country is vast and amazes me. Rory learned how to build a cabin this year. Which then translated into drawing up plans for a chicken coop. Last Saturday I came home with the kids and as walked into the kitchen Rory showed us two jars of blackberry jam on the counter. He had picked the blackberries in our woods and made the jam and then canned it. I was stunned. And so inspired that I made homemade mayonnaise the next day just to keep up with my husband.

And even more than practical homesteading knowledge, I am learning about me. More specifically, my limits and where I can't pull it all off. I'm reading my Bible again. And God is being so gentle with me as he reminds me that when I am weak, he is strong. I am weary and heavy laden, but he promises rest. I feel jealous and hurt and sad, but he is forgiveness, healing and deep joy.

If you haven't cracked your Bible in a long time, go find it. There is nothing more precious in my life than my walk with Jesus.

A few nights ago Rory and I went for a walk down our road and there were so many fireflies in the ditches that it seemed like someone had strung twinkle lights up and down the road. Once I got up in the middle of the night to see if there was a car in our driveway with it's brights on. But it was the moon, leaving moon shadows all over our lawn. And if we go out on a clear night, with no moon, we can see every star in the sky. There are no city lights to interfere.

Those are the moments when I feel the most settled.

I feel really grateful to be living here. It has been an adjustment, but I know we have made the right decision. I love our farmstead and love our new life. And if you give us another year, I think we will feel fully at home.

neighborhood bbq

Last night we had thirty neighbors at our house. The stars aligned so that all but one household were in town! I spent the day cleaning out the garage, thinking we'd be in there because of the rain, but then it cleared up for a glorious evening.

It was awesome. Neighbors started coming at 5:15 and most left around 9. Ivar asked each person if they would like to see his little tomatoes and then gave garden tours. Everyone met the chickens and many got to see Rory's office in the woods.

We grilled burgers and hot dogs and a neighbor brought salmon and halibut he had just caught in Alaska a few weeks ago. Everyone else brought salads and bars and I was once again reminded how passionately I love a good picnic and potluck. Yum.

When I was cleaning the garage earlier in the day I was thinking, "it takes some doing to have so much company" and when I was cleaning up the kitchen late last night I was thinking, "but it is worth every minute to build that kind of community."