IN DEFENSE OF KEEPING CHICKENS

This is my attempt to get all of the thoughts that I have had over the last number of weeks on this subject together in one place. Since sometime last year, after the loss of my father and brother, sometime before the estate of my father-in-law was finally settled in December, I have been longing for a pet. I know that we can't have a dog right now. Neither is a cat practical for us. The reasons are very involved and concern the fact that my husband, Jay, has been diagnosed with Huntington's Disease. The wants and needs of a cat or a dog are too great for me to care for when I am already caring for Jay, more sometimes than others. I know, to the bystander looking on, Jay seems rather normal. But things are very wrong with some of his neurological and mostly logical processes. The specialist told him back in December of 2011 that he should not be driving, that the progress of his disease already made him a danger to himself and others on the road. I had seen that, but wasn't expecting for him to lose his wheels so soon. So, here he is, stuck at home most of the time. In the winter, unless there was snow to shovel, there was little for him to do. Now that spring is here, he has been riding his bike down to breakfast, almost daily. Even though breakfast out every day is not necessary and can get expensive, I don't begrudge him this routine break from being stuck at home with no human interaction most of the week. He is also able to work in the yard and the garden and is interested and industrious at doing so. 

But the best thing for his morale has been the chickens we obtained on April 6th of this year. We started with six hens. At least, we thought they were all hens. They were pullets when we got them, most were 13 weeks old. So it turned out that our Little Blackie, the Black Australorp, was a rooster. He first crowed at me on Mother's Day. Thanks. I knew that meant he would have to go. With every crow, the poor thing was exalting in life, not knowing he was enforcing his own death warrant. I hate having to put any animal down, much less a young, healthy, happy animal. But it had to be done to keep the neighbors happy. Jay didn't want to do it. He extended the life of the rooster by at least three weekends, trying to defend the rooster. Maybe Blackie really isn't a rooster. Maybe "she" just crowed as a fluke. He wanted to wait and see. And then, so what if he was a rooster? Does that necessarily mean we have to get rid of him? Well...the neighbors.

As it turned out, one of the neighbors had already filed a complaint. But the neighbor didn't just want the rooster gone. He wanted all the chickens to go. The county agent who dropped by on May 21 told us that the neighbor had complained, and that the county had an ordinance. You can't keep a farm animal in Elkhart County unless the land is zoned properly and you have at least three acres of land. Chickens are farm animals. Wait a minute. Did you know they just changed the city ordinance so that you can keep chickens in Elkhart in city limits? You mean we can't keep these chickens, even if we are keeping them as pets? No. Not unless you have three acres, or you can file a special use permit, but it will probably be declined.

We made a trip to the County Zoning Board. They told us all that is involved in filing the special use permit. You have to fill out a form six pages long. You have to include the legal description of your property, pictures of the property, an explanation of why you want the permit, and enclose $150.00 when filing. You have to explain what changes you plan to make to the property in relationship to the project. You have 30 days to file for the permit. It will then be scheduled on the next Zoning Board of Appeals public hearing meeting. Every neighbor who lives within 300 feet of the property will be sent an invitation to come to the public meeting and can argue against the special use permit. 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...we have grown so fond of these chickens. Each of the five who remain have a different personality. Queenie, she is called that because she is at the top of the pecking order, is also the friendliest to her humans. Merryweather is a little more shy than Queenie, but still there is a bond. I would have to say she is my favorite. They are both laying eggs now. Queenie is very regular, we get one from her almost daily. Merryweather is more hit and miss. Little Goldie is friendly, but a little more skittish. She is the lightest color of honey gold. I can't wait to see what color of egg she lays. Pluckey is a pluckey little burger. She and Hoolihan are the smallest and they kind of hang out together. Major Margaret Hoolihan, whom we also call "Hot Lips" is the smallest and the most skittish of all of the five. I just thought it would be fun to have a chicken named "Hot Lips". Does a chicken have lips? Last time I saw lips on a chicken, I was looking at the wrong end! (Sorry, but these conversations sometimes come up in my head and I can't help but give them space. Lol.)

Jay thinks the chickens are more fun to watch than TV. And you would not believe how they have changed things around here. Up until the time the county agent came and told us we would have to give them up, I couldn't wait to get home from work at night to see what they had been up to during the day. There was something about sitting out in the back yard in a lawn chair, watching them pecking around in the yard, that was so stress relieving for me. They were doing the same for Jay. It's not like having a dog or a cat that wants you to pet it, or throw it a ball, or sit on your lap. They just calmly go about their business. They challenge each other sometimes, over a treat or a tid bit. Nothing very serious ever comes of it. They face off for a minute and then they go back to what they were doing. When I come out the back door, they come running and flapping to see what I have for them. Their favorite treat is dried mealworms. I buy this for them under the name "Happy Hen Treats" from Big R. I sprinkle them on the ground and Queenie tries to gobble them all up before anybody else can get to them. She jumps straight up in the air at the bag if I don't get them out fast enough for her. It makes me laugh right out loud. I NEED TO LAUGH! Out goes the stress.

Those chickens give Jay something else to focus on. He feeds them and gives them water. He lets them out to run around in the yard. And sometimes they wander into the neighbor's yard. And that is why the neighbor complained. He doesn't want them in his yard. I can sympathize with that. We can build a more permanent pen for the chickens so that they aren't able to wander anywhere they are not wanted. 

We want to talk with all the neighbors who have property that borders ours. We want to find out what are the concerns. If it bothers people that they may wander over there and poop, we will contain them so that doesn't happen. If they are concerned about odors, good animal husbandry practices ensure that there won't be a problem with that. We are composting all of the nitrogen rich poo from the coop to use in the garden. It is mixed with pine shavings from the bedding and when we have a more permanent coop, we will switch over to a sand base which can be scooped like cat litter. We will use the deep litter method which eliminates smells and grows beneficial nematodes that break down the poo quicker into compost. It isn't going to be any worse than having a dog running around pooping in the yard, and dog poop never breaks down into such good fertilizer. 

If the neighbors are concerned about the noise, once again, we have taken care of the noise problem. The rest of the chickens are quiet and don't make even as much noise as a flock of geese or any other birds flying overhead. They are certainly quieter than any yapping dog would be. 

The fact that the hens lay eggs is a side benefit, really. Hens do not lay year round. Some do, especially young ones, but that isn't our focus. Still,  it is a benefit that does not come from a dog or a cat. I can hardly wait to watch them as they go after a grasshopper. I have heard that this is very entertaining to watch. I believe it because I have already witnessed one of my girls go after a fly. So, I guess, that should be listed as another benefit, they kill nuisance bugs. And they are entertaining and therapeutic to watch. 

I know that some people would probably not want other people to have ANY pets at all, if it were up to them. Maybe they would begrudge us a cat or a dog also, but there is no handy ordinance to get rid of cats or dogs. However, there is a handy County ordinance to see that your neighbors can't have pigs, goats, sheep, or chickens. Maybe it's time to change the ordinance, at least where chickens are concerned. Even though our property is zoned for agricultural use, we can't keep a few chickens, not even for pets. I intend to challenge this ordinance. I don't know, yet, what must be done. But, you can bet on it, I am planning to do what it takes to challenge the ordinance.

In the meantime, until a decision is reached on the special use permit, which will be scheduled for July 18th, I am here...WE are here, with our chickens.

November 4, 2012

We were in Chicago this past weekend. We went there because my cousin, Karen, was there for business and I had not seen her in 38 years. It was great to see her.  We didn't really get to spend a whole lot of time together. We ate at the Webber Grill Restaurant on the corner of Grand and State Streets. We then went to her hotel and sat in the lobby for a little bit and talked some more. Then we parted, promising it will not be so long until the next time we see each other. Maybe I will go see her at her home, and my other cousins, her sisters, and their mother. Maybe she will be back in the Chicago area again.  But, I wanted to talk about something else that happened to me while I was in Chicago this weekend.

We were in Chicago to see my cousin. But I also saw other people. I mean, hey, there are always a LOT of people in Chicago. But the particular people that we saw that I keep thinking about were the people on the streets. I mean, the ones that live there, if that is what you can call living, on the streets. The photo at the top of this page, you may not be able to tell, is a man sleeping on the street. He was there Sunday morning on my way to Dunkin Donuts to get myself some breakfast and some coffee for Jay. He was trying to sleep there, on the street, around the corner from my hotel. I found myself slipping into the mode of "should I or shouldn't I?" I wondered if his mother knew he was there, sleeping on the street. How long had he been there? He had an old suitcase at his head, he was covered with his coat and his little yellow blanket. It was about 38 degrees out there all night. Did he have any place to go? What is he going to do when it gets colder? He was not the only one. There were others. People sat with little signs. "I have a wife and two children. Wife and I lost our jobs. WE ARE HUNGRY. Please Help." His wife was across the street with a similar sign. They sat silently, heads bowed, faces covered by the signs.

Now, I know a thing or two or three. I know I could not help all of these people. I know that some of them are there because of drug or alcohol addictions. I know that if you "help" even one of these people, they are still going to be in the same spot in 24 hours or less. In fact, I have also been taught not to give money to these people, if you really want to help them, it would be better to actually buy them a sandwich than to give them money for one that they can use for more drugs or alcohol. And, in fact, I did not help any of these people at all. But I keep wondering about them, especially the guy in the picture above. I consider myself a Christian, and I keep wondering what was my responsibility toward these people? In the city where I live, we don't run into street people very often. There are organizations here to keep people off the streets. Homeless people can get help...food...a place to stay. But Chicago, I don't know, maybe there are too many of them. Maybe they don't know where to go. Maybe they are conning people. 

I don't really have any answers. Maybe you have some ideas. How do you deal with these people and their needs? I mean, this is humanity. Most everyone else did the same as I did this weekend. You just walk past, don't make eye contact, don't give them anything. They are PEOPLE! What if we took a minute and just treated them like people? I don't know. I do know that I am not finished thinking about this. My main purpose in writing this blog was just to help me think it through some more. Thanks for reading.

Love,

Lorri

Six Months

 
 It's going on six months. Six months ago yesterday evening I lost my older brother. Six months ago tomorrow morning, my sister and I sang "Softly and Tenderly (Jesus is Calling) to my Dad, and ten minutes later he went to be with Jesus. It still hurts me to the point of tears whenever I think about how that all  came about. My brother had been on dialysis for months, had known two Christmases ago that he was going to need a kidney transplant to survive. He probably also knew that his time was ticking away and that he was not going to get on "The List" in time. He was getting weaker and weaker. He was angry with the specialist because he rescheduled his appointment, at least once, if not twice. (That part is kind of fuzzy in my mind.) And who could blame him for that?
   Dad was fine, as far as we knew, this time last year. We had gone down to celebrate my sister's August Birthday while my niece was home from Ireland. The day after that celebration, something wasn't right with Dad. That something wound up being diagnosed as cancer. Still, we hoped that it was treatable/curable.
Things went along in due course. He came through the surgery in January just fine. But something went terribly wrong during the course of his recovery. And, it's still a mystery to me, but both Larry and Dad wound up going to two separate hospitals on the same day, January 28, both via ambulance. And they both died within two days of each other, less than a week later. The rest of our family, my two younger brothers, my sister, my mom, and all of those whom belonged to each of us, were left reeling. My poor mom, they had been married 56 years. It would be like tearing half of your heart out and burying it in the grave. How do you "move on" after that? People expect you to, so you put on a brave front. But when nobody is there, you cry. You cry a lot.
   I am not ashamed that I still cry about this at least once a week. If I stop being "busy", I think about it. In unguarded moments, even sometimes with people all around, it just hits me. When I think about when we all first walked into that funeral parlor and were confronted with twin caskets, the shock of that...then the emotions take over.
   I know they are in a better place. There is a degree of peace that comes from that. Larry doesn't suffer anymore. Dad doesn't suffer any more. And there are people who have it a lot worse than we do. I think of the Ginthers, who lost three sons in one car accident. I think of the pastor of that church who lost his whole family, his wife and all of his kids in a senseless car accident.One of my Aunts lost her husband one year and then two daughters within five months of each other the next year. I guess we all have to deal with our own pain in life. And people would remind me that God doesn't give us more than we can handle, which I don't know if that is exactly true, because sometimes I feel like this is all making me a little crazy. Somehow, we have to hang on and learn whatever it is that we have to learn by going through this stuff. Maybe it is just so that we can comfort others when they are going through it. We know what others say and do that helps prop us up, so we can maybe help others.
    But maybe this is all just part of human existence. Maybe there are no lessons. Maybe we just go through this because the longer we live, the more likely we are to experience the pain of loved ones passing, one by one or in multiples (and God please forbid that we should lose multiples again). Maybe we are made more human because we have to face our own frailty. We have to admit that we can't control these things. I do have to think that if I was God, which I never will be, of course, I wouldn't have let this happen this way. I can't find the sense in it. Some of my friends don't believe that there even is a God, and I don't know how they deal with these times in their lives. But for me, I have decided that God is still mysterious. I haven't got Him all figured out. To me, He is in control and I am not. So, even though it doesn't make sense to me how or why these things happen, I am going to go on with life. I am hoping that some day I will have worked through all of this. But even if I never do, I know in my heart that God does not hold it against me that I am struggling with all of this right now. That is all.

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Moving...again

We have been living happily in Middlebury for the last thirteen years. For the last three years we have rented this house at 402 W. Berry Street. It has been a tough three years, but the highlight has been living here, so close to downtown that we can walk down two blocks to our bank, a restaurant, a hardware store, and a few other great places. We can walk a couple more blocks and be at one of the greatest parks in the area, Krider Gardens. We live only a block from a leg of the Pumpkin Vine Nature Trail. I have so loved living here, and I will miss it greatly.

Many of you know that Jay lost his Dad in October. We had just had lunch with him at Olive Garden for Jay's birthday the Saturday previous to the week that he died. It's still hard to believe that he went so fast. At any rate, Jay's Dad and his wife, Edna, were living in one of the duplexes that are now part of the estate that he left behind. Edna is moving out and we are moving in. We may have to rent it for the first couple of months, until the estate gets settled. But, when the estate gets settled, we will be living there for free. In our situation, free is good.

Another advantage to this move is that it will be closer for me to get to work. I will be able to go home over lunch. I'm excited about that. I'm also happy about the idea of having Krull Cabinets again. My husband built all the cabinetry in the duplexes. I have missed having Krull Cabinets while I have been in Middlebury, though we had them briefly in the basement kitchen in the house on County Road 35.

I know that the move will bring some welcome changes to our situation, financially and otherwise. But, oh, how I will miss my dear Middlebury! I will miss being so close and in such a safe environment that I can get up in the morning while it is still dark and walk for an hour, and never feel threatened. We will live close to a number of shopping areas in Elkhart's north side, but I will not feel safe to walk to these areas due to the traffic count and just the general crime rate in Elkhart. I will find a place to walk, but it may be an indoor spot.

This is Andy and Tricia surprising Grandpa at what will soon be our front door.

Anyway, moving is always an adventure. I have to find homes for a lot of items I can no longer keep because of space considerations. It's a good thing we downsized when we moved here, but we need to super downsize now!

Baking Goodies

It doesn't surprise anybody who knows me, but I love to cook. I also love to bake. It's a good thing that I have a job and can't devote more time to these two hobbies, because I also like to eat the things I cook and bake. I would be "roughly the size of a barge." As soon as it turns cold outside here in northern Indiana, my oven gets a workout. There are apple pies made from fresh picked, locally grown apples. There is pumpkin pie, sometimes made from pumpkins from my own garden, but not recently. There are dozens and dozens of cookies. There are cakes and brownies.  I think my favorite thing to make and eat around the holidays are my homemade crescent rolls. They have a ton of butter in them, so no wonder they melt in your mouth. I got the recipe from a cookbook my mother-in-law gave to me a long time ago called "Nutbread and Nostalgia" which was put together by the Junior League in South Bend.  You have to use real butter in the rolls, not margarine. I suppose they are mostly bad for your health, but they are oh so good in your mouth!

Another thing that I really love this time of year is home made beef stew. I think if I were going to overeat, I would rather overeat savory foods rather than sweet ones. I usually fill up on a meal and don't have room for dessert. Beef stew is like the ultimate comfort food for me. For some reason, it always reminds me of my mother. She is the one who taught me how to make it. I don't have a recipe. It turns out a little different every time, yet consistenly yummy! When it is cold outside, there is nothing as wonderful as coming into the house and having the savory fragrance of beef stew greeting me from atop the stove or in the crockpot. It's still good a week later. (Insert words of nursery rhyme here..some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot nine days old!) I am hungry now, and it's only 9:00 a.m.!
At any rate, this is the time of year that I kick the baking into high gear. There has to be a turkey, at least that is what I think there has to be. Sometime during the season, even if I am not hosting the gathering, I have to roast a turkey. There have to be the crescent rolls. I have made two batches already this season. We need at least three kinds of cookies. There are the chocolate chips, the peanut butter with chocolate kisses, and there should be cookie cutter cookies decorated with colored frostings. Tricia will want my pumpkin swirl cheesecake with the ginger snap cookie crust. I want pumpkin pies and almost always, pecan pie. Those are just the basics for the season. I somehow find time to do all of this from the end of November to the beginning of December. Well, I feel I have to do this. IT MUST BE DONE!

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Summer on the Flip Side

Our county fair is almost over, and so is July. Face it, folks, we are on the back side of summer. There is still plenty of time to enjoy it, I hope! I just wanted to call your attention to the fact that we are on the slippery slope into fall. None of us would mind fall so much if it weren't followed by winter. I always start thinking about that this time of year, maybe because of my melancholy trend.

It's all good, though. I love every season, for some reason. I love summer because we get to run around with no clothes on...I mean, barely! At least we get to fore go the coats and hats and scarves and sweaters and even stockings! I love the fresh vegetables and watermelon and strawberries. I love family reunions, county and state fairs. I love, love, LOVE Indiana tomatoes! I love fall because of the rustic colors in the woods and the fields. I love the cooler days and even cooler nights. I love seeing the farmers in the fields, harvesting. I love the fall parties. I love winter because I have always enjoyed snow, and I enjoy it even more when I can go ski on it. And cold, if you are dressed for it, can be enjoyable, believe it or not. (Just not extreme cold, with blowing, drifting snow. But we won't think about that right now.) And I love spring for the fresh air and increased sunshine, flowers, and just the end of winter/beginning of summer.

No matter what time of year it is, I think we should all always observe it to the best of our ability. Too many times, we get wrapped up with work or business and we forget to pay attention to the day. Me! I am so guilty of this. I dread something that is going to happen tomorrow, and I forget to enjoy today! I forget to tell the people I love that I love them. Intensely! I forget to make my surroundings beautiful. I forget to make my co-workers feel brighter. You know, sometimes we are the sunshine, and we forget to turn on our rays! SHINE PEOPLE! Let's shine!

So, here we are on the flip side of summer, and I just wanted to remind you, again, to make every day count!

Newsies

Every morning since about the middle of May, I have been getting up around 3:15 a.m. For two hours, it was more in the beginning and always more on Sundays, I am on a race against the clock to get my newspaper route delivered. I roll out of bed, take care of bathroom duties, take my thyroid pill, pull on some underclothes, pants and a shirt, and I leave to go down to Harding's Friendly Market to sit in the car and wait for my papers to arrive. When they get there, I thank the driver and wish him a good day, take my papers to my car and bag them and put them in a box. I deliver some South Bend Tribunes, but mostly, The Elkhart Truth.

Most days, out on that route so early in the morning, I feel like some sort of sub-human. My husband thinks I have the anointing to do this job. But, honestly, it's just a job. I'm only doing it for the money. And it isn't much money, either. It really isn't much once you deduct the gas mileage and wear and tear on the car. BUT, it is extra money. It's money we would not have if I didn't get up in the morning and go do this. (Sometimes I think I must just be crazy to keep doing this.) I don't really like getting up so early in the morning, but it beats staying up at night working at Meijer's or waitressing after I leave from my other day job.

You do not meet many new people when you are doing a paper route. You hardly have any human interaction whatsoever. If you do, it isn't likely to be pleasant. Earlier on when I was still learning the route, I met Mr. Grumpy Pants. He was waiting, barefoot, by his mailbox in one of the subdivisions where he lives and I deliver.  I smiled and handed him his paper and said, "Good morning!" He just scowled and said, "You sure are late with your papers." I apologized, "I'm sorry. We received them an hour and 15 minutes late today." He didn't say anything else, he had already turned to go back to his nice, comfortable chair to read his newspaper, I guess, before I could even finish my apology. His real name is...oh, it doesn't matter; he will forever be Mr. Grumpy Pants to me.

I did meet one very nice lady while delivering papers. Her name is Lucille. One morning, while I was out delivering the papers to the retirement center where she lives, she was waiting for me. By the time I get there, it is usually 5:15 to 5:30 a.m. She was waiting because she wanted to correct me. I had been told early on in the delivery process, to just leave the papers for the retirement center at the front desk and leave. Lucille explained to me that not every resident that was receiving papers there was a spry as she was. (Lucille walks with a cane. She told me she can "race right along.") Many of the residents are quite handicapped. If I leave the papers at the desk, she told me everyone else helps themselves to the paper, whether they subscribe or not. Sometimes the true subscribers never even see their papers. She insisted that I must walk them around to every room. She walked me around and showed me what rooms all the six newspapers were to be delivered to. She was there every morning after that for a few weeks. She would smile when I came in and tell me "Good Morning." I would smile back and say, "Good morning, Lucille." That was so nice, I felt a little more human, then. But I felt sorry for her, getting up so early every morning and waiting for me to get there. I told her one morning that she didn't have to do it. She said she didn't mind, but one day soon after that, she wasn't there anymore.

Anyway, I am going to try to keep this up for a year. Some days I get quite tired of it all. If someone complains because I am late with the papers, I lose $2.00. I only get 16 cents to deliver each paper, every single day. I try not to give anyone reason to complain. But I don't control when the papers get there, I can't deliver them until they are delivered to me. And sometimes they are delivered to me quite late! Jay helps me on Sundays. Until recently, though, he has had a job that he had to leave for before I would get done with my route on the weekdays. I learned to do it by myself and have gotten pretty quick at it. So, I'm a "Newsie", for now. Think of me, if you are ever awake at 3:15 a.m., and you get to roll over and go back to sleep for a few more hours!

Folk Tales

Upon pondering what I might next write on my blog, I realized that I have always loved folk tales. You have heard them; stories passed on from generation to generation, usually meant to teach a lesson, but, sometimes, just to entertain.

This is the story of Sleepy the Donkey. When I was a girl, I had an undying love and desire for horses. I had an imaginary horse named "Candy". Since she could be anything I wanted, being imaginary, she was actually a flying horse. My parents knew of this affection for horses of mine, but we were too poor to own a horse. When there are five children in the family and sundry dogs, (Dad raised beagles) you have more important things to spend money on than trying to keep a horse.

One day, Dad packed all of us into the car. We were "going for a drive".  Out in the country, Dad pulled into a house near a railroad crossing. Someone lived here that Dad worked with, and he wanted to stop and talk for a few minutes. This was going to be cause for patience on the part of the rest of us. Little did I know what he had up his sleeve. He came back to the car with his friend leading a little donkey. He didn't seem so little at the time, really. But I have seen pictures since, and he was little. The friend explained that this was Sleepy the donkey.

Now, you must understand something. Our Dad was a rather stern and unaffectionate man when we were young kids. He was very quick to discipline us, if we were out of line, and you knew you did not sass or talk back to Dad. He never said "I love you" in words to us. But that day, my Dad was trying to show me that he had my desires in mind. Yes, the donkey was for all of us kids, but I always thought of him as more MINE than any of the others.

Sleepy was the most contrary animal. Dad's friend had explained they named him "Sleepy" because he had a trick of faking sleep when he did not want to be ridden. That wasn't his only trick. If we wanted to ride him, there were lots of tricks we had to watch out for. He kicked up both heels if you came near him with the bridle. You had to avoid walking behind him. He bit if you weren't watching. But we were all determined enough, we rode him!

One day, my brother, David, and I wanted to ride the donkey. We got him bridled, and we decided that, instead of riding him around the farm yard, we would let him out and ride on the driveway and maybe out in the (harvested) bean field. We always rode bare back, there was no saddle. My brother got on and I climbed up behind him. Sleepy took off. He would not be guided. He ran off to the back yard and was running toward the clothesline to run under it so he could wipe us off his back. But we were clever enough to duck. As soon as we both ducked down, Sleepy slammed on the brakes, and we went tumbling down his neck, over his head onto the ground. Mom was standing there and she got a laugh out of that, after she saw we were okay.

Another trick of Sleepy the donkey was to walk over to a fence or by the side of the barn and walk so close as to try to crush the rider's leg between the fence or barn and his body. I would always pull up the threatened appendage when he would do this. But of course, that put me off my balance if he decided to buck, which he did, sometimes. I was thrown from his back more than once.

Another day, I was out in the barnyard riding the donkey by myself. On bright, sunny days, it was just the thing to do for entertainment. On this particular farm, there was a loose piece of fence that served as a makeshift gate between the barnyard and the middle pasture. You could pull the fence across the opening and fasten it to the barn. That fence was shut, but the donkey had worked his way under it so many times that it was pretty easy for him to walk under it, when he didn't have a rider. He decided to go under it that day with the rider on. I was wiped off and fell WHUMP flat on my back. It knocked the wind out of me and I could not breathe. I started to panic because I couldn't breathe or make a sound, and I thought that I was going to die. I finally got a breath, and then I got mad at that donkey. I caught him and locked him in the barn for his crime!

There was many an episode of escape for the donkey. The fences on the farm we rented were fraught with holes and bad posts, and our donkey was a regular Houdini. One night he got out and went trotting around the neighborhood. My Dad got home from his second shift job, when one of the neighbors called to inform him that Sleepy was in his yard. There was another donkey and two ponies that lived the next farm down, and that was where Sleepy was visiting. Well, Dad went off to try to catch him. Several times he would get within reach of catching him and the donkey would spin and kick up his heels and take off.

The situation was serious. If the donkey ran out in traffic and someone hit him, Dad knew he would be liable. He reluctantly came back to the house and got his twelve-gauge shot gun and went donkey hunting. Very early the next morning I heard Mom and Dad in the kitchen talking quietly over coffee. Dad was telling Mom something about he "shot him several times" and "finally, he just gave up." I got up and went into the kitchen to ask what had happened, and Dad told me the whole story. When it became light, I went to the barn. My donkey had bullet holes all over. He had blood dripping from many wounds. I began the task of washing him and picking out buckshot. But, you know, that ornery donkey survived that episode. He wasn't really any worse for wear. The fences got patched. I think he never got out again after that.

One day a guy came by the house. He had been to our neighbor's and traded a pony for his donkey. He wanted to trade us a pony for a donkey, too. I don't know what he wanted with our old, contrary donkey. But a pony was a lot closer to looking like a horse, and the trade was made. That was the last I knew of "Sleepy the Donkey." Then began the adventures of "Fury the Pony". But I will save that for another day.

Ode to Mowing

  My dad gave us a used mower, which I am very thankful for. The grass in our yard gets pretty tall. Our landlord doesn't like it if we go for a week without mowing. And, besides, I think mown grass looks good.  But I was mowing pretty shortly after I received the new mower and I started thinking about Shakespeare. Why is that? I don't know when I started doing this, but sometimes when I am doing something mundane, I like to picture historical figures doing these same things. I guess that it is a form of entertainment to me. So, I think of Abraham Lincoln changing dirty diapers. I think of Florence Nightingale and Julia Roberts doing dishes. I sometimes think of Albert Einstein sitting on the toilet, maybe with diarrhea. I don't think I'm weird to do this. I bet there are other people whose minds work this way.  (But, if not, it's okay.)

    Anyway, I was thinking of Shakespeare, and wondering if he ever had to mow a yard. I don't even know if they had such machines as mowers back in the 1500's. I decided that he did not ever mow. Maybe he pruned hedges, or rose bushes. I am almost certain that he pruned rose bushes and almost as certain that he did not mow yards. I believe that if he had ever mowed a yard, he would have somehow worked it in to one of his writings. He would have had "The Ode to Mowing" or maybe a sonnet. But he didn't. He did mention a rose in one of his writings; "A rose, by any other name..."

   I am convinced that Shakespeare would have written about mowing if he ever did mow. See, when you are out there mowing grass, you have all this time to think. It doesn't take much thought to cut grass, at least, not the way I do it. So you push the mower and you think of other things. (Like the question, "Did Shakespeare ever cut grass?") You think about what you did the week before. You think about how all this rain we are having this spring makes the grass grow faster, and that makes you have to mow more. You think about the fact that it is going to rain for the next three days, and the grass is going to grow again, and you will have to mow it again. How futile is mowing! (I think this would be the first and maybe the last,  line to Shakespeare's "Ode to Mowing".)

   Just saying.

In the Name of Fun

Once upon a time, a man that I know very well used to think that the fun thing to do was to get drunk. I am not going to tell you who the man is, and I will ask you not to ask, please. Anyway, when the man was young, from his late teens, the way he and his friends had fun was to get drunk. I cannot say how long this lasted. I think that there may have been a number of years. I lost track of him and his habits. I know that it was rather a lifestyle thing with him.

The years passed. Somewhere along the way the lifestyle changed and the alcohol was not so important anymore. But the damage had been done. I wouldn't tell you about it at all, would I, if there had not been repercussions? No, because there would be no story in that. A lot of people do things in their youth that they aren't proud of later. It just doesn't profit to talk about it, so we don't. But this is different. I am telling you about this because maybe it will be something that will profit you, if you are wise.

The man is older, but not much older, than me. I saw him last about 8 months ago. He didn't look too bad then. But that was before he started dialysis. It was before the doctors told his family that the cirrhosis in his liver had increased significantly. It was before the operation that he had on his stomach for (yet another) ulcer. One of the man's family members told me that he now looks like a holocaust survivor. He is skin and bones, his face is sunken in, he has dark circles around his eyes. He spends three days a week for several hours at a time hooked up to a kidney dialysis machine. I looked up kidney disease in the encyclopedia. It told me that the people who have lost a kidney or have kidney damage are kept alive by this machine.

Ever since I heard about this change that has come over the man in the last 8 months, whenever I have time to think about it; and even though I am trying not to, I think about him. I am sort of frightened for him. Though he is only a couple of years older than me, I fear he may have an untimely end. His health has gone away. I hope he doesn't read this, yet I am going to post it. I am posting it because there are too many people that I know who might need to pause and think when they drink. "What permanent damage might I be doing to my body?" Permanent damage can be done even when you think it's all in fun.

Of course, not everyone who drinks ends up with permanent liver damage, kidney failure and so forth. But, I ask you, why take the chance? I understand that there are some alcoholic beverages that can be, for some people, medicinal. Maybe moderation is the key. But, please, dear friends and loved ones, please take the time after you read this to evaluate your habits. If you have made it a lifestyle to drink, frequently or infrequently, please consider limiting yourself. Do a study about the risks of alcohol use. Don't judge your use by how much less often you get drunk than your friends. And don't just assume that you are not causing yourself harm, that you can "handle it".  I love you far too much to see you become like the man in my story. (Yes, he is a real person with a name and a family who loves him!) Don't be slowly killing yourself in the name of "fun".

Youngest Son Turns 27

Yesterday, as I was driving in to Mishawaka, the rain turned to rain-and-snow-mixed. It reminded me of the day 27 years ago when we were driving home from the birthing center where our dear Andrew Joseph had just hours earlier presented to the world.  It was the same kind of weather! How nostalgic for me. I remember it all so clearly. It doesn't seem like 27 years have really passed by.

Andy has always been a unique individual. He was the only one of my three children who did not breathe right away. It was just a little alarming to me that they were dragging out the oxygen tank for him, but he finally drew his first breath on his own. Since then, I must confess that Andy has done a lot of things that have been more than "a little alarming." He was the first one of my kids to ever break a bone (his right clavical), and the first one to ever have a concussion, (same accident, fell out of our parked van while we were taking down the balloon after a flight.) He went off on a back-packing trip all over Europe and parts of Asia in 2009 and 2010 for about five months. He was the first one of our kids to graduate from college, even though he is the youngest. He is probably the most out-going and people loving man you will ever want to know. He has his own very strong opinions, but he is not afraid to let you express yours. (Though, watch out, he is ready to argue any point.)

Andy is such a fun guy. He met lots of people on his trip and made fast friends out of them. This weekend, his birthday weekend, he is hosting some friends from Norway. He is taking them on a Viking Bar Crawl. I don't even really know what that is, but I am sure that his friends will have fun, because Andy planned it, and he knows how to have fun.

Andy has a wish to move out of the United States and be part of another culture. He took a lot of Japanese in college, at one time hoping to teach english in Japan. That, so far, has not worked out for him. He has been exploring other avenues to make his dream a reality. I have no doubt that some day he will do just that. I will miss him so much. I already do. But I want my kids to pursue their dreams and to be happy in life.

Happy Birthday, Andy!

Born to Work With Wood

It is just a shame in the day of manufactured housing and big box store cabinetry to know a true craftsman who cannot work his craft. See, that it what my husband is. He is an artist with wood. He created the kitchen you see in this photo. He designed it the old-fashioned way, with a pencil and an idea. True, he got a lot of the ideas about the design from the owner of the home, who knew what he wanted. But Jay put all the measurements together, designed the drawers to all work perfectly, the doors to all hang level, the cabinets to be sturdy, the island cabinet with it's hand made butcher block top...and in hickory wood with a natural finish. Then he built all of it, sanded every piece of wood through several processes. He put it all through his finish shop. I helped a little, and there was another guy at the time, helping. But Jay knew how it had to go together and how to finish it all and then install it. He was a wizard with wood.

This is a musical instrument called a hammered dulcimer. Jay made it. He made 24 of these when he was building them. He also made the cute little stand you see the instrument displayed on, which is adjustable so you can play the instrument while standing or while sitting. He also built the stool you see in the picture. He made a lot of those, too. I have a nice stool that he built at my bedside that I use for a table. It's very handy for keeping my water bottle and my thyroid medication on. Jay tells me that there are so many pieces and parts just in the stool and so much work in the stool alone. He would charge you $130.00 for the stool because of all the work he put into that. But, of course, you can go to Menards and buy one for about $25.00 on sale, so why would you pay $130.00 for this one?

See this table? The top opens and you can store things in it that you might like to display. You could put a hand gun collection in there, he would put a lock on there so it would be safe. Shhhhh, don't tell, but there is also a secret drawer on this table. Jay designed and built and finished this table, even the crazy legs! The legs are mahogany and the rest of the table is curly cherry. Have you even ever heard of curly cherry?

So, see, here we are, in this horrible economy, and all the craftsmen who build lovely things like these are being displaced. If they are lucky, they have a small shop where they can still build beautiful things, and maybe they can sell them and stay in business. If they are lucky. But, so many others, like Jay, have lost their very place in life. If Jay is not working with wood, then what else must he do? Perhaps, he can be a Security Guard. Oh, wait, he tried that. It didn't work out. Perhaps he can work at a trailer factory. Nope. They want people who can whip out ugly little wimpy cabinets in trailer factories. It doesn't matter if it is built to last, it has to just be built fast! Perhaps, just perhaps, he must go to McDonalds and flip hamburgers and fry french fries and come home at night smelling like grease. How very sad that he can't build beautiful things with wood and make a living doing that again. Maybe there is somewhere that he can go in this country and still do that. Maybe there still exists a place where they want things done the old fashioned way and where people don't want to buy the things to furnish their homes from Walmart. Maybe.

It is perplexing to me to see him try, time and again, to do something else. He must keep trying, and he does. But I know that Jay is not the only one who is in the same boat. There are men and women out there who used to build homes. Where are they now? There are very few homes being built, and you can bet the ones who are building them are barely eeking out their costs in building them. (See, there are a few people who still have money and they know that they have these guys over a barrel when the demand is so low for new homes; you can practically name your price!) The craftsmen also have families and bills to pay, and, if they can't do what they are accustomed to doing, what they have been trained to do, what they were born to do, then they become unskilled laborers for someone else. They are no longer independent, self-employed, masters of their trades. They have to go find labor and be happy possibly just working for minimum wages.

I shudder to think what will become of them. I hope, along with them, that things will soon pick back up again, and that they may happily go back to doing what they were born to do. But, I tend to be pessimistic about that happening any time soon. I keep thinking that it is in times like these when the creative thinker sees a new opportunity. What is that old saying "Necessity is the mother of invention." I keep thinking that this is the time to start some new enterprise. But what? What enterprise can you start with no money to invest and very poor credit (getting worse all the time)? We have friends that sell various things who would be glad to get us into their multi-level marketing schemes under them, of course. Been there, done that, not interested, thank you.

We are going to keep plugging away. We now agree that we must find more ways to cut costs and are going to need to move out of this nice, but too expensive place in Middlebury. We could probably make it on my income alone, if we had a smaller rent and less miles for me (or us, when he finds something again) to drive to work.  But how I miss the guy who was happy working with his wood.

Pondering Depression

Look up melancholy (the adjective) in your collegiate dictionary. (You do have one, right?) It's ok. I will wait while you go do that. I will be here, filing my nails. ....You're back? Did you see the synonyms list? Mine says they are "depression, dejection, gloominess." I have the World Book Thorndike Barnhart Dictionary here. Under definition number 3 of the noun melancholy it says: "one of the four humors, thought in ancient and medieveal physiology to be secreted by the kidney or spleen and to be the cause of such conditions as depression and gloominess: black bile:" and then a quote from Shakespeare: "to purge melancholy."

I have struggled with depression off and on for years. Sometimes I really wallow in it. But I have never, until recently, actually felt it as a physical, maybe even chemical, sensation. Let me see if I can explain this. I was recently involved in an activity. Shoot. I may as well tell you what it was, because most of you who know me will guess anyway. I was auditioning for a show. (Future and past directors, please don't hold this against me, I am just trying to illustrate something here.) I thought that I had a really good audition. The day after auditions were done, persons began to post on Facebook for which parts they had been cast. But I did not get a call. When it became apparent that, not only had I not got any of the parts that I wanted, but that I might not be cast at all, whoa! Something happened to me. I mean, I have been down before, but this was way different.

As I am thinking about how I might describe what happened to me, I can only think of the body's response to alcohol. Now, keep in mind, I have never been drunk. I rarely ever even drink alcohol, but I had an experience with it one time that I think could serve to demonstrate what happened to me when I had this last bout of depression. We were at a friend's birthday party. The host's daughter had prepared some Jello shots. I had not had Jello shots before. They sounded pretty harmless to me. Hey, there's always room for Jello, right? The instructions were that you were supposed to drink the whole thing, in one gulp--shoot it down---as it were. So I did. Yeah. It went straight down, and when I put the empty shot cup down, my head was spinning, and I knew I better just sit still for a while and not try to do anything. That alcohol was in my stomach, but it was doing something in my head. Just that fast.

In that same way, that day when I went to bed and had not been called to be cast, this awful sensation came over me. It was in the pit of my stomach, but it messed up my head. And here is the weird part, even the next day when I found that I had been cast for a part, after all, it didn't go away. It hung on for several more days. It was like that "black bile" had poisoned me. I could not shake it. I wasn't drinking anything, but I felt it leaking into my soul, or my body, I don't know which: it was like liquid depression. I couldn't stop it, not by praying, not by trying to think "happy thoughts", nothing. I still don't think I am fully recovered from it, really. I have found that beautiful music helps some, and laughing helps. But, honestly, I seriously wonder if I should be on Prozac.

I hate the idea of taking another pill every day. I wonder if it isn't so bad to just let nature take its course, sometimes. Maybe I can be depressed sometimes, and it will be okay. I think that there must be natural things that I can do to fight back. I wonder about the music thing. Why does it seem to help? Also, exercise, as long as I don't get too exhausted, seems like a natural lift. (Endorphins?)

I was recently in a seminar where we were being taught the principles for successful living. One of the things the leader said was something we should not do is discuss our poor health with anyone, except a doctor. And I know that there should be limits about even things one blogs about. So, maybe I have overstepped a boundary, and if I have I really must apologize. But, I also think it is possible that there are people out there who also struggle with depression. And I think there are people who are far more depressed about things that are far more serious than things that bother me right now. I am reasonably healthy, have a home, a family that loves me...some people have none of these things and they are still cheerful!

My dear friends, if you do struggle with depression, I just want you to know you are not the only one. Maybe you have found coping mechanisms. (I guess that the even the Bible suggests that this is why some people drink and get drunk.) I think we learn from each other, if we are willing to share the needs. I love people, really love people in my life right now. I think we are stronger for having shown our weaknesses, and can be made even stronger for sharing what makes us strong.

So, in pondering depression, mine and maybe yours, I think it is fair to say it may not be the last time I raise the topic. It's kind of like one of my Weight Watchers leaders used to say about the struggle with being overweight "You are never cured, but you can get it under control". So, more or less, I guess that applies to depression, too. Maybe there is no cure, but there are ways to get it under control. Peace!

Mountains

You who are fortunate enough to live within the sight of Mountains, I envy you. I didn't travel much at all when I was young. Until I got married, I had only been out of the state about twice, and then just to Illinois and Michigan. The first time I went out West was in 1993. When we got to Montana, where I had my very first encounter with real Mountains, it was love at first sight!

Mountains. What is is about them? I don't know. Recently I wrote about getting out into the woods. I do love woods. I can't imagine not living where there are woods to ramble in. But oh, how I would love to live within a hour's drive of some beautiful mountains.

In October of 2008 we traveled to Calgary, Alberta Canada. Jay had closed down and sold his cabinet shop in July of that year. We had posted his resume on Monster. A head hunter from Texas found it. She was looking to fill a position up in Fort Macleod, near Lethbridge in Alberta Canada. After many phone calls between the headhunter, and then the business owner, we decided to go up for an in person interview.  Fort Macleod was a town that would really remind you of something from a Texas western. I did have a picture of the bar where we stopped to eat there, which really looked like something out of an old Western. And the wind the first day we were there was tremendous. The interview was extensive, and I was there for the whole thing. Fort Macleod was within sight of mountains, but it wasn't like Calgary, where we were staying.

After that first day of the interview, we decided to to see Banff. Well, I tell you the truth, if I could transport myself to favorite places where I have been in the blink of an eye (you know, like "I Dream Of Genie" style), the place I would go first and stay the longest would be Banff! It is surrounded by the Great Canadian Rocky Mountains. The city itself is pristine. The possibility for wildlife sightings are tremendous, and maybe a little frightening. (I have always been afraid of bears!) Did I mention that is positively surrounded by mountains? (Yes, I did.) The pictures that we took there are amongst my most favorite pictures that I own. My only sorrow is that we did not have any of our kids with us, so it's just Jay and me in the photos.

Jay was not finally selected for the job in Fort Macleod. He was offered a job in a cabinet shop in Calgary. That company put in paper work with the government and we started preparing to move to Alberta. But, alas, the government papers came back that the company must try harder to fill the position with a Canadian. So, our dreams of moving to Calgary and living near Banff turned to just so much dust.

Sometimes, when I think about how excited I was to be moving to Canada, I think that it was just wonderlust. Any place other than here is more exciting to be. When you grew up here, anywhere seems better than here. But I still think that I would like to live every day where I could look out my window and see mountains. I know that some people feel that way about the Ocean. Some people feel that way about lakes. And those are great places, too. I have never been to Hawaii. Maybe I would feel the same about that.
But, when you consider natural disasters, especially in light of recent events, oceans, to me, are a little more frightening. Earthquakes move mountains, I guess. In the end, maybe no place is really safe from natural disasters. You just have to be ready to survive or not.

Anyway, I hope someday to live near mountains. I am still considering the idea of moving to Alberta. If that can't work, we do have a dear friend and the best man from our wedding that lives in Idaho. I think that might be a good place to build our final home. I don't know. We may just be in Indiana until we die. But it doesn't hurt to dream of something different, does it? I will always dream of living in those mountains!

Ponderings on Public Loss: Camp Singing Hills

I did not grow up in Elkhart county, nor have I ever been a Girl scout. (I do like their cookies, though. ; ) Recent developments or lack thereof have caused the powers that be to put the local Girl Scout Camp, Camp Singing Hills up for auction. I drive by the southern edge of the camp on the back roads that I often take on my way home to Middlebury. It makes me physically ill to drive past there right now.

The beautiful woodsy acreage of the camp has been divided up into lots for the auction. There are 10 acre lots, 6.7 acre lots and so on. I do wish that I had a great big gob of money right now with which I could purchase the entire place. Honestly, I do.  I must not be the only one affected by the thought of this beautiful place being divided into parcels. When we walked down into Middlebury Tuesday night, the sign at the beginning of this post is in all the windows of the shops and storefronts. I fear it is too late for them to save it from being turned into a residential area.

Camp Singing Hills, what memories I have of the place, even if I wasn't a Girl Scout growing up here. I love just driving by there. The place is loaded with wildlife. Almost any evening in any season, you can spot white tailed deer there. Once three wild turkeys crossed the road in front of me on that southern edge while I was driving into Bristol for a rehearsal.

When we were newlyweds, I remember my father-in-law driving us back into the camp after a dinner at Essenhaus. He had done some of the additions onto the dining room there. Jerry Krull is also a fan of nature. We saw deer on that visit, my first visit to the camp.

Another time, when our kids were young, we were there with a bunch of friends from church for a weekend of cross country skiing. We rented the lodge. It was a great snow weekend. There were sleds and toboggans. There really are hills and Camp Singing Hills. It was so much  fun sliding down those hills on the sleds. We rented skis and went out on the trails to cross country. There were also indoor games for the children when they were cold or too wet from snow adventures and needed to warm up and dry off. We fixed a chili supper. I think we made pancakes for breakfast.

We went out there for other outings. I remember one time a women's retreat was held there. I think it was too cold at that time to be outdoors much, and there was no snow that time. But we still managed to enjoy the environment. I think several of us went out walking on the trails. We talked and laughed and just enjoyed being out there together.

I don't know how many acres the whole campground encompasses. If I looked at recent newspaper stories, I am sure I could find out. And this may not be new news to any of you who read my blog, but I just wanted to comment on it. I will say that the tracts of land that I see most often look like they would make great locations for homes, but it would be a shame to clear out the woods to put houses there. It would be more than a shame. How sad that the next generations will not have this wonderful legacy to grow up with. It is going to be a terrible public loss.

Into The Woods Part II

It was finally a good enough day to get off and go into the woods a little bit yesterday. I didn't spend much time in there. It had snowed the night before, and with the melt and the recent thaw, you can imagine it is quite sloppy in there. But I didn't care. I walked a little ways in and I looked up into the trees. The sun filtered through and I closed my eyes and just soaked it all in. Ahhhhhhh...Peace.

I remembered that when we were kids we used to climb the trees. It was so fun to get up there amongst the thinner branches, high up. You hold onto the next highest limbs and you bounce. Maybe there was something daredevilish about that. Sometimes we bounced because it was an apple tree and we were shaking apples down to someone on the ground who would pick up the good ones to eat. Other times we just bounced for the fun.

Some days we could climb up in the tree and hide. It isn't much fun to hide in a tree unless someone is really looking for you. You wouldn't hide unless you were pretty sure SOMEONE would come looking. I loved hanging around up in a pine tree and watching someone go around and around the house looking for me. I would finally get tired of the game and of getting all that pine sap stuck all over me, and I would call to whichever sibling was looking for me. I would climb down after I had laughed and laughed at them for not thinking to look for me up in the tree.

There was a particular pine tree that stood very close to a low part of the roof. We used to climb up there and climb over onto the roof. We spent a lot of time playing up on that roof. I don't remember my sister up there much. Lisa was usually a good little girl and she didn't often take part in our escapades. But the boys and I would get up there and then dare each other to jump off. The lowest part of the roof was probably only about 6 feet from the ground. I jumped off there many times. It could explain some of my joint problems in the knees. Maybe.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed these little walks back into my childhood memories of trees. I better get out of here!

Into the Woods

I may have mentioned this before, but when I was growing up in central Indiana, my Dad raised beagles. They weren't just pets, they were hunting dogs. Dad used to put a few of them on leashes and load them into the car and take them off to "run rabbits." For those of you who have never experienced this, I will explain. You go to the woods and you find a brush pile. There are usually rabbits hiding in brush piles. You have the dogs there, usually still on leashes.  You can kick the brush pile, or jump on the brush pile and it will startle the rabbit. He runs out. You unleash the dogs and they follow the rabbit's trail. They run for a while, baying every little while. Baying equals barking, usually a prolonged note, not just a choppy, short bark. You follow the dogs until they either lose the trail or the rabbit hides in another brush pile. You can kick the rabbit out again, or be done for the day.

I mention it because I think this is when I first learned to love being in the woods. My Dad used to take one or more of us five kids along for company. We learned to tromp through briars and brambles, crawl over fallen trees and branches, swish through long grass, all while being quiet. I learned to appreciate solitude. Even though we were there together, we didn't really talk much. We were alone in our thoughts. I am sure I can imagine why Dad liked it so much. If you had five rambunctios children, wouldn't you want to go hide in the woods for a while? I only had three, and I am sure I can imagine the reasons it gave him such joy.

I was thinking about all of this at least two days this week when I came home "the back way" from work. I drive through the Bristol Fruit Hills. Just east of State Road 15 on County Road 112 and also County Road 14, there are some deep woods. This time of year the snow is patchy in there. You can see through layers and layers of trees. You can see places where the snow still is thick on the ground because it hasn't been warm enough to melt where the woods is thick enough to keep the sun out. The branches are all bare. The bracken or weeds and wildflowers have not yet started to grow back up yet. I see deer trails in there. I drive by slowly and I imagine myself walking on the floor of the woods. I imagine the trees standing tall all around me and picking my way through carefully, always watching the next step. I'm stopping every few minutes just to listen. Quiet. I am looking as far as my eyes can see, trying to catch a glimpse of some wild thing. Maybe a deer will appear. I have seen turkeys in there. Maybe there will be something even more exotic: I saw a pheasant two weeks ago. He was right on the road. I stopped and tried to take his picture with my camera phone, but he ran down the road. Guess he didn't want to be photographed.

I wish I could transport myself to the woods and, better yet, to the tranquility I feel when I am in the woods whenever every day stresses abound. I like my job, but it is still a job. Every job has stress. Mine has its share. I don't have the luxury of being able to close my eyes and imagine much while I am at work. I have to concentrate on the job at hand. But, if I could, I would go more often into some woods. I would breathe deeply and walk along, alone with my thoughts. (I am such great company, aren't I? And modest, too.) To me, it is important to have that solitude. Life goes by in such a hurry. We should take time out to think about it all. To laugh. To grieve. To live.

I have so many thoughts that I need to be alone with right now. I do wish I could go to the woods to think all these things through. A child, one of my daughter's dance students, died a senseless death last week. Why? A friend hurt me very deeply this week without even knowing it. (Only friends can hurt you that way.) I am happy that my husband is working again. But, I confess, I worry about how long it will last. I worry, sometimes, about how long I will last. We are seriously thinking about moving back to Elkhart to save all the driving we can because gas is going up. Neither one of us really wants to move, let alone moving to Elkhart. So much to think about! How I long to go to Bonneyville Mill and walk in the woods and think about all this stuff. But it's raining. It's muddy. It's chilly.

I will get there, though. One of these days, I will go into the woods. I will breathe deeply. With each breath, I will expel all the toxic drag from my life. I will breathe in fresh, clean, new life. I will smile and serenity will come. God will talk to me. I will finally listen. It will be so awesome. Maybe the sun will shine through. It isn't necessary, but just an added benefit. Problems will get solved. Even if the problems don't get solved, I will feel better about all of it. I will forgive the hurts, little ones and big ones. Oh, how I wish I were there right now, in the woods.

Awaiting Spring

I love snow. But, like everyone else, this time of the year I start getting spring fever. I begin to think about all the spring flowers that will start blooming; crocuses first, then daffodils and then tulips. I can't help but smile. I don't know why it is that I love the spring flowers so much. I just do! You know it is going to start getting warmer. We can put our hats and mittens away. We can bring out our spring jackets and spring clothes. It's the flowers, though, that make me the most excited about spring. I think we will have to make another trip up to Holland, Michigan this year around tulip time!

Two of my babies were born in the spring. Interestingly enough, though their birthdates are about three weeks apart, the spring babies, my first and my last, were both born around Easter week. I remember it actually snowed on both birthdates. Spring snows are always a little surprising. My last baby was born in mid-April. I really wasn't expecting to see snow at that time here in Indiana. Just shows you how versatile our Indiana weather is!

I am thinking that we have had so much snow this winter that a lot of people up here in the north are probably suffering with serious spring fever by now. This weekend has been pretty nice. I saw a lot of people making use of the exercise trail near our home this weekend. Who can blame them? Temperatures were in single digits last weekend. How nice to have it be up in the 40's. It was in the 50's on Friday! There were joggers, dog walkers, and just a lot of people who were tired of being "cooped up" out there yesterday. Young ones in strollers, old ones, still bundled against the wind chill, and everything in-between making use of the beautiful day to be out.

Jay and I walked down the three or four blocks into town. (I can never tell you exactly how many blocks it is, because it kind of depends on which route you take. There is Warren street that slants up the hill by where we live and makes it three blocks in some places and four blocks in others.) We walked down to the library. We got some videos and a DVD. (The DVD was "The Ron Clark Story" with Matthew Perry. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it!) We walked to the little marketplace that used to be Park Pharmacy. There is a small store within the store where an Amish farmer sells eggs and meats and all sorts of things. We bought brown eggs, $1.50 a dozen. I don't care if the eggs are brown or white. I just like supporting the local farmer. I told Jay that I always feel so thrifty whenever we walk into town to buy things. Gas is just so high right now!

These little "tastes" of spring are kind of like a shot in the arm. The sun shining warm into the enclosed porch on the front of our house is so inviting and welcoming. I know, winter weather can return with a vengeance, and might, even today. That is why everyone was out yesterday taking advantage of the warm weather. We all know that spring has not arrived yet. No! It's still winter here! But we do put hope in the fact that the groundhog did not see his shadow, ( and how could he, it was a freakin' blizzard on  Groundhog Day!), we are looking forward to an early spring. But, thank God in Heaven for these few days when it feels like spring. The snow melts. We can go out for a little bit without our coats and not freeze our tails off! We can breathe without stinging our throats.

It has been a hard winter. But, once again, a lot of us have survived and are looking forward to spring and then the summer that follows. We feel like celebrating all the little harbingers along the way. (I saw a FLOCK of robins last Sunday, a Flock, even while it was still so cold!) So what if I only got to go ski once? Time to look forward to the next thing. Hope springs!