Baby Born in Goat Shed!

Can't you just imagine the headline.  Traveling Woman Gives Birth While Taking Shelter in Local Goat Shed! 

Over the course of a couple of years, my mom gave my sisters and I the many pieces of the Willow Tree nativity and crѐche.  It's absolutely beautiful.  My kids, as they've gotten bigger, have loved participating in situating the shepherds, wisemen, animals, mother Mary, et al.  But, this year, as I gaze at it from across the living room, I can't help but wonder how well this beautiful scene depicts the reality of that night.

I now scoop poop on a pretty regular basis.  I also spend time among the flies and other varmints that sometimes live in the goat shed.  This is the first Christmas that I've really stopped to ponder what that evening must have been like for Mary and Joseph.  As I lug a wheelbarrowful of poo to the compost pile, I can't help but imagine my Savior born in our little goat shed.  Can't you just imagine it, "Mary, you've got to be kidding me!  You're gonna have this baby RIGHT NOW???  Come on, focus on something else.  Get your mind off of it.  This is not the story we want to be telling our son some day about the day he was born!"

And yet, it is the story he had to tell.  It's the story we ALL tell all of our sons and daughters.  Of course, it's made much more beautiful by the angelic choirs and travelers from afar with their extravagent gifts.  And yet, a barn.  A lowly manger.  Poop.  And flies.  And odors that were less than angelic.

God did that for us.  In fact, it seemed that throughout his ministry, Jesus was never one to shy away from the lowly or less respectable. 

It may just be me, but I'm seeing several lessons for us in there.   :)

Christmas Traditions that I Treasure

Each year for Christmas, the kids each select gifts for their siblings.  The gifts are small in monetary value but big on thoughtfulness (and personally wrapped by each child ;)   To keep these gifts from getting just lumped in with the Santa gifts, we open these on a different day and usually try to make them the first gifts of the season that we open.  I love that the kids are more eager to give their gifts than they are to open.  

This quiet time together as a family has come to be one of my favorite Christmas traditions. 

And why not?

We get to experience expressions of pride like this one, as Girl 1 watched her little sister unwrap her carefully-selected gift .  .  .

and expressions of complete surprise and joy upon opening said gift . . .

and then big "thank you" hugs that take them both to the floor in giggles.

So each child ended up with a gift from each sibling and a pair of pajamas from Mom and Dad to wear on Christmas Eve.

John and I gave each other new running shoes.  I definitely look more excited, but I'm pretty sure he liked his, too.

Girl 2 and Daddy are hard at work on the LEGO monster truck she received from Little Boy.

Each year we do this I have the same thought:  this is enough. 

After just this small gift exchange, we had Barbies, LEGOS, trains, fuzzy armbands, craft projects, and coloring pages.  The kids were entertained for the rest of the evening.

And yet, this is only the beginning. 

Santa will come.  They'll get gifts from grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, great-grandparents, Sunday School teachers, neighbors, etc..  I'm not saying that I wish to deprive my kids of all those gifts (or the givers the joy that comes from giving), but I am saying that's it's nice to have this small yearly reminder that it's all unnecessary.  Our kids were both delighted and entertained tonight.  But, more than that, they each take away a bit more from an experience like this than the 2 toys and pair of PJs they received.  They got to experience what it feels like to both love and be loved well.  What more could we ask of a Christmas gift exchange?

What holiday traditions do you most enjoy with your families?

Self-Imposed Rules: Does Anyone Else Do This?

So,  yesterday I didn't blog.  Did anyone even notice?  I know that may not seem like such a big deal, but here's why it is to me.

I launched Brooding On on March 23, 2012.  There are a few posts dated before that, but they are ones that originally appeared on our family blog The Beller Brood.  And, in the almost 9 months since its inception, I've posted a new little blurb EVERYDAY --everyday, until yesterday, that is.

Confession:  sometimes I set rules for myself.  Am I alone here?  For example, "I can't read that magazine that I'm really looking forward to until I first finish the book that I've been struggling to get through," or "Outside poop chores must be done on Mondays,"  or "I must run at least 3 times a week," or "I will blog everyday."

No one is holding me accountable for upholding these kind of rules.   Why do they seem so unbreakable? 

I remember when Girl 1 was in kindergarten, I couldn't wait for her to "pull her first card" for poor behavior or miss a word on her spelling test.  It seemed that a blue ribbon/100% streak was just too much pressure.  Who can maintain such perfection?  It seemed to me that she'd be better off once she'd broken the streak and would no longer have that "perfection stress" hanging o'er her head.

I don't need to explain to you how stressful the holidays can be.  Last week really wore me out.  We bought and wrapped countless gifts, made 70+ Cocoa Santas (that'll be another post), hosted a party, made an out-of-town trip, and ran the kids all over creation for various activities besides all the stuff that a normal week holds for our family of 5. So, Sunday afternoon rolled around, John took the kids to run an errand, and I found myself crashing fast;  I was exhausted, and I hadn't run in a few days and really wanted to (I know that may sound crazy, but it's true).  But, I needed to blog.  Why?  Because I had something I really needed to write about?  No, because I do it everyday.  Religiously. 

This time of year, always seems to refocus me on what's really important.  Yes, there's Christmas and what that means for me and for my world.  And the holiday means that we get to spend more time with family who are so important to us.  But, there's also this.  Today marks the 7-year anniversary of my mother-in-law's sudden death.  Without dwelling on the details, I will say that losing John's Mom changed forever the course of our lives and brought many things into stunning, brilliant clarity.  What's truly important took precedence over everything else.  And, as I feel her absence during this time of year, I'm reminded that everyday is a gift. 

All that to say, I didn't blog yesterday.  And, today, it's okay.  In fact, it's more than okay.  I took a little nap, had a prayerful run, and spent time snuggling my kids during the time I would've otherwise been writing.  I'd say I'm a much happier person today because I chose to do those things rather than blog.

So, new self-imposed rule:  no blogging on Sundays.  It'll be my day of writing rest.  But, more importantly, I need to learn to lighten up on myself a bit and remember why I'm blogging in the first place. It makes me happy.  Hopefully, sometimes it makes you happy, too. :)

The Great Christmas Card Debate

John and I rarely argue.  Seriously, it's true.  But every year at Christmas card time, I know I can count on a disagreement. 

First, some background . . .

I love to receive Christmas cards!  I look forward to the mail everyday during December.  I laugh, I cry, I proudly display the beautiful photos.  I make a pile of new ones by John's plate at dinner so that he can see all the new ones that come in each day.

So, it would follow that I would also send Christmas cards each year.  I'm pretty sure that we've sent out Christmas cards every year since we've been married.  I know we've sent out photo cards every year since Girl 1 was born, 8 years ago.  And, every year, our list of recipients grows.  The year it reached the 100 mark, John convinced me to print the address labels on the computer.  This saved me tons of time and a few hand cramps, but one recipient commented that it felt a bit impersonal (I agreed), and I was right back to hand-addressing the following year. 

Our recipient list is now well over 150, so the stuffing, addressing, stamping, etc. takes significant time.  But, honestly, I love every minute of it.  The assembly-line aspect of it is mindless and methodical.  And, I enjoy pondering each person and what they mean to me as I address their envelope. 

But, over the past 8 years, our lives have changed a lot.  Our list includes people all over the country (the kids from John's old youth group in New Orleans who are now adults living all over the place, family from New York to Louisiana) and beyond (we send a card to Girl 2's foster mom in Guatemala every year). 

Every year, I document who we send cards to and who we receive them from.  It seemed that our Christmas list just continued to grow and grow and no one was ever "cut" from the list.  I proposed to John that we cut from the list anyone we hadn't heard from in 3 years.  It seemed a reasonable policy to me, and I could easily look back and see whether or not we'd received a card from them within that time frame.  Maybe we've been mailing to a bad address?  Maybe they moved long ago, and some random family is getting our Christmas letter and chuckling about the goings on of this strange, silly family in Arkansas.

John's philosophy regarding the recipient list is pretty simple:  no one is EVER cut, for any reason.  We add to the list.  We do not detract from it. 

And yet, every year, I can't help myself.  I ask him to take a look at the list with me and just be sure there aren't any adjustments to be made.  And, then we begin the disagreement.  Again. In my defense, one year that he didn't even want to look at the list, he happened to notice as he helped me put the stamps on that I'd addressed one card to a person from our old church congregation in New Orleans who, unbeknownst to me, had passed away during that year.  It's not that I'm a Grinch or something.  I want to spread Christmas cheer and greetings to many.  I just don't want to spend the cash for the card and stamp, only to have it "returned to sender" the week after Christmas.

And, yes, I know that the whole traditional Christmas card routine is far from green, between the gas used to deliver them and the trees used to print them.  But, I've received Christmas cards via email before, and it's just not the same.  Sure, I can forward them on to John so that he sees them, too.  But, I can't display them for all to see.  We can't pass it around the dinner table and talk about how big the kids in the photo are getting, for example.

Thoughts?  Do you send holiday cards?  How do you deal with your list?  Do you "cut"?  What are the criteria for "cutting" someone from the list?

Also, would you like to be added to the list?  I'd be happy to have any faithful reader added to the recipient list.  You put up with my ramblings; you should be rewarded by a cute photo of my family and a holiday letter that aims to make you smile.  ;)

And, please, add us to your list!  We'd love a Christmas greeting from you!

Growing Thankfulness: November Giveaway!

Happy Thanksgiving!  This season of thankfulness is such a joy!  Reflecting on the many things for which I have to be thankful leaves me feeling so very full.  God is indeed very good to us.

This concentrated season of thankfulness leaves me feeling a bit convicted, though, that I don't incorporate more of it into my daily life.  I suspect that many of us are like that.  When we were experiencing such drought this summer and then were blessed with that first, sweet rain, I searched the web for a prayer in thanksgiving for rain.  What I found instead were tons and tons of formal and beautiful prayers for rain. . . and not a single one thanking God once the rain had come.

Sometimes I feel too much like that -- like I'm very prayerful in my requests and then silent when I ought to be offering thanks for the answers to those prayers.

I've heard a lot about thankfulness journals.  I think they're a great idea.  I've even tried to incorporate them myself, but it just didn't take.  I have had some success with a thankfulness notecard.  I use a notecard system for my daily prayer time, so this integrated nicely.  It's super easy, but it does cause me to reflect on thankfulness in an intentional way at least once a day.

All I do is mark the date followed by a 2 or 3 word description of something I'm thankful for.  Some examples from this card:

9/25 Shep's birth

10/9 PR

10/9 a friend

10/17 a moment with "Girl 1"

10/25 fixed car

So simple, huh?  Anyone can take that much time for thankfulness.

For my monthly giveaway, though, I'm offering you the opportunity to start a nice thankfulness journal.  This paperback Moleskine journal has lots of empty pages, just waiting to be filled.  (Don't you just love the possibility of an empty journal?!)

All you have to do to be entered into this month's drawing is comment on this post by Saturday, telling me something that you're thankful for.  But, you cannot post something that someone else has already posted.  So, if you're thankful for your husband, your children, your God, etc., you'd better comment quickly before someone else steals your idea!

Recent Obsession: Tiny Houses

Lately, I've been obsessed with Tiny Houses.  I thought maybe the obsession could be traced back to my somewhat recent reading of a book titled Twelve by Twelve: A One-Room Cabin Off the Grid and Beyond the American Dream, which was awe-inspiring.  I mean, seriously, no electricity or plumbing?

But, then I remembered how my favorite part of IKEA is seeing how they compress everything one needs to live into only 90 square feet or some such ridiculous number.  I love just meandering through the model set-ups they have and imagining what it would be like to live that small.  But, the obsession may go much further back, all the way back to pop-up-trailer camping with my family of 5 when I was growing up.  It was just so amazing to me that we could compress everything we'd need for the trip into that tiny little pod that we'd pull behind the van.  And, the tiny fridge and cooktop?  Adorable.  So, maybe it should be no surprise that I find Lloyd Kahn's Tiny Homes:  Simple Shelter such a treat.  According to Kahn, a "tiny" home is one that is less than 500 square feet.  This makes a great coffee table book and features amazing images of houses Khan describes. 

One company featured in this book is Tiny Texas Houses, the brainchild of Brad Kittel, whose tagline is "building the future with the past."  Kittel builds tiny homes that are 99% salvaged materials.  Houses are built in Luling, TX, and can be easily transported to pretty much anywhere.  This video gives a visual overview of some of his very cool work.

Our family absolutely loves the outdoors.  When the weather allows, we eat many of our meals outside and congregate in our outdoor living space.  If we lived somewhere with a more moderate climate, I could totally see us attempting to live this small because we'd just spend most of our time outdoors.  As it is, though, it's hard to imagine all 5 of us hunkered down in 400 square feet while being snowed in for days.  Oh, well.  I do follow Kahn's blog via my Google Reader feed, so I guess I'll just have to get my Tiny Homes fix that way.  The blog features a new tiny home nearly everyday.  Check it out here. 

What do you think?  Could you live that small?  What is alluring about it?  What would you miss most if you compressed your life into only 300 square feet or so?

Let Nature Be Your Teacher

How about a little William Wordsworth today?


The Tables Turned
Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books,
Or surely you'll grow double.
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks,
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstly sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your Teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless --
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings,
Our meddling intellect
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things --
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up these barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

Ummmm.  What could I possibly add to that?  I'll just let it speak for itself.  Thanks, Mr. Wordsworth.  And, thank you, dear blog readers, for indulging my inner English teacher today.  ;)

November: Adoption Awareness Month

Orphan Sunday was technically last week, but as November is National Adoption Awareness Month, I figured it was better late than never.  As I imagine most of my readers know, our family has been twice blessed by adoption.  In 2007, Girl 2 was adopted from Guatemala at 9 months old.  And, in 2011, Little Boy joined our family from U.S. Foster Care just 1 week before his 2nd birthday.  Both adoption journeys are chronicled on our private family blog.  (If you do not currently have access but would like it, please comment on this post.) 

Adoption is a big deal.  It's not easy on paper or in practice.  There are challenges and tears all along the way.  . . . But, oh, the joy!  I wouldn't trade my rainbow of a family for anything.  Of course, John and I both feel that adoption is part of God's calling on our lives.  You may not be called to adopt, but as Christians we are all called to "care for the orphan."

Now, I always bristle at the term "orphan."  It's just so charged with negativity and sadness.  I'll never forget when Girl 2 asked me, "Momma, what's an orphan?" and then immediately followed it with, "Am I one?"   But for all the sadness that words like orphaned or abandoned bring with them, praise the Lord, there's enough joy in words like adopted and loved to cover it all.

So, in honor of Orphan Sunday and Adoption Awareness, check out this brief 2 minute video.  And, I'd challenge you to consider what you can do for the least of these today.  Perhaps consider becoming a foster parent, donating to an adoption-centric charity, or just speaking a kind and encouraging word to a family in the midst of adoption.  You could donate to an adoption fund at your church that helps church member fund adoptions (or start a similar fund if your church doesn't already have one).  Or, if God has begun to work on your heart in this way, consider adoption.  I recently heard a statistic that claimed that if one family in each church in America adopted a child out of foster care, we'd have solved our orphan crisis here in the states. 

While that doesn't even begin to deal with the millions of orphans worldwide, it's a start.  As with most things in life, we can't get bogged down by the staggering statistics.  One adopted child is, like Matthew West's beautiful song says, "One Less," and that's a step in the right direction.

Halloweens Past!

Okay.  I promised Halloween pics, but I failed to get any, other than an entire family pic (which I can't post on this publicly-viewed blog, but FaceBook friends are welcome to check it out on there.).

Sorry!  We did continue our tradition of dressing as a family.    This year we were Pizza Planet pizza delivery guys, complete with logo-ed up t-shirts, hats, pizza boxes and even a delivery light on the top of the minivan.  We knew people would be disappointed that we were not delivering actual pizza, so we printed up copies of Granny's awesome homemade pizza recipe to hand out instead.

Someone asked me yesterday if I have a hard time getting John to go along with these family costume ideas, but actually he was just thrilled that this year's costume didn't include tights, like last year's super heroes!  In truth, he's always up for anything, which is one of the things that makes him a fun dad and incredible partner.

I don't have any pics of last night to share, but I was able to dig up a couple old ones for your viewing pleasure. ;)

2012  Pizza Planet delivery guys

2011 The Incredi-Bellers (this was Little Boy's 1st Halloween at home)

2010 The Chipmunks -- John as Dave, Me as Simon, Girl 1 as Alvin, and Girl 2 as Theodore (complete with pillow-padding -- she was such a good sport!)

2009  LadyBugs and Bug Collectors (The Girls were the Bugs, and Parents were the Collectors, complete with nets and wire cages)


2008  Crayons (complete with cone hats that we had to take off and put back on everytime we got in and out of the car! -- Sorry, no pic available for this one. ;)

I'm pretty sure that's it.  So, we started dressing as a family in 2008 with the crayons when Girl 2 was only 2 -- She was an adorable tiny purple crayon!

Happy Halloween!

Are these feet all dressed up for Halloween?

My Mom and Dad spent last weekend with us, and we had such a great time together.  They hadn't been here since early summer, so it had been awhile.  They forgot, however, to pack their backyard "poop" shoes and had to show a little ingenuity and don these grocery bags while checking in on the animals and roasting s'mores over the fire pit!  The bags may not exactly be fashion-forward, but they got the job done! ;)

Hopefully, I'll get some good Halloween pics of our brood later today and can post them tomorrow. 

Have a happy and safe Halloween!  And, as Girl 2 would say, remember to brush away all those sugar bugs on your teeth before you go to bed tonight!

The Almighty Dollar

It's election season, which, if I'm being honest, makes me want to go crawl under a rock . . . only to reemerge November 7.  Unlike my husband who probably ramps up the already crazy number of political blogs he reads during this season, I would never intentionally seek out political news coverage. I think my dislike of all things political stems from my tendency to avoid confrontation. 

But here's what I'm learning more and more:  I may attempt to be apolitical . . . I could even hide in my house all day on November 6th and avoid that trip to the polls,  . . . BUT . . .  I CANNOT avoid voting.   That's because I'm a consumer, and everyday I cast my vote for various things with my dollar. 

I do the grocery shopping for my family, and I attempt to be a good steward of our money by doing the shopping as cheaply as I can.  What that usually means is that I shop local sale papers, make a list of the best deals, and head to Wal-mart where they honor competitor's ads; and I come away congratulating myself because I've saved $20.  But, when I shop like that, I'm casting a vote -- a vote in favor of Wal-mart and all they stand for.  Perhaps more importantly, who/what does that mean I'm voting against?   Am I comfortable with all that?

What about my clothing choices?  What I need to realize is that nothing truly comes cheap.  It's costing someone somewhere something significant.  Who is working for less than a living wage to allow me to buy such a cheap pair of leggings?  I'd like my vote with my dollar to reflect the love of others God asks (actually commands) of us, rather than just a concern for self and self's pocketbook. 

Ever heard of "iPhone girl"? 

No, I'm not talking about Siri. 

Here she is. 

This picture was the wallpaper a British man found when he powered up his new iPhone for the first time.  Reporters were able to track her to the Foxconn factory in Shenzhen.  Reports on what it's like to work in Foxconn factories are varied.  Some reports claim that "two explosions in Foxconn factories injured 77 workers and killed four [in 2010]."  Another says that "polishing iPads to give them that sleek metal look produces aluminum dust that -- if not properly handled -- is quite explosive."  And on and on. 

I'm not trying to single out Apple in any way (I've got an iPhone myself).  It's just that "when we saw iPhone girl had a slightly crooked smile and was wearing a slightly crooked cap and had a sparkle of personality in her eyes, we couldn't help but care about her.  The divide between producer and consumer disappeared when [the] story came to light."

And, the divide needs to disappear. In Farming as a Spiritual Discipline, Ragan Sutterfield says "In all the areas of our lives where we rely on others to produce goods for us, we must become aware that as consumers of those goods they are doing it for us by proxy.  What they do, they do in our name.  It is our responsibility to make sure that they do this work as we would have them do it."

ugggh.  This is a heavy burden.

Maybe all of this is why I so love the idea of homesteading.  In a way, homesteading allows me to be apolitical in some way -- to avoid voting with my dollar-- by turning me from a consumer into a producer.  If I can produce my own soap, milk, eggs, lettuce, cucumbers, lotion, meat, etc., then I can avoid the vote involved in being a consumer of those products.

Sutterfield claims that "Gardens get in the way of progress.  They start people thinking that maybe God gave us the means to feed ourselves without Tyson and Wal-Mart getting in the mix.  Gardens break down borders and question lawns -- the landscapes of power." 

Hmmm.  Maybe keeping my dollar in my pocket IS a vote after all. 

Want to get a little more on the side of production?  Start small.  How about this?   Plant some herbs to grow inside this fall and winter. 

Want to feel like a more informed consumer so that you can put your dollar where your heart is?  Check out www.sweatfree.org to find companies committed to fair working conditions.  Visit  www.goodguide.com or download the GoodGuide app (to your . . . umm . . . iPhone) and check out their scoring system for consumer goods that rates over 145,000 products on three categories: health, environment, and social responsibility.

Too much theory and thought for one blog post?  Sorry.  I promise something lighter tomorrow.  How about a recipe for salsa? :)

iPhone girl info comes from Relevant Magazine's "The Story of Our Stuff" by Kelsey Timmerman.  A portion of the article can be viewed here.

For Everthing There Is a Season

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

For everything its season, and for every activity under heaven its time:

a time to be born and a time to die;

a time to plant and a time to uproot;

a time to kill and a time to heal;

a time to break down and a time to build up;

a time to weep and a time to laugh;

a time for mourning and a time for dancing;

a time to scatter stones and a time for gathering them;

a time to embrace and a time to abstain from embracing;

a time to seek and a time to lose;

a time to keep and a time to discard;

a time to tear and a time to mend;

a time for silence and a time for speech;

a time to love and a time to hate;

a time for war and a time for peace.

Shepherd Andrew Mills

22.5 inches long

10 lbs. 4 oz.

My precious nephew Shep was born Tuesday in Fort Worth.  I just can't wait to get my hands on him!   Little Boy and I are planning a trip to visit them soon  (maybe next week?  What do you think, Jen?  We'll talk.).

And the very next day, on Wednesday, my Papaw ended his battle with leukemia and went home to the Lord.  Here, he is pictured with my Mamaw when we all gathered to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary earlier this year.  I love how happy they both look in this picture! 

The above passage from Ecclesiastes was the scripture John and I chose for our wedding.  I love how it juxtaposes all these things we do in life.  What we may forget, though, is that life is happening all at once.  We may find ourselves celebrating a new life and mourning a death all at the same time. 

Even now, in my garden, I need to plant some more lettuce for fall harvest AND uproot the finished tomato plants. 

At Papaw's funeral service, it was a time to weep for our own loss --  loss of a friend, grandfather, dad, and husband.  But, it was also a time to rejoice -- rejoice in a life that was so well lived, in a loved one finally healed, in our hope that we'll see him again. 

That's life.  We can't neatly compartmentalize our joyous times and keep them separate from our times of loss and sadness.  Sometimes the two come piggy-backing upon us.  How are we to deal with that?  What are we to do? 

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Praise him, all creatures here below.

Praise him above, ye heavenly hosts.

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Amen.

Please continue to pray for sweet Shep and his family (especially my sister Jenny as she continues to recover).  And, please pray also for my family, especially my Mamaw as she learns how to walk on in this life without Papaw by her side. 

Organics: Are They Worth It?

In case you're not as intrigued by studies related to farming and the food industry as I am, let me fill you in on the latest.  Stanford scientists have recently released a study wherein they compare organic meat and produce to their conventional counterparts.  The findings, which have shocked many and allowed others to enjoy a smug "I-told-you-so" moment, are that in many foods the organic variety does not contain a greater amount of beneficial nutrients.  Organics are, of course, more expensive for the consumer, so the study has left many wondering whether it's worth it at all to "go organic."  (For more info on the Stanford study, check out this balanced article by the NYTimes.)

As you can imagine, this is lighting up blogs and forums all over the U.S. as we all try to make sense of these most recent findings.

Well, why should I be left out?  Here's what I think about it all.

As a proponent of organic foods, let me start by saying that I am not at all shocked by these findings.  Yep.  You read that right.  I grow an organic garden in my backyard yet I am not surprised to learn that a conventionally grown sweet potato has all the nutrients that an organic one does.  To me, choosing to eat organic (when possible and feasible) has never been about what's in the organic food so much as it is about what's not in the organic food:  namely pesticide residues, hormones, and other additives (which this study and countless other have confirmed are greater in conventionally-grown produce than in organic produce).

So, a vitamin-packed organic strawberry . . . or a vitamin-packed conventionally-grown strawberry with a side of pesticide residue?

Sounds like a no-brainer, right?

Oh, if it were only that simple.

The organic vs. conventional argument is over as far as most foodies are concerned, and I doubt that the new study will have enough momentum to swing the pendulum in the other direction.  Besides, foodies are now on to talking about the next big thing:  local food.

Even if you're not into the whole green movement and are unconcerned by how many fossil fuels are burned to get your bananas to your table, there's another reason to care about how close to your home your food was grown. 

Fruits and vegetables are at their freshest and most nutrient-dense when ripe and freshly picked.  Food that has to cover a lot of ground to get to you is losing nutrients all along the way.  The lettuce at the farmer's market that was picked this morning is going to pack a greater vitamin punch than the one that was harvested and shrinkwrapped for its cross-country trip to your grocery store via refrigerated truck and may very well be 2-weeks-old by the time it makes it to your shopping cart. 

Do you see how all of this can get very hazy for the modern consumer? 
Should I go with the conventionally-grown but local bell pepper from the farmer's market? 
Or should I go with the organic one at the supermarket that was grown in California?

Yes, I've read a lot about the food industry lately, but I do not claim to be an expert, by any means. 
Still, if I had to boil it down, I'd say that for me local trumps organic.  And organic trumps conventionally-grown.  Let's say I'm on the hunt for celery.  Here's my order of preference:

1.  Organic and local -- what a great combination!  If your farmer's market or backyard can meet both of these criteria, great!
2.  Conventionally-grown but local -- yes, I side with local in this debate.  There are lots of reasons.  For a good start in understanding this debate, though, I'd suggest this article.
3.  Organic but not local -- this is especially true if it's a fruit or veggie from The Dirty Dozen list.
4.  Conventionally-grown and not local -- this should be the last resort.  Unfortunately, for many of us, this is all we have available to us for many produce varieties.

And, if you make it all the way to #4 with a fruit or veggie, don't throw your hands in the air and grab the Cheez-Its.  Believe me, a celery stick conventionally-grown in California is still better for you than that box of Cheez-Its.

If all of this is interesting but foreign to you, maybe start educating yourself by watching a movie.  Who doesn't love a movie?  Grab some popcorn (organic or not ;) and check out Fresh or Food, Inc., both of which are available on Netflix instant streaming.

My Monday

5:00am --  alarm goes off.  Already?  Snooze.  Just once.

5:09 -- alarm goes off again.  Already?  Okay. Fine.  La:mp is turned on.  Bible reading and prayer time in our quiet bedroom.

5:30 -- the fastest shower known to mankind.  Why did I hit snooze?

5:40 -- dressed, don my muck boots at the backdoor and head out to feed the goats and milk Razz.  What a glorious day!  I really should've put on a jacket.  Decide just to enjoy being cool outside.

5:55 -- back in the kitchen.  Pasteurize milk, start coffee, juice oranges, make breakfast for 4 (according to their orders placed the night before -- John makes his own breakfast.), put yogurt that was incubating overnight into the fridge, make lunch for Girl 2, and prep water bottles for both girls for school.

6:30 -- sit down to breakfast, all 5 of us.  Yes, we do that nearly everyday.  Yes, I know we're pretty lucky.

6:45-7:15 -- do girls' hair (they otherwise get themselves ready for school -- yes, it's very nice), have them gather dirty clothes from upstairs, Girl 1 strips her bed (Monday is the day she gets clean sheets), Girl 2 and Little Boy make their beds.

7:15-7:36 -- start laundry, clean up breakfast, mix up Black Bean Soup and start CrockPot, say goodbye to John as he leaves for work, and be sure I look presentable enough to walk to the bus stop while the kids watch a show on Netflix  ("Good Luck Charlie")

7:36 -- Alarm on my phone goes off signifying that it's time to walk to the end of the driveway and meet the bus.  Girls grab sweaters, lunchboxes, waterbottles, and soccer balls, and head out the door with me and Little Boy.  Dexter hears us in the front yard, shimmies under the backyard fence at the back of the yard, runs out into the pasture, shimmies under the pasture fence, runs around the house and into the front yard to meet us at the bus stop.  Yes, this has become a  part of the daily routine.  Everyone, including the other kids on the bus, seem to enjoy this.

7:40 -- Little Boy, Dexter, and I wave to the girls as they load the bus then head back to the house (Little Boy and I) and backyard (Dexter).

7:40-8:15 -- Little Boy wants to watch his Netflix show ("Dinosaur train"). (Our most recent policy has been that each child gets to pick one short show per day; although, now that school has started and the weather is so nice outside, they often forget to request a show) so I whip up some cornbread to go with tonight's soup, start a loaf of bread in the bread maker, and run dishwasher.  While cornbread bakes, I review next week's Home Church curriculum to see if there's anything for the craft time that I'll need to add to my shopping list (in lieu of AWANA this year, we are working through a great curriculum together as a family.  So far, we are loving it, and the kids are talking a lot about the lessons throughout the week, so I know they're really getting something out of it.)

8:15-9:30-- shuffle laundry, then Little Boy and I head outside to work.  Today, we dump the rabbit poo on the compost pile and clean out her cage, remove the poopy pine shavings from the chicken house, haul them to the compost pile, and replace them with fresh shavings.  Then, we empty the contents of the kitchen compost pail on the pile, feed the chickens the bread heels that no one else seems to want, water the garden, haul a 50 lb. bag of alfalfa pellets to the goat shed (oooohhh!  I'm still sore from Saturday's race!), and pour it into the empty bin.  We weed the flowerbeds in the front yard and backyard (ooooohhhhh!  still sore), haul some dead limbs that fell during the most recent storm from the front yard to the burn pile out back, so that John will be able to mow later this week. 

9:30-- Back inside, Little Boy has his fruit snack (always at 9:30).  Slim pickin's today means it's either strawberries or this lone freckly banana.  He opts for berries. 

9:35 -- (yes, he wolfed down the fruit) shuffle laundry, then begin Little Boy School.  This week is the letter D, and he thinks it's "super awesome" that we'll be reading and singing about dinosaurs all week.  For our gross motor activity, we crawl around the floor like various types of dinosaurs (oooohhhh.  still sore!)

10:15 -- Little Boy colors a picture while I go through the weekly sales papers and write down price comparisons so that I can take advantage of our grocery store's price matching policy tomorrow on shopping day (yes, I'm the annoying lady at the grocery store that you always seem to get in line behind who has 15 price-match items, 3 coupons, and brings my own green bags), plan the weekly menu, and compile the shopping list.

10:45-- I put the sheets back on Girl 1's bed and then vacuum entire house.  I HATE cleaning.  But, I've started following a program that has me doing small cleaning tasks each day so that it's never an all-day-long project.  Theoretically, it should keep the house perpetually clean.  Normally, on Mondays I would vacuum downstairs and mop.  But . . . last week I didn't get to vacuum upstairs because the kids had a week-long, 100-square-foot project going on up there that involved building a town and farm out of their train set, Legos, and Lincoln Logs, so upstairs really needed to be vacuumed  today (hauling the vacuum up the stairs-- oooohhhhh, I'm still sore!). . . and, I couldn't mop today because John broke my mop last week while using it to trap and kill the mouse he found in his closet.  (No, we do not have mice in our house all the time, but we do live in the country, so it happens.  Since we've lived here, I'd say we average a mouse per year.)

11:15 -- Bread is done!  It's huge! 



Here it is next to a mason jar, for perspective.  Apparently, the yeast likes the weather today, too.

11:20 --Empty dishwasher (I know this is weird, but this has got to be my least favorite household chore) then Little Boy and I have lunch on the backporch (I mentioned that it's a glorious day today, right?).  He has leftover mac-n-cheese, and I eat eggs and toast (we really need to get to the grocery store).

11:40 -- We check the chicken tractor for eggs (there are 4).  We figured there'd be a lot because we kept hearing them clucking about it as we ate lunch.

12:00 -- lunch is cleaned up, Little Boy goes down for a nap.  I head outside with the laptop to type a long, pointless blog post about my day thus far.

That pretty much brings us to the present.  Here's what I know for sure about how the rest of my day will go . . . at least 5 unexpected things will happen, hopefully none of them too catastrophic, and we'll just roll with it.

The plan, though, is this:

12:00-3:00 -- I will sit here, rest, blog, and read.  OR, I'll get up off my rear and clean out my closet (we'll see) while Little Boy naps, then plays quietly in his room.

3:17-- my phone alarm will sound, indicating that the bus will soon arrive, and Little Boy and I head to the end of the driveway to greet the girls/be sure they don't get run over as they cross the highway (I'm sure that the bus driver is capable of this second part on his own, but I help out gladly).

3:20-4:00 -- unload backpacks, look over graded papers, do homework, discuss days, unload lunchboxes, have a snack

4:00-5:00 --the kids and I will make S'mores cookies (a new recipe that we're all excited to try) and I will probably be the single audience member for an awesome dance show (if today's anything like the last several days)

5:15 -- John will come home, and we will sit down to big bowls of Black Bean Soup and cornbread. 

5:45 -- John will milk Razz while I clean up dinner

6:15--7:15  This is perhaps the best time of day.  That's because it's pretty much unscheduled on Mondays.  And, because Little Boy and I have busted it this morning, I'll be free to just enjoy whatever it is that we choose to do.  We may play a family game of soccer, or the kids may play outside while John and I work in the yard, or I may go for a run and take one or both girls with me (need to work out that soreness).  Tuesday through Thursday afternoons and evenings look a lot different because we've got scheduled extracurriculars, but Monday is calmer.

7:15-7:30 -- the kids will get ready for bed (mostly unassisted -- yes, we're to that stage, and it's wonderful!)

7:30 -- Little Boy will go to bed, lights off.  Girl 2 will go to bed, lamp on.

7:40-- Girl 1 will go to bed, lamp on (she gets 10 extra minutes to stay up because she's older.  She usually uses them by reading to me or John or searching for dance gear on Amazon).

8:00-- the alarm on my phone will go off and sound like crickets chirping.  This signals that it's time for lights to go off upstairs. 

8:00-9:00 -- another wonderful hour!  John and I will enjoy some time together.  We will probably share some ginger ale and try to fight the urge to munch on Veggie Straws.  We may watch a show on Netflix, or just sit and read or talk on the porch.

9:00pm -- I know it's insanely early (but so is 5:00, when the alarm will go off in the morning), but we go to bed.  Ahhhh. 

So, weird post, but, I say all this to say, I'm kind of enjoying getting back into a routine now that the girls are back in school.  Our days are full around here. . . . but in a good way.  Also, now that I've written this, let me say this:  if you ever feel like you're not being very productive, maybe try writing down everything you've done that day.  If it affects you like writing this has affected me, you'll feel very much like you've gotten a heck-uva-lot done.  In fact, maybe I will just sit here and read rather than clean out my closet right now.  I kinda feel like I've earned it.  :)

The Sound of Loss

It was a pretty normal morning around here.  I was feeling rather pleased with myself because I'd crossed a couple of things off my list of 'Things To Do Once the Girls Get Back to School."  Namely, I'd finally updated the kids' birthday scrapbooks.  I add a page or two each year with pics from their parties, and since their birthday were in April, June, and August, I was quite a bit behind.  But, as I said, I'd gotten it done this morning and was feeling pretty good about having that crossed off the list.  Also, I was excited to show the girls their new pages once they got off the bus this afternoon.  Little Boy, however, didn't have to wait.  And, boy, was he excited! 

He sat with his book splayed across his lap on the couch and pored over the pages as I went about my work.  I kept coming through the living room as I went about washing dishes, switching laundry around, vacuuming.  Through all of that, still he sat there.  The smile was gone, though, I noticed, as he sat with his eyes locked on the pics of him from the day he was born and his first birthday. 

You see, Little Boy was adopted.  And since he didn't come home to us until a week before his second birthday, the photos he's staring at are ones from a past that doesn't include us, his family. 
Laundry in hand, I stopped in my path.  What could he be thinking?  What is he feeling?  He looked up at me and smiled;  I smiled back, then resumed my work,content that he was okay.  About 5 minutes later, it started . . .
A low moaning sound that it took me a minute to realize was a cry.  It was unlike the cries a mother is used to hearing.  It wasn't the way he cried when he fell off the swing or the way he cried when Girl 2 grabbed his monkey away from him or the way he cries when he's not ready for bed.  This seemed like it was coming from somewhere very deep within. 
I rushed back to the sofa, and he was still sitting there with the book across his lap.  He threw his arms out, begging to be held, as the tears streamed down his face.  And, I held him.  and held him.  and held him.  His sweaty palms grabbed the back of my neck and held on tight.  "Are you sad?"  "Umm, hmmm." 

This was new for me.  But, I knew enough from all my adoption reading to know that I shouldn't be feeding him words right now.  I should give him a chance to put into words the way he's feeling, so I shut up then, and just held him.  In the year and half that he's been home, though, I'd never dealt with this before.  If you know him at all, you know he's no melancholy child.  He attacks life, bounding through it with a huge smile plastered across his face. But, now as I sat holding him as he soaked my neck with his tears, I heard him saying something:  "I juss wanna be your tid."  In case you don't speak Little Boy, that's "I just want to be your kid."   Over the next couple of hours, the laundry just sat in the machine as we went about our day hand-in-hand and I used words like "all the time" and "forever" and "always" so many times it was ridiculous. 

We don't really talk with others much about his past.  He was adopted out of Arkansas Foster Care and was blessed to have amazing foster parents before he made his way to us.  But, he has a past -- a past that in some ways we feel we must protect him from (which is why he's never pictured here on this public blog).  His past is a story that will be his to tell as he grows older.  We will not be the ones to discuss the details with others.  But, this moment today reminded me that, though, I look at him and see my son, a person whose life is so intertwined with my own that it's nearly impossible to remember life without him, he did have a different life before he became a part of our family.  And, I would do well to remember that our great joy in having him as a son is only possible because first, he suffered a great, elemental loss -- a loss that will perhaps at times throughout his life well up inside him and be expressed in the sound of that deep, horrifying moan.   And, as a mom, it's difficult to know that there's no magical band-aid for the wounds of his past.  I can love him, hold him, and point him to the great Healer. . . all the time, forever, always.

What has all this to do with homesteading?  Not a dad-gum thing that I can really think of, honestly.  But, I just can't shake this right now, and, therefore, can't think about recipes or chicken craziness or mozzarella today.  Thanks for bearing with me.  Tomorrow, business as usual, I promise.  ;)

Lessons from Katrina: Life Is Short!

First, thanks to the many of you who read and commented on yesterday's post.  It's good to know that people are reading what I write; although, I think yesterday's post was cathartic enough for me that I would've written it even if no one were reading it.  Anyway, thank you.  I love my readers!

Now, on to today's post.  How has going through Katrina changed our everyday living?  More pointedly, how has losing all of our "things" affected how we now view "things"?  Because, thankfully, that's really the only way we were affected by Katrina -- we lost ALL our stuff.  I could tell you countless tales of friends of ours who lost far more than just their stuff.  Some of the stories are so horrifying that when I first learned them, I couldn't shake them for days.  So, yes, we lost pretty much everything we owned.  And, in that, we are thankful that that's all we lost to the storm.

Starting over fresh with only the things in our suitcase was lightening.  It's hard to imagine giving up all of our earthly possessions by choice, but I can tell you from experience that when it's all gone, a load is truly lifted. I admit, I still miss my favorite pair of pants that fit just right and I wish that Girl 1 would have her baby book to look back on in years to come.  But, most of the stuff I haven't thought twice about.   

Knowing that, we attempt to keep our house clutter-free.  For an item to stay in our home, it must either be useful or hold sentimental value (hopefully both) and it must have a home. 

For example, our bed.

The bedspread was my Grandma Smith's.  The Euro shams are made from another bedspread of hers.  The quilt at the end of the bed was a gift from my Mamaw Carroll and was sewn by my great-grandmother Mama Toney.  Are they useful?  Yes.  Do they hold sentimental value?  You bet.  Do they have a home?  You're looking at it! (Also, the bed came in that truckload of furniture mentioned yesterday that was so graciously given to us when we had basically no other furniture to put in this house!)

Living without clutter means that our shelves are pretty much tchotchke-free (yes, that's how you spell tchotchke -- I looked it up ;)   The pictures on our walls are not random prints -- they are family portraits and paintings done by my talented sister-in-law and late mother-in-law.  And, when something new comes in the house, something old usually goes out. 

Here's the donation tub that lives in the bottom of my closet.  When I got new running shoes a few months ago, my old ones went to the basket and then eventually to Goodwill.  In fact, A LOT of stuff goes to Goodwill.  During my spring cleaning a few months back, the ladies at the store got to know me well as I brought in bags from whatever room I'd cleaned out that week . . . 5 weeks in a row!

Living mostly clutter-free means that shelves like this one in Girl 2's room look a bit sparse sometimes.  Though I suspect that she owns fewer toys than most of her peers, she has more than she could ever need and less to have to clean up each day (or week, let's just be honest here ;).

Meet our refrigerator.  Notice how you can see it?  I admit, it isn't always this clean.  Recently, I read an article that suggested that if you wanted to de-clutter and simplify your life, the best place to start was with the refrigerator door.  I'm not sure how much truth there is to it because I do still have the ball schedules, spelling lists, good behavior ribbons, birthday party invitations, lunch menus, and monthly calendars -- I just don't have them on the front of the fridge.  I do think it looks nicer this way, anyway.  ;)

One place that IS cluttered is the wall in the stairway.  On the left are family photos, old and new.

On the right are photos of the kids' activities and teams. 

If there's something worth cluttering your life with, it's photos.  Am I right?  (Speaking of photos, we keep our albums on a shelf right by the front door, so that in case of emergency, we can grab them on our way out the door.) 

Here's the thing.  Life is short.  Hurricanes, fires, floods, unexpected death -- they happen.  And stuff is just stuff.  For me, life is too short to be burdened by things.  It's the memories we make, not the stuff we accumulate that we remember as we look back on our lives, anyway. 

One last anecdote in closing. . . . I don't honestly remember, but I'm pretty sure that I evacuated New Orleans wearing flipflops.  It was August, after all.  So, when I found myself living with my parents in Fort Smith a couple weeks later and had signed up to substitute teach at the local junior high school, I needed some new shoes.  Off I went to the store.  Now, if you're headed out to buy your only pair of shoes other than flipflops, you really ought to buy something sensible.  You know what I came back with?

Yep, those are red, peep-toed, faux-croc heels.  I loved them then.  I love them now.  I never once regretted that they were the only pair of nice shoes I had to wear for awhile.  You know why?  Yep, you guessed it . . . life is short!  It's too short for the only pair of nice shoes you own to be black pumps when you could have these instead that make you smile everytime you see them!

;)

Hurricane Katrina: 7 Years Ago Today . . .

It started late last night and has continued throughout the day today -- a heaviness in my chest, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Even now, 7 years and 500 miles removed from New Orleans, it affects me.  Every year on Katrina's anniversary, I find myself a bit contemplative and quiet and prayerful.  But, this year as Isaac pummels our old hometown and countless other cities along the Gulf Coast, it's much worse. 

Every year on this day, I go back.  . . .  Let me take you with me.

Like everyone else in New Orleans, we'd been watching the news off and on for days as the storm formed and headed toward shore, thankful that Katrina's path would mostly miss us.  Then, that Saturday morning, it changed course and grew sronger.  As the cheerleading coach for the high school where I taught, we had a swimming party at one of the cheerleader's houses that day, so I went.  At the party, everyone was talking about where they'd be evacuating to, and it occurred to me that maybe we ought to be making plans.  By the time I got home from the party, the news stations were all abuzz, and it seemed the entire city was headed out of town.  Once school had been officially canceled for Monday, we packed 3-days-worth of clothes, threw in a couple of photo albums for good measure, and hit the road. 

In our time living in New Orleans, we'd evacuated several times only to come home from our little mini-vacation to no damage and sunny skies.  My students got excited about school being called off for evacuations the same way my kids today get excited about a snow day.  Nothing about this storm seemed any different from ones in the past.  We'd probably be back home and back to work by Wednesday. 

Headed out of town, the interstate was using "contraflow", both sides were headed out of New Orleans.  It was the most bizarre thing to see people coming up the exit ramps onto the interstate.  Traffic was bumper to bumper, but moving.  One-year-old Girl 1 needed a diaper change, and (the only time I ever did this) I actually took her out of her car seat and changed her on the floor of the minivan as we kept on truckin'. 

We went to Plano where we stayed with my brother- and sister-in-law, waiting for the news that it was okay to get back home.  But, the news never came.  I remember falling asleep listening to the radio reports saying that the water just kept rising.  We listened to the mayor explaining that the levees had broken and that the water in the city was rising and falling with the tides.  It wasn't until later in the week, when it was announced that school would hope to resume after Christmas that I truly understood the gravity of the situation.  Google uploaded aerial views of the city, and we were able to zoom in on our neighborhood, our street, our  house.  The water was so high that you couldn't even see my Jeep, which we'd left parked in the drive behind the house.  And, the water just sat there . . . for a couple of weeks. . .  as rescuers traversed the streets by boat attempting to save those who'd either chosen to stay or hadn't the resources to get out.

I remember that when we finally realized that everything we owned was in the suitcases we'd packed, we took a trip to the book store.  The first thing we bought was a Bible (why hadn't we packed ours?), and we read to each other from the Psalms as we drove away from the store. 

We spent that first week in Plano, then moved on to Fort Smith, where we stayed for a month with my parents.  Once we realized we would need a place to be for several months, we moved into John's grandmother's house in Batesville.  She had recently moved out of it and into an assisted living home. 

John and his dad eventually went in to our house in New Orleans once the waters had receded to see what could be salvaged.  The photos from their walk through the sludge-filled house have to be seen to be believed.  I'd left behind my wedding ring, in a jewelry box sitting atop a tall book case.  Because Girl 1 was pulling up on everything, all bookcases had been bolted to the wall, which kept them from falling down and floating around the house like most of the rest of the furniture did in the floodwaters.  And the top of that bookcase was just above the water line.  Amazingly, he was able to find the ring exactly where I'd left it.  He brought back a few other things, most of which we determined were unfit to be kept after all. 

So, from September to December, we lived in that little house in Batesville.  John, who was a graduate student at Tulane, would go to the library at Lyon and work on his thesis.  Little Girl and I mostly stayed home, I think.  In fact, I have very little memory of those months.  I've heard of that happening to people during traumatic times in their lives.  In fact, those months are like a haze in my memory.  I was jolted out of it in December when John's mother died suddenly.  My memories basically pick up there.  Weird, huh?

In light of his mother's death and all that we'd been through, we eventually decided not to go back to New Orleans.  A series of decisions led us to make a life here in Cave City instead.  And, though it's a far cry from the life we were living in NOLA, it's a sweet life -- one that is full and rich.  We are blessed indeed.

In the wake of the storm, we were loved well by our family and friends.  We were given housing and money and clothing and prayers.  My parents' church gave us a shower where they basically restocked us with towels and sheets and cooking items.  John's aunt gave us a truckload full of furniture -- We eat on that kitchen table still today.  We were simply overwhelmed by the generosity of people we knew.  A stranger even brought over a trashbag full of clothes her daughter had outgrown and outfitted Girl 1 for the fall. 

Experiencing Katrina affected us each deeply.  But, the biggest way it's changed us is obvious.  At different points in our lives, John and I had both felt a "calling" toward adoption from another country.  But international adoption was expensive.  Once we'd itemized to the best of our ability the items that had stocked our New Orleans home (quite a daunting task), our insurance agency cut us a check.  It was quite a check.  It was quite possible that we'd never again have that kind of money in the bank again --  I mean, liquid cash.  Sure, we could've gone about buying back all the stuff we'd lost, but, as I remember, that wasn't even discussed.  We had our adoption money.  And before we even had a permanent home, we had found an adoption agency and set about bringing Girl 2 home from Guatemala.

It's good to personally know that even as Issac is reigning down his destruction on the Gulf Coast, that Good can follow in his wake.  Today may bring pain and heartache, but tomorrow is beautiful.  At least it has been for us.  Praise the Lord.

For more on what our Katrina experience taught us and how it affects us still today (even in my housekeeping), check back in tomorrow!  ;)

(By the way, if you read this entire post, I'm very impressed!  Thanks for sticking with me.  :)

Hazards of Local Running

Recently, a friend and I were discussing how much we enjoy time spent in nature on our respective farms when she remarked to me, "It's hard to imagine living anywhere else, huh?"  That got me thinking.  I do love my life here, and my little backyard farm.  But, the truth is that John and I are very adaptable people.  We lived in New Orleans when we were first married and dove headfirst into a culture that allowed us to walk to the grocery store and celebrate Mardi Gras.  We lost all of our earthly belongings to Hurricane Katrina and decided to start over in small town Arkansas (which is much different from the NWA that I grew up in) and have found our niche here as well.  My guess is that we could find ourselves just about anywhere, and as long as we had each other, make a fun go of it.

That said, there are still some parts of our local culture that I haven't come around to.  And, I came face to face with one of them last night.  Here's the story . . .

I was out for an evening run through town when I passed a house where two middle-school-aged boys were out in the sideyard.  One of them had some type of gun in his hands and was aiming at something on or near the ground in front of him.  I ran on past them, then wondered whether I'd be able to see what they were aiming at, if I turned to look back.  That's when I saw that the gun was now pointed at me.  In distress, I kept running, but yelled and pointed at them:  "NOT FUNNY!"  He didn't lower the gun.  I yelled it again, louder, and kept running.    "You're funny!"  the gunman yelled back as he lowered the gun.  At this point, I was more mad than scared, so I stopped running, turned toward them, marching myself up to the front door:  "You're not going to think I'm funny for long!  Do you have a parent home with you?"

As it turned out, the gunman didn't live there and the boy who did stood sobbing in the background as his mother agreed with me that it was unacceptable behavior and that the guest (who she "didn't really know")  would be shooed away.  Once I'd stuck around long enough to see that the boys were being adequately reprimanded, I high-tailed it on home, running at a pretty good clip. ;)

Now, of course, one of the first questions John asked me when I relayed the story to him was what type of gun it was.  Pellet?  BB?  Air soft?  Actual rifle?  I have no knowledge of guns whatsoever, so I had, of course, no idea. 

Guns.   Ahhh.  Guns.  They are very much a part of this culture that surrounds me.  But, I haven't bought into that part of it.  My dad didn't hunt.  John doesn't hunt.  I am completely uncomfortable around guns.  Honestly, they terrify me. 

I won't get on my soapbox here.  But, as I've replayed what happened last night, I keep asking myself whether I should've done something differently.  What if I'd been able to identify the gun?

Let's say I'd been able to tell the gun was a toy of some sort, should I have just kept on running, "boys will be boys" and all that?  Or, had I been able to identify that they were shooting actual bullets, should I have notified the police? 

Why didn't I get their names?  Why didn't I find out what type of gun it was?  Should I have followed the gunman home and knocked on his door?  If I had a gunsafe full of guns and a deer head mounted in my living room, would I have reacted differently to those boys' antics?

I'm left with lots of questions.  But, here's what I know. 

1.  Guns scare me.  I don't like them.   I don't want them around my children.  I don't want one pointed at me. 

2.  I will not be running that route again anytime soon!

School Is Back in Session!

Take a look at these little hams!

Aren't they cute in their back-to-school gear?

Yep, today began a new school year for us.  Girls 1 & 2 are now in Grades 3 and 1, respectively.  You know, as a teacher, I can't remember a time in my life when the passage of time wasn't measured by a school calendar.  In that sense, today is like New Year's.  Everything starts fresh today.  It's all so very exciting!  It makes me want to go sharpen all my pencils.  :)

While I have loved having the whole gang home this summer, it has definitely made keeping up with this blog difficult.  As explanation, my three kiddos are very different.  It seemed no one activity could entertain them all.  So, while I would be trying to concentrate for a few minutes and churn out a quick blog post on, say, tomato canning, Girl 1 would be asking me if we can work on her sewing project together, Girl 2 would like a snack, and Little Boy couldn't decide whether he wants to be wrestling with Girl 2 in the floor or squirming around on my lap.  

I figured out pretty early on in the summer that swimming was the common denominator.  They are all three little fish.  But, poolside is not a good place to churn out a blog post.  

While I did manage to publish a post per day throughout the summer, I felt a bit like I was treading water.  It just felt like there was not much new going on around here.  But, things are looking up.  The quieter pace now that the girls are off to school should provide some time (during Little Boy's naptime) when I can write.  And, upcoming goat breeding season, fall gardening, and new recipes that I hope to try out promise some new blog-ground to cover.   

Here's to the New Year!

For  more pics from the First Day, check out our family blog at www.thebellerbrood.blogspot.com

:)

10 Reasons to Eat Local

I came across this list in some recent research I was doing, and was so encouraged by it that I wanted to jump in my car and head to the nearest farmer's market!  Read on, and maybe you'll want to do the same. . .

10 Reasons to Eat Local

1) Locally grown food tastes and looks better because crops are picked at their peak.

2) Local food is healthier. The shorter the time between the farm and your table, the less likely it is that nutrients will be lost from fresh food.

3) Local food preserves genetic diversity. Smaller local farms often grow many different varieties to provide a long harvest season, an array of colors, and the best flavors.

4) Local food is safe. Considering the recent e.coli. contamination, this issue is becoming more of a concern to consumers. When consumers support a local grower they know the source of their food and can look the farmer in the eye.

5) Local food supports local families. Local farmers who sell direct to consumers cut out the middleman and get full retail price for their food – which helps farm families stay on the land.

6) Local food builds community. Consumers gain insight into the seasons and the land on which the food grew. Local food systems provide an opportunity for education because they allow access to a place where people can go to learn about nature and agriculture.

7) Local food preserves open space. When farmers get paid more for their products by marketing locally, they’re less likely to sell farmland for development.

8) Local food keeps taxes down. Farms contribute more in taxes than they require in services, whereas most development contributes less in taxes than the cost of required services.

9) Local food benefits the environment and wildlife. Well-managed farms conserve fertile soil and clean water in our communities. The farm environment is a patchwork of fields, meadows, woods, ponds and buildings that provide habitat for wildlife.

10) Local food is an investment in the future. By supporting local farmers today, you are helping to ensure that there will be farms in your community tomorrow.

http://localharvestgrocery.com/local.htm