I don't know that I've been more excited to see what a year holds than I am for 2019.

So many projects, visions, and dreams for this place we can now call home.

I can honestly say that the past three-ish years have been the most pure form of craziness for our family. They've been full of excitement, frustration, sleepless nights (the good kind and the bad kind), grace, fumbling, learning, growing...

Not to mention we've moved 3.5 times. In three years. (Yes, and a half.)

Uh huh, it sure did age me 10 years. And, no, I do not ever plan to do that again.

Ever.

Turns out building a house is very much like sky-diving. In a storm. With holes in your parachute. Oh, and with no pilot.

In the voice of Tom Petty (or John Mayer, if that's your thing)
And I'm freeeeee, free fallin'
Yeah, I'm freeeee, free fallin' 

Sounds fun, no?

Let's just say that I'm so happy to be here, now. No way in this world would I want to do that again.

Never, thank you.

Since, however, we're on *this* side of the whole thing, I'm gonna stay there and not bore you with all of the loooong, drawn-out details. Just trust me - it was a thing. A mighty whirlwind of a thing.

Oh, and not only did we move a zillion times and build a house, we also built a baby. The most precious baby, if I do say so myself. I mean, c'mon...

He's so sweet and cuddly, I can hardly handle it. Between his shy little duck as he nuzzles into my neck when he meets a new friend, to those fantastic lips. Ugh. He's just perfection.

And as for our now six year old little lady? Well, she's just as smart and sassy as ever. (Some days a little stronger on the sassy, for sure...) Not to mention, the lovey-est (most lovey?) big sister a baby brother could ever want.

These two spend their days playing, exploring, trying to truly give their momma a heart attack...

But the love there is sooo big. And somehow growing more and more everyday.

The whole sibling thing is not what I thought it may be (or maybe what I was afraid it may be). There's no obvious jealousy or malice. Just a beautiful relationship that seems to be all marshmallows and butterflies. She protects him and he gives her this "I couldn't love you more" gaze. It's too much and about makes me teary just thinking about it.

See what I mean??

While I want them to stay little (most days, anyway), I also can't wait for each stage - each phase - and what comes with it. So far, my favorite thing about having two is when they see each other for the first time that day. She greets him by scrunching her nose and slowly tip-toeing to his crib and he gives his "good mornings" by squealing in delight. See - big love. They cannot wait to be together. Every. Day.

And we've already had our share of adventures with these two: taking walks, cooking, cleaning (yes, that counts as an adventure most days...), chopping wood, making forts, going to plays, reading books, milking cows...

Tiny Baby R was cozy while I milked. The coolest experience EVER.

Plus, I try to get in all the cuddlin' I can possibly get while he (kinda) enjoys it...

Now that we're here and two kiddos in, my mind is always a bit foggy and my body a bit tired, but my heart is so full. I don't know that I've been happier and cannot wait to see how life unfolds. And with a little more time to breathe and stretch our wings, I cannot wait to share with you the journey ahead... 

Here's to being settled! :)

it's donuts for dinner.

"P, do you even know that my leg is dirty? That it's been in a chicken coop and probably has doodie on it? Do not lick it."

Yep, today's been one of those days. Not that anything crazy happened, but it's been our normal...and worth noting and remembering. 'Cause one day our "normal" will be totally different and I'll look back on days like today as precious and miss them. (And hopefully not like you miss a stomach bug or a temper tantrum, but something a little sweeter...)

Right? That'll happen one day? Surely, because right now things seem permanently hectic (and just plain maddening sometimes).

We woke up nice and early. P and I watched a family's farm vlog on YouTube (side note: wish I were brave enough to do those because they would totally be worth watching...), then we carried on with our day.

We fed the animals at home (including ourselves), then we headed out to do more feeding and watering.

We took care of the chickens and whatnot, then noticed one teenage chick didn't make it through the night. She'd somehow gotten injured (slipped tendon) a few days ago and apparently had reached the end sometime during the night. Jason got a shovel and scooped her up to bury. He disappeared for a bit for the burial, so P wouldn't see.

Before I go any further, I want to explain our family a bit. Jason and I are super careful about what P is exposed to. Though some folks whole-heartedly want their little tykes to know the real, hard side to life and owning animals, we try not to take it very far. She knows that we take care of and love our chickens, but that the time will come when we will eat some of them (or a coyote may beat us to the punch). And she's okay with that. But, even further, none of us are to the point yet where we're actually comfortable with doing the dirty work, so the processing of animals will most likely not include us (and if any of us will be part of that day, it will be me and only me). But that matters not just yet, so on we go...

As we were finishing up our morning chores, I noticed two other teenage chicks were looking kinda sad - slow to eat, sluggishly moving around, with their wings all droopy. So I did what any good chicken momma would do - I put them in a bucket and carried them home.

Once home, I arranged a nice little "hotel" for their day/night inside, then (and I know this is weird...) I bathed them, blow-dried them, then gave them some yogurt and honey water. (Don't judge. You can't tell me that if you were cold and wet and didn't feel so good, you wouldn't want a good spa treatment to give you a pick-me-up...) Then we put those clean, less droopy looking little chicks in the hotel suite for the day and started the next task at hand.

The next thing on the checklist today was to set up and move the newly hatched tiny chicks from the incubator to a brooder. I got the brooder, a heating lamp and the food and water containers ready. The only problem was that we were out of chick feed and the new shipment was at the post office. It was waiting to be picked up.

So off we went to our tiny downtown, in pajamas and muck boots to get the chick feed. (And if you saw me at the post office, it was a pleasure! But don't think I live in my pj's - I swear I own real clothes. And a hairbrush. Oh, and a mirror. Eek!)

Long story short - we got the new babies all warm and situated. And, again, we carried on to the next task...

We headed to K-town to pick up some farm fresh milk and get a late lunch. Lunch was fabulous, but the traffic was a little over-the-top, if I'm being honest. Just another reason to love a small town with the max speed limit being 30mph. Slow. It. Down. People!

While we were out and about, we loafed and talked about projects that were coming up. Before we knew it, we had worn ourselves out from all of the conversational stress that is our lives and settled on an *easy on the wallet/easy on the kitchen/horribly bad for the teeth/but oh-so-fun* dinner - Krispy Kreme Donuts. Hot and Fresh, to be specific. And their name lived up to every hope I'd had for them.

After scarfing down three of those bad boys (again, don't judge...), we headed back to the farm.

There, we gathered eggs. This is a task we do daily, but recently it's been a little different. You see, we have broody hens.

What's a broody hen, you ask? 

Well, let me explain to ya! It's a lady-bird that's danged and determined to sit on and hatch every egg in sight. Even if that means defending her nest to the death. And when you need to get an egg from under one, you're gonna get the wrath. They'll hiss and puff up and peck you soon as look at you. It doesn't sound too crazy, but it's kinda scary (especially for little P, who is always eager to collect and count every egg). They have no patience for you or your bare hand - and are quick to show it.

Also, while a hen is broody, they do not lay eggs. So here's the tiny loot from today...

While we were at the farm, we decided to check on the guinea nest that was tucked away in the woods, under some brush. It was the cutest little nest. Full of a zillion eggs and lots of little polka-dotted guinea feathers decorating its edges. And...well...it is no longer. Something had a feast - ate the momma guinea and around 40 eggs she had been diligently sitting on. And even though I curse those hateful, loud guineas daily, it was a little sad. I was excited to see that strangely hideous, yet beautiful ol' guinea momma raise some babes! But, alas, it wasn't her time. Sorry, momma! By the looks of things, you obviously fought a good fight. :(

See what I mean - kinda gorgeous, but still somehow not at all and clown-ish instead? 

After coming home, we got P ready for bed and all tucked in. Now it's quiet in the house and I'm done. Done as in "out, trout". I'm heading to bed. At 8:00p. (Yet again, don't judge.) I'm exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

But, even through the exhaustion (and haze and nausea brought on by eating donuts for dinner...), I will say that I am thankful. 

For this day and many more just like it. 

Goodnight.

a dream come true.

Dreams are funny things. They come and go; changing with the seasons of life. A dream today may be a reality (or maybe even a nightmare) tomorrow.

I'm sure you already have figured it out, but I have lots of dreams. I have short-term dreams, and also too many larger-than-life dreams to count. In fact, I should call myself a "pipe-dreamer". Not that they are that far out there, but they are (at least in this phase of my life) very much out of reach.

For example, I'd like to live in Australia for a spell. Swim the Great Barrier Reef, cuddle with a koala, and maybe even meet the Irwin family (#1 Steve Irwin fan, right here!). Or totally be a surfer for a quick minute in California. (These two, however, are dreams that are possibly full of my worst nightmare - sharks. Love me some Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, but that's where my fluffy relationship with the toothy predators ends - on the television.)

See what I mean? A nutty, irrational dreamer. (But, if not for being nutty, what are dreams, really?)

Besides travel dreams and my pie-in-the-sky wonderments, however, my dreams are mostly pretty simple. You know - to have a happy, lively life full of cooking, sewing, watching movies and listening to music, decorating, being a good mom and wife... Basically, normal stuff.

But, in the last few months, a new dream has been ignited. Not a pipe-dream and not even a crazy-out-of-the-question dream.

It's simple really, and something I think about every single day...

Basically, there has been a void at the farm. Though lots of work has gone on, and we've even had an event (or three) out there... There's been something missing...

As you know, we started excavation on our land in July. Well, about the same time, my GrandPaul had a little "hiccup" in life and has been unable to come visit.

Even up until now, he's been dealing with the same health issues (though we are hopeful there's been a recent breakthrough!). Though we know he is improving, progress is slow (as we were told to expect). But, even with progress and him being tough as nails, his pain has (temporarily!) made it difficult to leave the rehab facility.

And though he'll eventually be well again and able to visit the farm as often as he pleases, right now it is imperative that he receive daily therapy and much needed pain medicine around-the-clock.

Are you wondering where all the dream talk is going to lead? Well, wonder no longer, my friend. Because here's where all of this talk is relevant...

Since we've bought the farm, I have passed every decision we've made by him. I want and need his advice and approval. Our land is just as much his as it is ours. He has memories there. His roots and heart are in that soil. It is as much a part of him as it is us.

Understand that I know he will soon be strong and mobile, and back to his happy and full-of-information self, but his focus now is on healing. As it should be.

But that hasn't stopped me from wanting nothing more than for him to come out and see the progress. And therein lies my dream... A visit...

Even though I so badly wanted him to come see all of the changes for himself, I knew that would only bring wishful thinking and, therefore, sadness to request such a thing to happen. After all, if moving around for therapy is difficult, traveling to another town is down-right ludicrous, right?

But then, with a simple text a few of weeks ago, a path for this crazy dream to come true began to form...

My step-grandmother had to come to town for an oil change and, seeing how she hadn't been able to see the land for months either, asked if she could drive down the new driveway. "Sure!" I replied. And with that drive down our winding driveway through the woods - in the middle of a gorgeous Tennessee fall day - she realized that a little "farm therapy" would be just what the doctor ordered for GrandPaul. This therapy wouldn't involve pain or nurses, machines or insurance. It would simply be a drive and a picnic. Nothing fancy, but something she knew he'd jump at the chance to do.

Little did she know that I'd jump, too. And maybe even higher...

Though the trip would be therapeutic, it would have to be timed precisely between medications and just after having therapy. That way, the schedule would be clear for a few hours and his pain would be at a minimum so he could just hang out; forgetting about the temporary health struggle.

And so, a couple weeks later, my dream started to unfold.

My step-grandmother, Glenda, and I had texted back and forth for a couple weeks, trying to wait for me to get over an illness and GrandPaul's schedule to allow a short trip out.

Then, just like that, she made the proper arrangements and the day was set!

The thought was to have a picnic, so P and I started cooking that morning right after breakfast. We were like chefs in a restaurant - there was constantly something on the stove or in the oven and a timer seemed to be sounding at every turn. Though we didn't know exactly what time they'd be able to make it out, we just knew that we needed the food to be done as early as possible, incase we got the "we're on our way" call.

I don't think I've ever been so giddy about a picnic in my life. I'm sure if you had seen me at any point that morning, you'd have not seen anything but a smile on my face. There was too much excitement for anything else.

Then, at 3p on the dot, I got a text from Glenda signaling the start of their trip to the farm. My heart almost burst with excitement. It was actually going to happen!

When they arrived, I was overwhelmed with emotions. As I fought to hold back tears (which didn't work...), the reality that he was finally able to visit and see everything for himself was almost too much for me. We had been sending pictures and videos, but it's just not the same. I wanted him to understand it all. Really know what all of these changes mean, ya know? A new driveway. A new house. A new plan. Things that are all impossible to feel over cellular waves.

Though the farm is still a work in progress and the house is far from complete, I couldn't have cared less. It was a moment - a memory - that I'll always keep. Seeing him enjoy the sun, the amazing fall weather, the driveway, the house site, the chickens, the food, and busy little P showing her gymnastic moves...

Not only was I over-the-top excited to see him and show him so many cool things, but the "therapy day" ended up being on my late Grandma's birthday.

Happy birthday, beautiful lady!

It was a day to celebrate birth and changes - both in life and in the grand scheme of things.

And the day was perfect. Truly, as far as I'm concerned, it couldn't have been more fabulous. No how, no way!

As we sat there eating lasagna, my dream came true. Such a simple dream - with good food, beautiful scenery, and the best company there is. And, in that moment, there were no people on this earth I'd have rather been with...

So, GrandPaul, what we all thought was therapy for you turned out being not only a dream day for me, but one of the most memorable days of my life. And though I'm sure that was a hard day for you, know how much I so needed that. Simply your presence at the farm brought a light that was unexplainable. And your kind words about the direction we've been going is worth more than gold. But, even more, your constant encouragement and love, even through the pain, is priceless. Thank you. And I love you.

And, Glenda, you have no idea how thankful I am for all of your efforts to make such a day possible. The stress and exhaustion isn't overlooked. I know the finagling was difficult, but thank you for it all. It was chicken noodle soup for the soul.

So, until next time, I'll dream about having another picnic, maybe even inside the new house. Heck, I'll even plan out another menu. That way, at the drop of a hat, I'll be ready. Ready for another dream date with some of my favorite peeps.

After all, who said dreams only happen once in a lifetime? Nobody. So get better soon and come on back out - we're ready when you are!

a whirlwind of a week.

Hello and forgive me. I've been thinking a lot and writing so little. But, no worries, I'll get you up to speed on us...

We've moved to a new rental, started excavating for our new house (!!), and had P's 4th birthday. And that's not all, that's just one week of events.

To say that it all was a whirlwind wouldn't do that week justice. It was *rough* for this ol' lady.

And during that insane-o week, my aunt and I pulled a nearly 72-consecutive-hour move to the new house. All without a wink of sleep.

(And, just incase you've ever wondered if you could survive life as a teenager in an adult body, the answer is easy - no. You'll not spring back like a rubber band and your kids won't think you're cool. In fact, they'll still wake up at the crack of dawn requesting gravy and biscuits, and give you no grace when you don't even have enough energy to turn on the stove. After all, you're old and you know better.)

Speaking of being old, let's get on with the birthday of my sweet P-diggy. We had such a fun party and celebrated with many friends and family members. I was so grateful to have everyone come out to shower P with love. It was amazing!

And now that she's four and sassy as ever, things have changed. She no longer wants me to dress her, help wash her hands, or even attempt to make a decision on her behalf. She's practically a teenager and wants to be treated as such. "I can do it all by myself" has become her signature phrase...That is, however, only until she realizes that four is still too young to do many things, in which case I'll hear her growl and pass the task onto me. Yep, you read that correctly - growl. Apparently this is something I do when I'm frustrated (and probably have my entire life...), but didn't know until my little shadow decided to copy me...

In other news (but still on the topic of P), she has finally finished her first season as a soccer player. She had a blast and very much enjoyed having an audience every week. (And watching tiny people run around after a ball that's not much smaller than them...in shorts that hang past their knees is pretty much the best way to spend an autumn evening.) 

P and her best buddy.

Soak it up, little one, soak it up.

(And thank you for always reminding me to slow down and count the stuffed animals. <3) 

tea and a toast.

Today, I'm needing some extra energy. Not as in "Dude, I need some good vibes", but more like "Tea! NOW!"

This was just the beginning...

Know what I mean, Vern?

I have more things to do than I have the energy (or time!) to accomplish... Piles of clean clothes that need to be folded. Dinner that needs to started. Business stuff that needs to be completed. Chicken projects that needed to have been started weeks ago. Acres of grass to be mowed. Plants that need to be planted. A new venture that needs attention. Oh, and a messy house. (No way to forget the toy-ridden, unorganized, ain't-got-no-time-for-it house.) Plus a family (and farm!) that seems to need every ounce of attention all day, err day.

Fresh butter in the makin'.

And, let me just throw in the fact that we're about to move and start building our house.

Oh, yes, our house...

You remember the dream house I told you about? And how you'd been so kind and reassuring? Said that everything would work out and all would be fine? We even drank some Koolaid together?

Well...you were wrong, my friend. Wrong by around 12 months. Don't worry, though... I know you had good intentions.

(Wait, but what's that they say about good intentions and a hot, fire-y, brimstone-y place? *I kid, I kid.)

And here's where I'm gonna tell you the same thing I've been telling myself - It's okay. It's oh-kay.

...and even though this is so true, panic is starting to set in a little.

Not so much that we just might have to move in with my mom, but that through all of these changes, we have a family to hold steady. I want to do everything in my power so that my little lady never knows instability... So we're trying to focus on the fun of it all and how we can paint her room "regular blue", drink fresh lemonade on our new porch, and hear our eager roosters crow every morning. And, thus far, she seems unfazed and up for whatever. (She's a rockstar like that.)

I keep reminding myself that with each passing day, my family is getting closer and closer to our dream house. And for that, I'm so thankful. I'm thankful for this sweet, sweet life and all that it brings. And even though I'm up to my eyeballs in this adventure and feeling all of the effects of its roller coaster-ness (the thrill of the hills and the nausea of the valleys), I've been trying to soak it all in; knowing everything is short-lived and life is fast-paced.

So let's have a cup of Earl Grey and *toast* to land that perks and a basement that doesn't leak. Cheers!

thirty is flirty. (not)

I'm feeling old. And reflective. And emotional. But mostly just reflective.

Why? Because I'm 30. 

Yep. It's hard for me to swallow too. I mean, I still get those looks like "Aww naw, you can't be no older than 14; 16 at the most."

And I still get stopped at least 12 times to have my ID checked when we go to a casino.

And don't even get me started about me looking too young to have a kiddo...

So, of course, my mind just cannot wrap around how in the world I've gotten so old, so fast.

(I know 30 is not old in the grand scheme of things, but it feels a whole heck of-a lot older than 29. So, knowing that I'm aware of that, let's precede with this old lady's thoughts...)

And, I mean, I still have nightmares about high school. 

You know the ones - you're late a final, but you make it somehow...only to find out that you cannot even understand the questions on the test. I mean, they're total jibberish. Then you remember that if you fail this one test, you can't graduate. So, basically, your gonna be stuck in high school forever. 

And a nightmare like that couldn't happen to someone who's 30, right? 

Wrong! It can. And it does. All.Of.The.Time.

So, back to my birthday...

I was up in the middle of the night, thinking about what the day would bring. You know, because the first day in my 30's would have to be different than the last in my 20's. And that made me a little ill.

I kept thinking about my journey and how I got here. I mean, I'm okay with this new year I've added. (Kinda.) And I'm sure age is like a fine wine - the older you are, the more...well...fine...Right?

Plus, the 30's are where it's at. It's the cool age. 

No? See, that's what I'm feelin' too. 

I actually told a friend that 30 is not the new black - it's the new grey. Because, as luck would have it, 30 has ushered in a wave of grey hairs. And not just a few - a whole tuft of greys; right in the back of my head. And that's just the cherry on top of this ol' cake I'm already chokin' down. 

But before I just throw in the towel and embrace the fact that life as I know it is over and it's all downhill from here, I'm trying to think of all of the good things that elderly life will bring (because there has to be a couple, right?)...

The first difference I should tell you about is my musical taste. Just a few weeks ago, I was happily driving with my windows down, not a care in the world, listening to Taylor Swift. Now, I prefer to clean my kitchen to the sounds of instrumental folk or Cat Stevens, stopping every few minutes to sip my warm, aged Earl Grey tea.

See?! Old lady behavior. It came outta nowhere and slapped me right in the face.

And with every day, I've been taking more and more notes (which is totally not like me), so I can know what I've been up to and keep my thoughts straight.

I know life's just begun and it's gonna be great and all, but sometimes it all seems so fleeting.

One day I'll be truly grey and laugh at myself for being young and dramatic. But today I'm devastated.

Okay... maybe not devastated. But definitely a tad bit uneasy about the whole thing... ;)

So, on that note, let's all raise our Earl Greys to this new decade, watch a little of The Lawrence Welk Show, and take a good, long nap! 

one chick, two chicks...

Ever heard of chicken math?

Yeah, I hadn't either...

...until Spring sprang and I was caught in it's deceptive little web. It's sticky and tangly and just pulls you right in. Before you know it, you're elbows deep in baby chicks and being called a chicken lady.

P's teaching the cats how to have patience...and balance...

And, if you know me at all, that's the furthest thing I could have ever imagined being called... Birds in general have never been my thang. I was totally like Eww! Those nasty things - peckin' and poopin' everywhere...

And here I come to you, asking for understanding as I have turned a corner somewhere and now fully and completely get this so-called "chicken math".

Georgie and her new babe 

I'm calculating and recalculating...and they are adding and adding...

But, rest assured, I do have a plan. Or plans. Loads of 'em...

Some of them are obvious (eggs and meat) and others being more creative (like compost help and garden tilling). But let's not get ahead of ourselves; right now they are just tiny little peepers without a care in the world.

(Don't tell them that we have high expectations and will be putting them to work soon. Let's just let 'em bask in the constant warmth and coziness that is my garage...where the food comes easy and the pace is slow.)

So, until next time, don't count your chickens before they hatch...or you might get a little "math" lesson of your own...

together.

When I was younger, I didn't know what the future would hold for me...

I've never been the type of girl that dated a certain type of guy. I wasn't going for a look or an attitude, a swagger or a walk...

In fact, I wasn't really looking for anything or anyone. 

Not that I didn't want all of that gooey fairytale stuff, but I was busy with normal 20 year old life - working and going to school 24/7. There wasn't a ton of time to slow down to find the one. 

(I will say, however, that somewhere way down deep, I knew that I would marry a blonde-haired guitar player. Don't know how or why, but I did.)

Then, one day, I was where all good stories begin - at the ol' Wal-Mart. My friend and I were in the houseware isle looking for who-knows-what. 

I looked up and there, walking right towards me, was J. 

I remember it like it was yesterday. And I swear, when I think back on that moment, he was almost glowing. He stood out like a sore thumb. The best sore thumb ever. It was like time slowed down. And, for all I would have cared, everyone else could have disappeared and I wouldn't have known the difference. 

It was love at first sight and way more than anything I could have hoped for.

Right away, in true 20 year old form, I bet him that he wouldn't eat chocolate flavored dog food treats. 

I was playing the whole thing cool, you see. Before I could think he was my knight in shining armor, I needed to make sure he was man enough to step up to the dog food challenge.

And, luckily, he was. 

He ate that dog treat and I was sold. 

That night, we bought kites and invented one of the most dangerous pastimes you ever did hear of - Electro-Kiting. 

"What is this Electro-Kiting?" you may be asking yourself.  

I'm happy to tell you! It's just what it sounds like - you simply drive with your windows down, kite flying in the wind, avoiding all electric lines for as long as possible. Then, when your kite gets caught in the very wires you've so diligently been dodging (because it will get stuck in those lines), you haul tail outta there! Don't stick around to see if you can remedy the situation - just GO!

So, back to my story...We Electro-Kited for hours, then (as I have warned you about above), our Superman kite became caught in the most giant power lines ever. And that was that; we were outta there! Gone like a trio of roaches when someone flicks the lights on. (Trio? Remember, my friend was the third-wheel on what turned out to be our first date...)

Game over.

I should also tell you that is was probably as closest to being an outlaw as I've ever been. Or, to be clear, will ever be. I'm too old and nervous for that junk.

Following our Electro-Kiting adventure, as any normal folks awake at 3am would do, we went to Waffle House. 

I know, classy, right? And though it may not have been the best move 1) for my belly or 2) for my schoolin' (since I had a test coming up that very same morning), it was one of the best decisions of my life. 

(And if you're wondering about that test and how I did in the class? Well...let's just say it wasn't pretty. Stay in school, kids!)

So, why am I telling you all of this foolishness? What does this have anything to do with anything? 

Well, that day, my friend, was 10 years ago. 

That means for 10 years, I've gotten to spend each and every day with my best buddy. And I'm so grateful.

So, to those of you who have made it through this long, nutty story - *high five!* You are a trooper. I'd have been bored to tears by now...

And to J, my love, I couldn't be happier or luckier to have you. I love you more than you'll ever know and am so proud of you and the life we've made together. God couldn't have given me a better partner. Thank you for being on this crazy journey with me...

And, if you are still reading this blog, another *high five!* to you. Now you know that sparks fly best when they are ignited at Wal-Mart and followed with a little high voltage kiting...  

An Electro-Kiting cookie cake, of course.

savoring on the daily.

I've been thinking about writing for a while. Ideas will pop in my head and I'll mull them over, then toss 'em to the side because I'm sure no one wants to read about that.

But today...today that's all changing.

I realized that I love to write. And, though it's always fun when people read what I have to say, that's not what it's all about for me.

I want to write to remember; remember what something felt like, smelled like, sounded like. I love to recall the big stuff, but it's the little stuff that really deserves the savoring, right?

The stuff like worms. And how they are collected and saved from a chicken's belly. (And those hands...I need to remember those sweet hands...)

A cat that loves to cuddle and ride with P in her carseat.

And J finding a zillion tiny springs and making a little creek.

Or our first fairy egg. It was the size of a quarter, perfectly round, and contained only the white.

The first little beauty that comes from planting (literally) hundreds of flower bulbs.

Or the princess gracing us with her presence. (And making a royal mess of the house. Every. Day.)

And let's not forget about breakfast. And how this heart was eagerly noticed and claimed by a three year old.

See? Those things may not add up to much of anything, but for this momma, those are things that make me remember to stop and smell the crocuses.

And since we're on an adventure here, let's talk about all of those things - both big and small. Because after all, everything doesn't need to be grandiose...that's life. And I like it that'a way.

moving on and just plain moving.

In life, we have to take the good with the bad. Today, I'm going to catch you up with what's been going on - both good and bad.

Let's just go ahead and get the awful, horrible, never good for nobody stuff over.
(I'm taking a big ol' deep breath now while I try to gather my thoughts and see through the tears...)

My husband's momma and my (sweet, smart, wonderfully witty, amazingly talented...) mother-in-law passed away. One day she was here with us and the next, she wasn't. And what a hole in our lives there is now. Whew, if only I could explain the shift that took place when she left this earth. I'd like to say now that I don't want to linger with this awfulness. I'll keep it short because I have good things to tell you about and that's what she'd want to read about. Doesn't mean the the sadness isn't crushing or that our hearts aren't broken, but we have to move on. So I'll keep all of those precious memories in my back pocket, and carry them with me daily. That way she never really feels completely gone.

Onward and upward. Thank goodness the sad stuff's over.

On to the good stuff...

One fun thing on the farm is we had our first event! Even though it wasn't anything more than having some friends (both old and new) over and watching a movie outside (via projector and on a huge screen!), it was perfect. The kiddos played with the chickens and climbed around on hay bales. It was simple and sweet - just what we were hoping for.

Another thing - the chickens! The chickens are growing and even starting to lay eggs.


Ah, who am I kidding?!

Let me rephrase that - the chickens are growing and even starting to lay egg.

Here is our first egg from our one and only layer. Hot diggity!

Yep, those lazy, good for nuthin' feathery chumps are able to live like queens and they still don't care enough to lay us an egg every now and then.

 (I know one day I'll be flooded with farm fresh eggs and I'll look back at this time as the calm before the storm, but today I'm tired and grumpy and want some durn eggs.)

Meet Veronica, the queen of the coop.

As we become more and more familiar with our goals and dreams for Greenbriar Farm, my list of things I'm so looking forward to beginning has been growing and growing. From the outdoor movie to a garden to selling eggs (haha!) to getting a couple pigs, it's a little outta control. Which, I should say, is what I seem to always gravitate toward.

I like the thrill.

I've never been the jump out of a plane kind of thrill-seeker. Or even the smash a soda can with my bare hands girl...I'm more in line with the a how many chickens can I get before I'm officially known as a chicken lady or the can I possibly sneak into this beehive without getting all suited up kinda thrill-seeker.

You know - living on the edge. And it is a thrill. But more on granny-speed side of things.

So, as I catch myself gearing up for far too many things that I simply know nothing about, but are too eager to wait for, the excitement is growing. And I just keep reminding myself of how I always seem to get myself in much too deep with big plans and more research than I have time for...

And speaking of being in far over our heads already...we are about to embark on the second craziest journey of our lives. No, I'm not talking about another baby. Law knows that's a recipe for sinking this barely-floating ship.

What I'm trying to say is that we are finally going to build a house! It's something we've talked about for years, but the time's now. As in, we have until the end-ish of June to be moved in. Yep, moved in. The home we're renting is needed when our lease is up.

"Oh, you have eight months. You'll be fine!" you say.

And I say to you, "To have plans drawn? Pick a contractor? Choose everything down to the colors and sizes of the hinges? Then to move in?"

"Yes. I'm sure it'll all work out," you say again.

And to the waiter (because, as it turns out, we're obviously sitting at a bar and you've obviously been drinking a little...) I say, "I'd like to have what they're drinking!"

*Fast forward a couple of minutes and I've chugged that Koolaid you've been drinking.*

Now I need to tell you how mush I app-rish-iate your posisive words...

(I should admit here that I'm only kidding, as I don't drink. But you seem to have been and I need that kind of optimism in my life right now. ;))

I also need to say that I kinda have this feeling way deep down in my gut that we won't be able to finish the house on time and we'll have to move in a hotel for a few weeks. Or even worse - in my parent's house.

And that don't sound too purty.

But until I know if that's for sure in the cards for us, I'll listen to you and your Koolaid drinkin' self and have hope that we can pull this all off.

Lookout, farm! Here weeee coooooommmee!!

our first blueberry season.

The season has come to an end. And no, I'm not talking about summer - I'm talking about our first season as blueberry farm owners and operators!

It was a hot, fun, sweaty and exciting one. 

Up until about a month before the season was to start and the farm was to open, we didn't know we'd be running the farm this year. 

But, lo and behold, it was time. Time for us to take the torch and carry on. Time for us to put up a tent and a table. Time for us to discover what it felt like to be farmers (I use farmers loosely...). And it went without a hitch. 

The berries started out plump and plentiful.

They stayed that way for about six hours.

Yep, you read that right! Those puppies were picked at the speed of lightning.

So many folks came out and we were overwhelmed by all of the faithful berry pickers that have loved and cherished the farm for many, many years. Some even knew my grandma. It was amazing!

And those funny little chickens were a hit!

Everyone wanted to meet the chickens. And pet the chickens. And hold the chickens. And cuddle the chickens...

*Side note here: this is my cuddliest chicken. She was so sweet and would come up and nuzzle me to love on her. I'd always oblige and we were buddies. But then..."she" turned out to be a "he" and stopped being cuddly and started being a pain. So now, let's just remember the good ol' days when Ellie was a girl and not an obnoxious, in-your-way-ALWAYS rooster.

And until you've cuddled with a chicken - don't judge. They're just as huggable as any other feathery, scaly-legged, sharp-beaked pet... 

Seriously though, we had so much fun with those sweet, fuzzy, dirty ol' chickens! 

Then we'd pick and eat those delicious blueberries and we were happy.

And isn't that was it's all about? I do think so.

So, until next summer, friends...eat, drink, and love on some chickens!

See ya'll next year!

she's THREE.

I cannot believe it. 

My little lady is three. THREE.

What?! Where did the time go??

Seems like a few weeks ago, we were bringing home this squishy little squish.

I remember trying to learn her. Hearing every sound and trying to figure out what she wanted - what she needed.

And now I'm trying to keep her.

Keep her snuggly. Keep her sweet. Keep her little.

It's a battle that I'm struggling with the fact that I'll lose. I had no idea that with each feat, each triumph, I'd feel so much accomplishment...And yet, feel a lump in my throat when I see "old" pictures of her.

It's amazing how you can go from not knowing someone...to them holding the biggest part of your heart.

This girl can make me belly laugh. She can make me smile from ear to ear...

Or she can make me so frustrated that I'll wake up in the middle of the night worried that I hadn't been the best I could have been in some situation. I'll wonder how I could have done something better or if she'll still want to give us another shot in the morning. (I know - it's not like she has a choice; she's kinda stuck with me...but it's in the middle of the night. And middle-of-the-night-thoughts don't always make lots of sense...)

But as amazing as she is to me, how could I not overly think most every move I make?

I tell her all the time that she's my best girl. And she tells me, "And you're mine best momma."

Don't know how I got to be the lucky momma to this sweet soul, but I sure am thankful for her.

And now she's a rootin' tootin' little lady.

I mean, she's not a baby anymore. Not even a toddler.

She's a lady.

I may even go as far to saying she's my favorite lady.

She is the reason for me being a chicken-loving/barefoot-wearing/lard-cooking/blueberry-farming/beekeeping momma. 

She has shaken my world, rocked my socks, and made my heart so very happy. 

I don't think I could ever be thankful enough for her and her sweet soul. 

Happy birthday, my sweets!

the swarm and a rumpelstiltskin jig.

You know when something happens and you immediately think "I'm gonna blog about this!"? Well that something happened today. So here's the blog all about it...

Today was going to be a quiet day - a day to clean, hang out, and be generally pretty lazy. After the last few weeks of madness, we needed a boring day.

But we all know what happens when we plan for a day of rest...

So, just after noon, we headed to the farm to feed the chickens our juice-making scraps. We didn't expect to see anyone there, but, as all "my day started out so lazy..." stories go, we were wrong. We did see someone. In fact, three someones - Abby Baxter, her son (the cutest little thing you ever did see), and a friend of theirs.

And the timing couldn't have been more perfect! See, Abby and I had been meaning to get together for weeks, but it just hadn't happened yet. (Sometimes life is busy and you just gotta roll with it, man.)

I probably need to insert here that Abby and her family are beekeepers. And not just any beekeepers - rad ones. Beekeepers that have lived on a bee sanctuary and keep the bee's best interests in mind at all times. In a nutshell - the kind of beekeepers we could use a little more of around these parts. 

Why was the timing perfect, you ask? Because of this...

What the heck is that?!

Yep, that's what I thought too. Turns out this mass of bees hanging on the bottom of my largest hive was a swarm. As in new, free bees in need of a home. These puppies had come from who-knows-where and placed themselves so sweetly and conveniently at the "feet" of another hive.

Abby comes up to the hives and we start talking about this swarm. She graciously says she'll go pick up her husband, Greg, to capture the swarm and put in a new hive box for us.

(For us! Did I mention that Abby and Greg are the best?!)

Before I knew it, they were back with a spare box and frames in tow. Here's where the hard work began...

Greg, as calm as the calmest of all calm cucumbers, dipped his hand in that mass of bees (we're talking around 20,000 bees), scooped them up like ice cream, then (again, calmly) dropped them into their new home.

This process took over two hours! Poor Greg was dripping sweat from his face, but diligently and oh-so-patiently sticking to the task at hand. He was determined to re-home those bees before they flew off elsewhere.

Another note here: Somewhere, hidden deep in that swarm of bees, is a queen. That's right, one queen for a zillion worker bees. And to move the swarm, you must find the queen. Otherwise, the bees captured cannot form a colony of their own. They have to have their queen. (I mean, they can be artificially queened, but that's a different story for a different day...) So, instead of saying "it's like finding a needle in a haystack", maybe the saying should be "it's like finding a queen in a swarm". Or maybe the cool kids have been saying that the entire time. ;)

Two hours of gently moving the bees and looking for the queen goes by and the weather is starting to get rough. There were storms rolling in and, as we learned, bees don't care to be messed with when bad weather's on the horizon...

Just before the heavens opened up and pure craziness ensued, Greg and Abby decided it was a good idea for everyone to back up and allow the bees some space. The reason? To see if the queen had been moved into the new box. If she had, the remaining bees from the swarm would slowly migrate to the box. If she was still under the hive, the bees would head back out of the box to be with the royalty.

So we waited.

The rain came and we all gathered under the canopy to watch what would happen - would the swarm get all comfy in their new home or insist on being under the old hive?

While we were waiting, the swarm of bees became like a cloud in the air. It was amazing! And what was even more fascinating was what Greg did...

He went to his truck and brought back a wooden box drum with a handle. He sat beside the hives and beat on the drum for a few minutes. The cloud of bees started moving. With each beat of the drum, the bees seemed to settle.

Darn! They were going right back under the old hive. Even though they hadn't yet become cozy in their new home, at least they weren't taking off elsewhere (which was the fear).

Slowly but surely, the bees returned under the old hive.

No worries, though. Greg had a plan. He and my husband, J, would simply lift the old hive, exposing the mesh bottom board that the swarm was attached to, then shake that mesh bottom board off into the new hive.

That sounded fantastic to us. But here's where things went a little awry.

When Greg asked J for help, what I should have said was something like this, "How about I help you do that?" Those seven words would have changed this story drastically. But then it wouldn't have been so good. So confusing. So painful.

I'm going to set the rest of the story up like this: J is a pretty cool, calm and collected kinda guy. He has shoulder-length blonde hair and (nearly every day) wears khaki shorts, flip-flops and a white t-shirt.

So when Greg asked J to help pick up an entire hive, he was down with it, man.

Should we have mentioned that J didn't have gloves? Or that is legs were just so exposed? Or that his surfer dude hair was fabulously whispy? Or maybe that he had never even touched a beehive?

YES. But, alas...we did not.

Instead, J (a little apprehensively, I might say) grabbed one side of the hive and Greg had the other. Both bare handed. And bare faced.

As they lifted the hive, I hear a tiny mumble come from J. It sounded like, "I don't have it..."

And just like that, WHAP! The hive crashed to the ground. And those bees went nutty. They were furious!

Somehow, Greg stayed true to his calm cucumber-y self. It's like the man didn't even move a muscle. J, on the other hand, starts dancing a jig; jumping from one leg to the other. The man looked just like Rumpelstiltskin. (I hope so much that you know what I'm talking about...)

At that moment, I was trying to process what the heck had just happened. It had all been so calm and quiet until now. But my brain wasn't fast enough. I saw and heard it all...but I was so confused. And what do I do when I'm confused? I laugh.

You read that right. I laughed. I promise I'm not an evil wife. And I wouldn't have laughed had I known what was going on...

Then J screams, "WHAT DO I DO?!"

And I realize what's going on...he's getting LIT UP by those bees!

"RUN!!" I yelled back.

Boy does he! He first ran to one side of the field; yelping and jumping with each sting. Then he stopped running for a second, only to realize just how many bees were still on his body. A second later, after taking a sting to the lip, he starts violently head-banging; trying desperately to get a bee from his aforementioned whispy hair.

Then came the run to the other side of the field. On the way, J dropped any (and all) dignity that may have remained. With his last sprint across the field, he was a hopping and a bopping while yelling and stripping every stitch of clothing off (minus his underroos, of course) until he got to the water spigot. There, J doused himself as I picked out the stingers left behind.

After a couple of minutes, we realized how thankful we were that he wasn't allergic!

Soon everything calmed down and we look over to see that Greg had somehow turned the hive back upright and had transferred the swarm to their new home. He was like Houdini. I still don't know how he did it. One minute: panic. The next: tah dah! Done.

With both guys having been stung a several times, the minute or so of craziness probably felt like an eternity... But hey, you live and you learn.

So here was the take-away: honey bees are calm creatures unless you pick up their home and throw it to the ground...then you better RUN like the dickens!

a sad day.

Today's a day I have never looked forward to. In fact, I've downright dreaded it...

I woke up yesterday to find a sickly chick in the coop. When I'd locked them up the night before, she'd been fine.

But yesterday, she definitely wasn't.

She was barely picking at the grass, somewhat wobbly on her feet, and not able to keep up with the rest of the chickens.

I was worried, so I did what any good Chicken Momma would do, of course - researched what her ailment could be and how we'd go about getting her to feeling better.

(And, as a side note, we are raising chickens as pets and pest eaters around the farm. One day, we'll eat the eggs and possibly sell some as well. But right now, they are sweet, lovey pets.)

After a little research, I'd found my first line of defense. I followed the directions and she seemed to perk up a bit.

Thank goodness, I thought. A couple more doses and she might be flying high.

I had thought about bringing her home with me last night, but since she seemed somewhat improved (and I couldn't stand the idea of stressing the poor thing out more!), so I left her there.

When I woke up this morning and went to let the chickens out of the coop, there she was; listless and pitiful.

My heart sank. I scooped her up and brought her home.

I'd read that it's a good thing to get them nice and warm, so I did what any good Chicken Momma also would do - I turned on the fireplace and we got warm together.

(Another note: Need I remind you that it's summertime? And the fireplace hasn't been on in forever? But on with the story...)

I gave her some good food and water and her own little place to rest.

I immediately felt a little relief, as she gently dipped her beak in the food-slurry-mixture and took a drink. She did that a few times, so I thought this may be the ticket to a healthy chicken.

I said a little prayer for her, then on with my day I went; checking on her every so often. I hated to leave her at all, but the blueberry field is opening this week and lots of prep work needs to be done...

Throughout the day, she seemed alright.

Then, tonight...I checked on her and she was sleeping. But not an I'm feeling so much better sleep. She was sleeping like it was almost time. Her time. To go.

I scooped her up in a towel and took her outside. I tried one more time to get her to drink. With a syringe of water in one hand and tears streaming down my face, she looked up at me one last time and passed away right in my arms.

I've never had anything like that happen before. It was so easy for her to just drift away, and so hard for me to process it all. And as I think about death being such a reality on a farm, I'm not sure it's something my heart is ready for. Just thinking about it gets those tears flowing all over again.

If only you could see my blubbering self right now...

So what? She's just a chicken. You might think. But she wasn't just a chicken. She was our chicken. And that makes her part of our family. Nobody want to lose a piece of their family.

So tonight I say:
Goodbye, Westerday! You were one cool chick. <3

feathered friends.

So, I did it. I caved.

I had told myself that we could not get chickens until we live on the farm.

Then, one day, I decided I could have chickens. You know, if I wanted to.
Like I could have cookies for dinner... if I wanted to. (Don't worry Mom, I don't... most days.)

And then, as if I was afraid I'd take back the permission I'd given myself to move forward with my chick-y shenanigans, I called a breeder almost instantly.
(And yes, there are chicken breeders. Who knew?)

Within minutes, we were on our way to pick up our new feathered friends just one county over.

Was this a hasty decision, you ask? Yes'm.

Had I thought it through? Not really...

Where was I going to put these little chirping balls of fluff? I dunno. (And I say that with a four year old's full-shoulder/upper body shrug.)

What was I going to feed them? See! Now here, I do have an answer... You see, I had felt this bird fever coming on, so I had ordered some mighty fine chicken feed. You know, just incase. 

And what the heck were my long-term chicken goals? To have them, and hold them, and keep them forever. ;) Truthfully, I'll have to give you another "I dunno," complete with shoulder shrug. 

And, let me just tell you, I don't know who was actually more excited about our new family members - me or my little lady.

She has loved on those chicks daily! She's introduced them to the back of her dump truck, picked zillions of flowers to give to them, and even helped with the chicken chores. She is in hog (err, chicken) heaven!

And speaking of my little lady - we named each of the chicks after words she said as a baby/toddler that may or may not have had a real meaning, but she said often.

Ready for their names? Putico, Shluey, Chowpangy, Blowey, and Westerday.

The only problem is they've all turned out to be perfectly and unchangingly white. 

So, who's who? Your guess is as good as mine...

But we don't care. And they don't care. So it's all good. :)