"So great a cloud of witnesses"

Our nine-year old granddaughter was baptized on Sunday, fully-immersed in water that had been warmed in an inflatable hot-tub.  

I grew up Baptist, which, if you know anything about the denomination, full immersion is the way to go.  

I'm not making that argument, but I've witnessed a lot of baptisms over the years, and they always move me deeply.  This one, in particular, gave me pause to reflect.  

I could see that our granddaughter was nervous, and I sure could relate to that.  

Despite the nerves that sometimes go along with them, baptisms are occasions for gratitude and joy.  Typically, mountain people will gather for a baptism as they would for a graduation or some other once-in-a-lifetime accomplishment.  These type of ceremonies bring people out of the woodwork to support and celebrate.  

My own baptism was one of the most memorable days of my life.  

After a long autumn of wrestling with my conscience or the conviction of the Holy Spirit (maybe both), I finally "went forward at the invitation" during a service at the little country church where I had attended all my growing up years.  

I think what I wrestled with most was my shyness.  I'd been reading the Bible, books about the Bible, and praying for months, if not years.  But Lord, how I dreaded that march down the aisle.  

However, Baptist preachers admonish that if we are ashamed of Him, He'll be ashamed of us.  So, with much fear and trembling, I walked the aisle to the altar, and I knelt and prayed in front of everyone.  

I told the preacher that I believed, and I wanted to be baptized.  

Shouts of joy erupted throughout the church after he informed the congregation of my commitment.  I'll always remember that my momma was especially happy.  I am the oldest of her children, so I guess she was encouraged to hope for the salvation of all five of us.   

The next Sunday, it was announced, I'd be baptized.  There was no question of where.  Our church had no baptistry, so baptisms were held at the creek, even in December. There were a couple of favored spots where they were typically held, one of them beside a gravel bar near Greenbriar Baptist Church.    

Law, I love the names of these little communities.  Greenbriar, Drip Rock, Station Camp--how these names do define me.  

The next Sunday morning dawned cold.  Very cold.  Cold enough that ice had formed at the edge of the waters.  I wouldn't swear that the creek had ice at the edge...perhaps a shallow puddle near the creek was covered in ice.  But I do know it was chilly.  

I remember the turquoise-colored polyester dress I wore.  I had added some layers beneath it, and I wore pantyhose when I stepped into the waters.  

"Step into the water, 

wade out a little bit deeper, 

wet your feet in the water of His love..." 

This hymn was frequently sung by the Smith Sisters during baptisms at the creek. 

So was: "Shall we gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful, river? 

Gather with the saints at the river, that flows from the fount of God?"

Anyway, after being nervous about it all week, once we all "gathered at the river," I felt more settled and excited.  Eager, in part, to get my moment in the spotlight over.  

Some of our aunts and uncles who attended churches elsewhere in the community drove over after their own services and gathered on that creek bank to celebrate another child of God joining the flock.   

Most of those aunts and uncles have since departed this life into eternity.  I like to think they are still part of a "great cloud of witnesses" cheering me on, through thick and thin, through good times and bad.   

The green waters of the creek were fittingly icy as I was lowered quickly, symbolizing my death and burial in Christ, but I paid no heed to the chill, for I was raised just as quickly to newness of life, eternal life, warmed by the love of God and joy of family, both blood and spirit kin. 

My hubby made the decision right there at the creek to also be baptized, no small decision for someone who hates cold water as much as he does!  

Country baptisms are typically followed by the congregation circling by the sodden new baptist, now wrapped in a towel, dripping creek water and tears.   We received many hugs and warm handshakes, "extending the hand of fellowship," many mountain preachers call it to this day.  

I was 21 years old, and I was very, very serious about this new walk with God.  

And I've been walking with Him since.  

More accurately, He has stuck beside me through all my stumbles and starts, mix-ups and meanderings.   

Almost 40 years later, I realize better all the time that "getting saved" was the start of a journey.  It's a walk.  And, as you might imagine of any 40-year walk,  I've grown weary and discouraged at times. I've been through green valleys, the ground firm beneath my feet.  I've slogged through the mire of despair and discouragement.  I've wondered "why?" 

I've been confused, and sometimes I have felt sure I'd lost my way.  Other times, I've been just a little ornery and rebellious.  

I'm a worrier, an over-thinker, I will confess.  Child-like faith does not come easy to me.  

Forty years ago, I had no inkling that my hubby and I would later be blessed with two daughters and five grandchildren.  At the time, I did not imagine witnessing the baptisms of our daughters in a heated baptistry inside a nice church, or the baptism of a granddaughter in a hot tub while the frost melted outdoors on a cold February morning.  

I had no inkling what was in store for me, for us.  I still don't.  

But I know I have a friend in Jesus, "all our sins and griefs to bear." What a privilege it is to take it to the Lord in prayer.  

I've lived long enough that I know this life of faith sounds ridiculous to many folks. Sociologists would say my faith is a product of place.  The world we live in often views the Bible as old fashioned, a bunch of far-fetched fairy tales, completely unbelievable and irrelevant to our times.

But I've also lived long enough to see, by faith, yes, but to see the hand of God on my life and on those that I love.  

"I have decided to follow Jesus, 

I have decided to follow Jesus, 

"Though none go with me, I will follow...

No turning back, no turning back."

Would I do it again?  Would I set out on a journey of faith if I had a do-over?

I would.  I cannot imagine me without Him.  This relationship is at the heart of me.  I make no claims to be anything special, quite the contrary.  I see that better all the time now.  

I also see that there's no need for me to try so hard, no need for me to seek to impress God or earn His favor.  

I already have it, in Christ.

So yes, dear granddaughter, dear daughters, seekers, skeptics, believers and doubters, I believe it is worth the discomfort of taking a public stand, of making that commitment to Him.  

Because He is the faithful one.  

And what a friend.  

Watching bread rise, one year later...

Winter skies can be beautiful too. 

We have a wind chill of approximately ten degrees today.   

Not a comfortable temperature to do some of the spring prep chores that I'd like to be doing outside--pruning, raking off flower beds, and starting some seeds. 

So, I decided to tidy up my neglected desk area, then I remembered I have a blog, covered in dust deep in the interwebs, I reckon.  

I dug it up, figuratively speaking, and when I saw my last post, I couldn't help but smile.  That happened exactly a year ago!  

I had titled my post "Watching Bread Rise," or something brilliant like that.  (I was referring to my new hobby of making sourdough bread.)  

Well, let me tell you about that.  I baked bread for a couple of months, my thighs got thick(er), springtime arrived (I moved outdoors), and I quit. Baking bread, that is.    

I also wrote in my last post that I was a burgeoning forager.  

Ha!  When I discovered fruit fly larva squirming among the pristine white gills of the winter oyster 'shrooms that are quite plentiful in the woods in these parts, I lost my appetite 'fer em.  

I'd rather watch a roach crawl across my plate than knowingly consume worms.  That's just me.  I cannot stomach the squirmy little fellers.  

I know, they are most likely in lots of foods I consume--wild berries, cultivated mushrooms, greens--but ignorance is bliss. I haven't seen them in those foods--yet!! 

When I blogged last, I was about six weeks post-newspaper closing, and I was digging into dusty corners, organizing, etc., with great zeal.  

Fast forward a year, and I still have tons of stuff, piles of disorganization, and plenty of dust!  

What the heck have I been doing all year?! 

I can tell you that I have been busy--working hard even, probably as hard as I've ever worked in my life.  

It's been exhausting, honestly.  

Besides the usual rhythms of planting, tending, and harvesting produce, taking care of a big yard, putting up hay, celebrating the birthdays and milestones (Hubby and I both turned 60!) of a big ol' growing family, we had some big projects to attend to.  

For one, we continued to work on our rental cabin/cottage.  

The green door of our country cottage really pops when there's snow on the ground.  

We also had a MAJOR overhaul of our old farmhouse, the foundation of which was about to crumble into the dirt, due to rot and termite damage.  That involved months of fretting to the point of losing sleep (because it took forever to find someone who would tackle the job), then months more of the actual de-construction and re-construction. It also cost a whole heck of a lot.  

We were able to squeeze in our annual family reunion before we had to move out of the front part of our farmhouse so renovations could begin.  We packed up and moved the day after the reunion.  

This was taken on the deck of our cabin.  We lived in it while our farmhouse was being renovated!  

In addition, our grandson Clay had a major, major, CDH surgery in Florida, which added layers of anxiety and activity to our lives.  Thank the Good Lord, Clay recovered yet again and is now thriving.  He's a middle-schooler now, and he is beginning to look like a teenager, a very handsome one at that.  

We celebrated little Miles and Pops' birthdays at the zoo! We also threw a family reunion/birthday party for Pops here at the farm.  

Throw in a few extra challenges,  like helping a daughter move back out to the country and prep her house for sale, and I remember now why last year was tiring at times.  

The girls threw a surprise party for my 60th! This happened in the middle of our farmhouse remodel.  

I'm not complaining.  

I'm thankful we were able to do all that we did, and I'm thankful for all the people in our lives that we get to love on. 

So far, this year has been a time of settling.  Or re-settling.  I'm playing catch-up on dozens of "small" tasks, the kind that tend to sift through the cracks when one is in the middle of a major upset in their routine.  

I have enjoyed the quiet of winter, although I do feel deprived of sunshine at times.  

I'm so ready for spring now, and all the work involved with that.

There you have it--an update on my life on the farm--a homespun labor of love! 

Pops and I have five beautiful grandchildren.  This pic was taken at church during the Christmas season. 

We could not ask for more!   

What have I been up to? Watching bread rise...

I'm several weeks into this post-newspaper season of my life, and time is simply flying.  

Seems like it flies whether the days are long and hard or the pace of life is more relaxed. 

Is that a sign of "getting old?" 

I've been busy and content here on the farm for the most part, but during the infrequent times I do get out in public, I'm being asked what I've been doing.

Wellll, you asked.  

For starters, pun intended, I think I'm growing a new hobby! 

I say "I think," because my intention was to cut back on carbs this winter and focus on building muscle instead of fat.

However, habit or some other mysterious force compels me to bake during the winter months.  

So I thought I'd try my hand at making sourdough from scratch.  Starting my own starter, if you will.  

That process begins with mixing flour and water, pretty close to equal parts, then setting the mixture aside in a bowl, and allowing the wild yeasts of the air to ferment it into this fragrantly sour-smelling bubbly mess that can then be added to dry flour and worked up into bread dough.  

I fed my starter more flour and water for five days, baked two loaves of bread from it and made sourdough crackers from "the discard."  

I think I needed to let the dough rise a little longer, but I was in a hurry for fresh bread!  

Ivy liked it!  With lots of butter and sweet tea. 

Because I loved my baked goods so much, I intentionally used up all the starter.  Fresh bread is too carbo-licious to resist!

But, as so often happens around here, good intentions go by the wayside.  

A couple of weeks ago, someone gave Hannah a starter, which she fed for a few days then divided with me. 

Well, I certainly couldn't let the poor thing starve, so I fed it every day until I had another bubbly seething bowl of sourdough starter just begging me to bake something.  

I made two more loaves of bread, most of which is gone already--I'm not telling how many days ago I made it.  

Anyway, I find the whole process fascinating, that delicious bread can be made from fermented flour and water (sourdough starter) by simply adding more dry flour and salt, kneading it a bit and giving the leavening time to work/rise. It's crazy!

I've taken to watching You-Tube videos about it at night.  There's a gal with a blog called Farmhouse on Boone (I think), who bakes all the yummy things with sourdough starter or sourdough discard.  (Discard is basically when your starter goes a little flat and needs feeding again. But it would be sinful to actually discard it because you can make pizza dough, pancakes, waffles, etc., etc., from it. And crackers.  I mentioned crackers before, but let me tell you a little about them.  They remind me of Cheez-its!  I love Cheez-its.)

Besides learning all about sourdough, I've also decided to learn more about wild edibles.  I want to become a bonafide forager!  😁

I found some mushrooms in January that I researched to the point I felt mostly comfortable eating them. (They were wild oyster or winter oyster mushrooms.) I took a deep breath, said a little prayer, sautéed up the 'shrooms, then my hubby and I ate them.

We did not die!  

Since then, I've been hunting for them a couple of other times, but I haven't found more---yet.  

But I will!  

Besides foraging and baking, I've been poking around in dusty corners of the house, sorting and tossing and passing along a few things I no longer need or want.

On pretty days, and I'm happy to say there have been quite a few of those this winter, I've been cleaning off flower beds and garden spots, and playing in muddy puddles with the grand-babies.  

It's calving season here on the farm.  We have an assortment of adorable calves bouncing around, including the latest one that I'm currently bottle feeding.  She is the cutest thing with big dark eyes and sweeping black lashes.  

Kelce was born on Super Bowl Sunday.  Football fans may "get" that we named her after the Kelce brothers who played in the Big Game.  

Look at sweet Kelce in the doghouse!  

In addition to all the farm chores, we are working on a couple of other big projects, one of which I hope to be opening as an airbnb in late spring/early summer.   

I think I'll call it "Cottage in the Trees" or something real unique like that, he he. 

Our little "Cottage in the Trees," undergoing renovations.

So there you have it, a few of the things I've been up to this winter.  Nothing real exciting, but my days have been full! 

Look at those blue skies!  I love hanging sheets on the line on pretty days like this--in February!! 

 

We've also been blessed with some pretty sunsets this winter.  

 

 

Day 30: NaBloPoMo complete!

I broke from my normal town office/farm routine today for an appointment and a lunch date with my girls and these two cutie pies. Ivy was behind me and didn’t make it into the photo. But she was definitely there! 

We stopped by Aldi for a few things. I love that store. I’m not a shopper, unless it’s one of my favorite grocery stores, that being Aldi and Trader Joe’s. 

I can always find something seasonal and unique at those places. 

Today I picked up a little tub of sugar cookie flavored dessert hummus. That was interesting. Yes, it tasted like sugar cookies, but it also tasted like blended chick peas. 

Sugar cookie in a fiber filled spread. 

Yum. 

Ho-hum

I’ll eat it though. I think it will be good with pretzels. 

Aldi sometimes has household goods I like. 

Today I found a print that I liked for cheap. And it’s reversible with another print on the back! 

I grabbed that and added it to my mantle when I got home, along with some greenery from Chelsea’s shrub trimmings , lol. 

I plan to add some nandina berries and pine cones too.

Doesn’t look too bad for starters, does it. 

Today is the last day of November and therefore the last day of my 30 day blogging challenge. 

I posted a little something every day except one. Nothing of much consequence, but a little something, something. 

Making myself write every day feels very much like a writing exercise at times. In the sense that exercise is sometimes difficult. It feels hard to start. There’s always a million reasons why we don’t have the time or energy. 

I have found that inspiration rarely if ever “strikes” before I write. 

It’s just one of those things ya have to sit down and do, then the creative juices flow. Maybe. 

I’ve written little snippets about my rather boring life, but they’ll be fun to look back on one of these days, just to see what we were up to, if nothing else. 

Thanks for reading! 

Until next time… 

 

Day 29: A little snowy scene

 Maybe I should have brought this snowy little scene home with me from the office and used that in place of my Christmas tree. 

Because my big tree is still not decorated. 

I’ve barely been home since we put it up. It will get done eventually, I guess! 

My aunt once had a tree in her basement decorated with lots of clear lights and a single red cardinal perched on a branch. I thought it was simple and chic…I wonder if I could get away with that? 

***

At dinner tonight, my husband informed me that today is the day Thanksgiving leftovers should get thrown out. I think we have pretty much cleaned up the leftovers from Thanksgiving day, but we are still working on round two’s leftovers. 

So tonight I made turkey salad with some of the leftover turkey. I added diced celery, onion, dried cranberries and a dab ‘a mayo. 

Yum, yum! It’ll be good tomorrow… just before the expiration date, lol. 

Joy and bliss

One of my girls took this last week and shared it with me. I thought it was just the most precious photo. The boys’ goofy grins express pure joy, reflected, no doubt, in the loving smiles of their mommas and in the warm bright sun beaming down on them from a blue sky. 

Pure innocent bliss and plain stinking cute! 

That’s about all I have for tonight. I had a late meeting and my brain is “tard.” I’m tard. 

But this little pic was a quick pick-me-up; maybe it’ll do the same for you. 

Another Thanksgiving dinner…

 We enjoyed another big turkey dinner with all the trimmings this afternoon. 

As usual, the kids keep things interesting. 

Ivy was obsessed with the kittens and trying to catch them, but they were elusive, always slipping away when she got near. 

And Finn got introduced to the mooing cookie jar. 

Granny G has had that thing since my kids were little, I think. 

Whenever she lifts the lid on the cookie jar—the lid being its head—it bellows a loud moo, which tends to startle the little ones.  Even so, they keep coming back for more. 

Mwoooah!!

Finn’s eyes were big as quarters. 

Granny G. has always enjoyed seeing the kids reaction to the cookie jar. She giggles like a kid herself. 

It’s funny the random things you associate with certain people. 

The things they’ll go down in family history for. 

The things we will forever have fond memories of. 

Like mooing cookie jars. 

Or chalk horses. 

When we were kids, my aunt Myrl had a scary looking chalk horse on a kitchen cabinet. 

We would eye that thing warily as we walked past it to get a drink of water from the water bucket on her enamel farmhouse sink. 

(The water was drawn from a well behind the house and always seemed to taste so good.)

It looked to me like the horse was eyeing us back as we sneaked by it. It had big black circles painted around its eyes! 

Creepy! 

Makes me wonder what quirky and random thing my grandkids will associate with me after they grow up?