February Farm Diary: Day 5

There's not much to tell about today-my life is pretty boring at times! 

I ran some errands, got a haircut, did my chores and some cooking and cleaning.   

After the dishes were done, I settled into my chair with the book I bought a couple of days ago.  

Then I got a notification--you know that compelling "ding" that says we must check NOW to see who's calling/texting/sharing. 

Before I knew it, I had spent hours spiraling down the internet's many rabbit holes.  

From political filth, to funny AI-generated cat videos (they crack me up!), to reels of overnight sensation Hannah Harper, now a contestant on American Idol, to Super Bowl snack ideas, I took it all in.  

Then, listening to the news this morning while I ate breakfast, I thought how interesting and bizarre our American lives are.  (I'm sure it's this way everywhere.)  

There's the disturbing news segments delivered in somber tones, then seconds later, the anchors are chipper as bluebirds in spring as they talk about football and entertainment.  

The opening ceremonies of the winter Olympics are tonight.  This weekend, there's the Super Bowl, and all the surrounding buzz.  The interwebs will be hummin' with commentary on the game, the half-time show, the commercials--all part of the good ol' American way of life.  

I love it!  While at the same time, I hate it. Most of it is just noise.  

I don't really care who wins the Super Bowl or the Olympics.  I really don't even care who is in political power--as long as they are people of integrity.  But it's not that simple.  People are enormously complicated and hard to figure out. 

While sports themselves aren't of great importance to me, I do love the stories. There promises to be some doozies coming out of both the Olympics and the Super Bowl.  

For example, Sea Hawks linebacker Derick Hall is said to have been born 4 months prematurely, without a heartbeat at first, weighing only a couple of pounds, and he had only a one percent chance of survival. Look at him now! Incredible.  

His story and many others are truly inspiring.  

We could use some of that right now.  To restore our faith in humanity.  

But should we have faith in humanity? 

Probably not.  I mean, just look at our history.  Collective humanity's history.  

Mess up after mess up over the millenniums. 

It's easy to become discouraged and disillusioned by all of this.

Yet we, the human race, are capable of a lot of good, a lot of shining moments.  

I do believe God loves His creation still.  And that's it.  Our faith needs to be in Him.  

I've been reading in Isaiah this morning.  Isaiah has some harsh prophecies to direct at God's chosen people, but they are tempered with God's yearning for his people to return to him.  

Isaiah prophesies many woes--downfalls of nations that glory in their own perceived power, to be no more.  

But, in Isaiah 30, we are shown a way out.  "For thus says the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel: In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be your strength."  

Amid all the promises of judgement are promises of restoration for those who return to him.  

For the Christian, returning needs to be a daily process.  It's so easy to get side-tracked.   I'll admit it.  

Sometimes I pick up an old hymnal and flip through it, and I'll come across a song that lifts my spirits or fits the particular circumstance of the day just right. 

 This song really spoke to me this morning.

O soul, are you weary and troubled?  No light in the darkness you see? There's light for a look at the Savior, and life more abundant and free!  

Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face; and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.  

There's light for a look at the Savior.   Just think about that. 

And in turning to look at Him, there is life more abundant and free!  

How easy it is to let the noise deafen us to these truths.  

Now, I'm not one who thinks we should not stay informed, that we should stick our heads in the sand and pretend there's no trouble in the world.  

But I do think there's a place for perspective.  

"In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be your strength."  

Amen! 

February Farm Diary: Day 4

How many birds do you see?  

(Just to clarify, these entries are a day behind!) 

My new neighbor (Chelsea) and her kids and myself ventured to Rural King this afternoon after a fresh coating of snow melted off the roads a little.  

The hubby devotedly feeds the birds every day in this weather (year-round, actually), and we were about to run out of black-oil sunflower seeds, so off we went.  The dogs and pig were running low on food also. 

Heck, we all like to eat in the cold weather, don't we? 

It was good to be out and about; the snowy landscape was picturesque on the way to Winchester.  We pondered how fast a sled might go on some of those steep pasture hills along Hwy. 89.  The hubs and I always wonder how in the world people mow them without turning over their tractor!  I wouldn't want to try it.  

Anyway, we stocked up on pizza buffet for ourselves, then browsed Goodwill where I bought a couple of summery clothing items, a novel by Pat Conroy called Beach Music, and a couple small baskets that I imagined would be good-sized for holding napkins and cutlery for outdoor gatherings.  

How do you spell wishful thinking?! 

We made it back home before dark, in time to fill the bird feeders to the brim. 

One of the feeders hangs in the old pear tree that stands right behind the house.  It's fun to look out and see how many birds we can spot.  Sometimes it's easy to see that there are lots of cardinals and blue jays, but other times the better camouflaged female cardinals, juncos, black-capped chickadees, doves, etc., aren't easy to see.  

How many birds can you spot in this photo? I see six, but there might be more.  

February Farm Diary: Day 3

 "Uphold my steps in Your paths, that my footsteps may not slip." A prayer of David from Psalm 17:5

This verse gave me pause as I was reading this morning.  If ever there was a time to pray that our footsteps not slip, this is it, I mused.  

Now, I'm pretty sure David was speaking figuratively, not literally.  But I'm claiming his prayer both ways! 

I've never heard of sa' much slippin' and slidin'--and fallin'!!  

The ground has been covered with this "snowcrete" for almost two weeks now, and it's still flat-out treacherous outside, no pun intended.  

Early in the snowstorm, my hubby and his coworkers were having trouble standing up as they dragged hoses from propane trucks to customers' tanks.  So their bosses bought them some cleats that slip on over their boots.  

Robin couldn't stop raving about the difference they made, and he ordered a few pairs from a bigbox.com.

After they arrived (poor delivery guy got stuck in our driveway when he brought them) and I had a chance to try them, I was raving about the cleats too.  My steps once again felt secure on the snow and ice. 

But then I fell in the floor by the door!  My legs splayed out like a newborn filly's and I landed in a heap, my knees bent at unnatural angles.  

Fair warning: Ice cleats are for outside, not for smooth floors.  Inside, they become as slippery as, well, walking on ice.

I learned my lesson though, and I warned everyone that we'd gifted cleats to that they'd better take them off by the door.  

In a couple of days, three of the four pairs of our new cleats had broken.  One of my brothers had fallen (again) and hit the ground hard.  

What's a person to do?  Pray Psalm 17 and wait for warm weather, I reckon.  

And shop for better cleats!  They are/can be a game changer! 

February Farm Diary: Day 2

Punxatawny Phil saw his shadow in Philadelphia; I'm pretty sure our local groundhogs didn't see theirs because the sky here was overcast all day.  Therefore, I'm optimistic that we will have an early spring in Kentucky!

Gardeners, they say, are eternal optimists. 

Well, when it comes to gardening, we are.  We forget the previous season's flops and failures and begin spring with big hopes and dreams for beautiful plots without weeds, bugs or diseases.  We imagine bountiful piles of fresh produce and forget the toil and sweat it takes to produce them.  

Does that stop us? It surely does not.  

Our gardens will not be perfect, but we will still delight in them and enjoy the fruits of our labors.  

On this day, which felt so much nicer out because temperatures rose to a balmy 30+ degrees, Chelsea and the kids and myself hiked to my AirBnB to check on things (make sure the heat is still working and the water lines not frozen).  The only way to get to my cabin right now is on foot, and even that is risky.  

 

I wore my new snow cleats and fared okay.  The kids are younger, more nimble, and don't seem to mind slippin' and slidin'.  In fact, they do it on purpose.  

We stopped by the old family cemetery tucked away in the woods and pondered the weathered headstones of our great-great ancestors.  To think that some of our DNA came from those buried on this hillside is a mystery and a wonder.  

What hardships did those families experience?  I'm sure there were many.  

One headstone is that of "Infant Twins."  I could make out a death date of Jan. 17--I forget the year. 

Were the babies stillborn?  Did they die of flu or cholera?  

I feel grateful to those hardy souls who moved in here when life was so much tougher than we have it...no grocery stores, paved roads, modern medicine, etc.  Just determination and self-reliance, and somehow, they kept a family line alive.  

The woods are peaceful, the ground covered in snow, quiet and still.  We saw what we think was two eagles soar over in the direction of the chicken lot, and we contemplated that they must be hungry too.  It must be hard to catch a field mouse when the fields are iced over.  It must be hard for deer to find food too.  

I think the squirrels are fine.  They still have plenty of black walnuts available to eat. 

Things were fine at the cabin; the kids snacked on icicles, and we robbed my guests' snack basket for an impromptu picnic.  

Life is full of toil and trouble, while it brims with beauty at the same time.  

February Farm Diary: Day 1

More often than I'd like, I'm on the inside looking out.  I am thankful for warmth and shelter though! 

I came across a couple of old issues of Farm and Ranch Living magazine the other day as I continued my annual "poke around in the house" during the cold winter season.  I typically do this in January if it's too yucky to be outdoors for very long at a time.  

When the weather fairs up, I plan to be outta here again, Lord willin'! 

Anyway, the magazine included "ag diaries," where farm men and women kept logs of their daily activities and shared them with their readership.  

So, I thought I'd try that here...just as a creative outlet, and perhaps to spread some hope and cheer. 

February 1, 2026: According to our digital thermometer, the temperature was almost 8 the first time I checked this morning.  I suspect it was colder just before daylight, as it typically is, but I wasn't up that early, lol. 

Church was canceled, because the parking lot is essentially a skating rink, but we have Bibles, and we can read them and pray and sing anytime we want to, at this point in American history. For that, I am thankful. 

Our nation seethes with turmoil and trouble right now, and I find myself alternately sad and angry.  In the Scriptures I see hope that, ultimately, truth and justice will prevail.  I pray it happen "on earth as it is in heaven" too, and that evil be exposed and punished!

Let's get back to life on the farm.  

We made a run to stock up on chicken feed and a few groceries this afternoon.  Although the temperature didn't rise much above 20, it was warm in the truck, and the landscape was beautiful with the sun igniting diamond-like sparkles on the snow.  

Back roads are icy all over Madison and Estill counties; I doubt the kids will be in school for at least another week.  Sounds like our grandkids have been living their best life though, with sledding and sleepovers and such. There's "snow" fun like snow days! 

After gathering up groceries for us and the animals, we headed back home for--you guessed it--feed time! 

This is the time of year farmers worked so hard for last summer in the hot sun, harvesting grass, making hay, stockpiling food for the livestock to eat during the icy winter.  

The herd, thank the good Lord, looks healthy right now, considering they wade icy waters with big chunks of ice clattering against their legs to come and eat supper.  After their daily grain, they stand outside in sleet and snow, weak sunshine, whatever, to munch on hay, and they seem quite content to do it. 

Ah, to have the fortitude of an old cow.  They look complacent as they chew and look around, most of the time appearing placid as can be.  They eyeball their world, keep ruminating, and mostly don't get too excited.  They're patient.  

Lord, help me be more like these ol' heifers in the field, not raucous and squawking all the time like our geese, which are the real reason we have to buy chicken feed so often. ;)  

Maybe the cattle innately know spring is coming.  Maybe they don't, and they just take life as it comes.  

There isn't a lot we can do on the farm right now except feed and make sure the animals can get water (i.e., break ice).  

So I've been giving some thought to creating more flower gardens, and I'm thinking it's time to get those tomato seeds ordered.  

I need to clean out the high tunnel soon, and with February here, my thoughts are turning to planting peas! Last year the chickens repeatedly scratched our pea seeds out of the rows until I finally gave up, but this year I'm determined to outfox them. 

Will we be able to plant peas on Valentine's Day, as is the way of an old Appalachian tradition?  Possibly!  

We'll just have to wait and see!  ;) 

As the snow flies

 

I'm sure most of you are well aware, particularly those of you who live in my neck of the woods, but this is Day 5 of Snowmeggedon 2025.  

Many of us are still "snowed in", with no end in sight to the days forecasted to be filled with snow, ice and very cold temperatures. 

Snow has been flying here most of the day.  The wind is carrying it sideways at this moment, but at other times, the breeze subsides and flurries simply float in circular patterns: drifting up, down, around, all rather aimlessly.  

Perhaps you, too, are feeling rather aimless.  I've had moments like that in the past few days.

Currently, going anywhere requires a bit more thought and preparation. There's extra clothing to put on or take with us--that's assuming we've carefully surveyed our driveways to see if we can even make it out of them.  

If we do, can we make it back in without getting stuck? 

I'm cautiously optimistic that I could get out, but there's no real reason that I should, so I think I'll stay put.  

The steep drive to our cottage on the hill is snow and ice-covered, so I have only been up there on foot to check on things.  Even if someone wanted to book a few nights, I'd have to turn them away because the hill is unnavigable right now.  

The woods are dark and deep this week, stark and beautiful in their own way.  This was my view as I hiked back from checking on the cabin.  I had to be careful with my steps, because there's ice under that snow!  

So how does one entertain herself when she's snowed in, staying close to the fire, and all that?  

Well, I read, and I make an effort to resist wasting time on social media.  I try to get outside for an hour or so each afternoon to help with the feeding or just tromp around in the snow.  

The cows are always waiting when feed time approaches, but their hungry looks are more longing than ever when the snow flies!

I make slow food.  Yesterday, I roasted a pumpkin and three small butternut squashes. The oven warmed the house, and the butternut was soooo sweet and good.  I ate most of one with nothing but a little butter on it.  It was buttery in multiple ways--and yummy! 

I packaged most of the pumpkin in small portions to add to my breakfast smoothies.  Blended with some almond milk, protein powder, banana or avocado--or both, and pumpkin pie spice, it's tasty and filling, not to mention full of vitamins and fiber. 

Honestly, it's a bit of a transition to go from the busy-ness of the holiday season to the sudden stripping away of our "normal" routine.  

But isn't this the time we've been craving?  Time to reset, as we look forward to the seasons ahead, as well as time to reflect, to take a long glance back at the seasons past?  

In January, I typically tackle some of those most tedious little tasks of organizing, sorting, and cleaning forgotten little corners where dust has settled most thick. 

If I don't visit those dusty corners in January or February, I most likely won't the rest of the year, because our lives get very busy outside in the spring and throughout the rest of the year. 

Today, I've been cleaning out my largest bookshelf.  I have a lot of books, so cleaning these shelves takes me the better part of a day.  I've emptied one shelf at a time, dusted it, and given it a quick polish, then I've dusted each book with a small brush, wiped it off, and made a decision as to where it should go back in my bookcase.  

Infrequently, I will get rid of a book that I don't love or that doesn't have some sentimental meaning to me.  

Looking through all these books brings back a lot of memories.  

I'll call this my own "Eras tour." 

I found old yearbooks from my middle and high school years.  

There are Bible study books and books about child-rearing.  I have oodles of devotional books and thumbing through them brings to mind different stages of my life when I read them. 

I came across plenty of books about farming and gardening.  

There are lots of textbooks and assigned readings from my college classes.  What a different world that was to me, attending college as a 40-something year old, having all my biases challenged, being forced to consider ideas that I ordinarily wouldn't have.   

I came across a response I'd written to an assigned reading, and I smiled at my "academic" voice.  It is no longer a voice I use very often.  But I could reason and reflect with the best of them back then.  :)

I have a lot of books about writing. I began to read and collect those long before I went to college, because it's something I have always wanted to do. 

I've often read those books then waited for a bolt of inspiration to strike.  But if there's one thing I learned at the paper, you don't wait for inspiration to strike.  You park your butt in a chair and start tapping at the keys.  Only then you will get "in the flow."  

Looking at my shelves, I've noticed a circular nature to my eras.  

Soaking up the Word of God, learning about gardening and farming, raising children, being a "trad-wife," then stepping into the academic world and the working world.  

Now I'm back home on the farm, a business owner, a grandmother, still growing things, and still meditating on the Word.  

I have come to the conclusion that we may sometimes wonder, wander, feel as aimless and unmoored as a January snow flurry, but there's a purpose even to that.   

Even if it's only to get us to slow down long enough to remember where we came from, to think about the direction we are headed, or just to be still and rest every now and then.  

Snowmeggedon 2025 seems like a good time for all of that.  

Stay warm, folks!  💛

My quick tip for roasting pumpkin.  DO NOT attempt to peel it, and there's really no need to gut it either.  I simply washed this one thoroughly, placed some parchment paper on a cookie sheet, plunked the whole pumpkin on it, stabbed it a couple of times to allow steam to escape, then baked it at 350 for about an hour.    Once the pumpkin had cooled a bit, I very easily sliced it, peeled it, and threw out the peelings and seeds for the dogs, birds and chickens to enjoy.  Yes, dogs enjoy roast pumpkin or butternut!  And it's really good for them!  

"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.