Usually when I sit down to write I have a ton of ideas about different livestock topics, gardening, cooking, and other farm related activities. This past week has been a little different for us here on the farm though. So for a change of pace, this time we’ll talk family, farm and why we do what we do. Last Wednesday, we had a very special delivery arrive. Cierra Leann arrived at lunch time that day weighing 9 lbs. 14 oz!

Cierra and I both made a quick recovery from what was a pretty easy and uneventful birth, despite her size. Friday evening we all came home to spend our first night together as a family of five. Saturday morning was a bright, clear, warm day. Though we had a huge list of things to get done, nobody really felt like doing much. Cierra had her days and nights mixed up horribly, and I think the only one of us that managed to get much sleep that weekend was the dog! Still, life on a farm means working even when you don’t feel like it.

The next few days and nights brought more of the same. Sleepless nights and days full of farm chores. The kids were thrilled when the baby and I took short walks outside. They would follow us from place to place telling the baby all about the animals, what they were, what sounds they made, and what they were used for. William took my spot as “potato picker” with Daddy and helped gather up 3 rows of sweet potatoes before the rains came. Such a big job for a 4 yr. old! Macey stepped up to help feed animals and gather eggs. Neither complained when lunch was a simple sandwich and dinner was late. My fear that they would quickly resent the baby hasn’t come to pass yet, and they both seem thrilled to have a new addition to the family.

Andrew and I are now used to taking shifts through the night. Things are calming down and a new routine is being established. We are now past that rough first week and I must say things are going pretty well.

I take the second nightly baby shift, which has me up alone with Cierra between 2am and 7am. We usually have a good three hours of “girl time” where Little Bit wants to party. Her favorite early morning activity seems to be bouncing with me on an exercise ball in front of the living room windows watching the sunrise. Now I know babies don’t have incredibly good eyesight, but that child’s eyes are glued to the colors in the sky during this time. It is a very peaceful, quiet time, which I have come to enjoy quit a bit.

  It was during one of these sunrise sessions when a realization occurred to me. This is why we do it. For the last few years we have had so many people ask us this one thing: “Why?” This one word may appear short, but it has so many different meanings. Why do we want to live so far away from civilization? Why do we want to farm? Why do we need all those animals? Why work so hard at home instead of being out having fun with friends? Why do we choose to home school when it’s easier to send our children to public school? Why would I “waste” a college degree to sit at home?

  You may call it sleep deprivation, or maybe divine inspiration, but however you want to phrase it I finally figured out the simplest answer for all of these questions. For our children. As the baby sat watching the sunrise, I sat watching her and pondered this new thought. All of those times I have tried to explain our actions, our move, and at times defend our sanity, when I could have just summed it all up with one short sentence.

  My mother used to tell me when I was young that when you are doing what you are meant to be doing with your life, you will know it. And now I finally know what she meant by that. A peace has come into our lives since moving here that we have never had before. Even on the toughest days, we are thankful for our farm and our family and know that we are where we were meant to be. As a teen I had lofty goals of what I would be and where I was going. I started college in high school, and graduated with a Bachelors in Agriculture a year early being just a few credits shy of a double major. My goal had always been to become a veterinarian. My junior year of college Andrew and I got married. At the time I was working as a Veterinary technician for a local animal hospital. During my five years there, I saw just how hard it was for our Vets to have a stable family life and carry their work load. That wasn’t how I envisioned my future any longer. Andrew and I wanted children, and I was simply not willing to put myself in a situation where my career and my family could not happily co-exist. However, I wasn’t quit certain what my future held at that point. I had carried this dream for so long, it was hard to now imagine a different one. Andrew asked me after graduation what I wanted to do now with my life. My response was “be a farmer and a writer.” Now I imagine that this didn’t seem quit as lofty or satisfying of a career choice as being a veterinarian! Luckily instead of laughing at me Andrew just shook his head and said “Alright, what are we going to raise?”

  Those next few years brought several moves, a few different jobs, two babies, and a lot of discussions about how to acquire a farm and what we wanted to do with it. We knew that we wanted to raise our children in a safe place where they could learn lessons not taught in schools. Andrew and I agreed that home-schooling was best for our family. And we wanted to do this on a farm where we could grow our own produce, raise our own meat, and teach the kids about responsibility and where things come from. Besides benefiting our family with healthy and nutritious food, we also wanted to find a niche market where we could cater to others desiring farm fresh, natural products while bringing in a second income for our family. So we chose to invest in katahdin sheep, poultry, and most recently hogs to raise in a non-commercial natural environment. While we mainly grass feed, we do supplement with grain crops when needed but none of our animals are given growth hormones, antibiotics, or other chemicals to “enhance” them.

So now here we are. Celebrating the arrival of our third child, closing in on our one year anniversary on the farm, and writing weekly blog updates to share with our friends. As I sat watching the sunrise that morning, I realized that as crazy as my life may seem to others, I really would have it no other way. I have my dream. Sure life on the farm is much more difficult than living on a lot in the city. Sometimes it rains or snows, you get wet and cold, or bake in the summer heat. Instead of sitting next to a pool we’re chasing a bull or worming sheep. We haven’t had a vacation in years. Our children are home with me all day every day instead of in a public school. There are days when they fight constantly, and these times are frustrating. Then there are times when they amaze me with their kindness towards each other, and do things that simply melt your heart. Our lives are not perfect, but they are rich and full.

  Recently I received a phone call from a family friend. He was my neighbor for nearly 25 years, had watched me grow up, and has farmed all his life. He asked how farm life was treating me. I replied honestly that we have never worked so hard, been so tired, and had so many things to do in our lives. No matter how much we get done, at the end of the day it seems our list is longer and not shorter. There is always something that needs repair, and never enough money in the bank to accomplish it all. He sounded concerned at first, and told me he was sorry to hear that. He asked if there was anything he could do to help and if we needed anything. I told him, “No, we’re doing just fine!” I then told him about how much the kids loved helping with farm chores, how we had saved our sick lamb we were sure was going to die, what joy we received this year in growing our own beef and veggies. Then we talked about the fruit trees and berry bushes we planted this year, how fast our pigs are growing out, and how excited we all were about the new baby coming. We talked about how fast kids grow, and what wonderful lessons they are learning from their experiences here. It felt good sharing these things with someone who I knew would understand. In our entire conversation, he never asked why. He didn’t have to, he already knew. That’s the thing about farming. Once you live it, you no longer ask why. Every farmer knows the reason is love. Love for your family, for the land, for growing or harvesting that which you raised by your own hand. When Andrew and I sit down at the dinner table each night, we look around and smile. Our "why" is sitting there with us, we do this for our children. 

When will I learn that taking time doesn’t steal from my day, but adds to it? It’s a lesson I repeat again and again ... and again. When will it stick?

For many mornings in a row, my husband, Michael, has been getting up when I do to feed the animals and let the dog out, which I really appreciate. It means I don’t feel quite as compelled to race with the clock. It also means that I shower, get dressed, and come downstairs pretty much ready to walk out the door, hop in the car, and start the commute to work.

This morning, though, Michael stayed in bed, and I was the one taking Charley out. And then I remembered what I’ve been missing, and how lovely that time of day is.

As I stood waiting for Charley to do his business, I saw a doe and her young spotted fawn in the sun-dappled woods. The mother was quietly leading the fawn away from us, but the baby stopped at the sight of Charley, her curiosity seemingly getting the better of her as she stared at this black and white creature, who was thankfully oblivious. Instincts eventually took over and she scampered down the hill.

Walking back to the front door, I spotted two different kinds of mushrooms sprouting in the yard and some fascinating fungi I didn't recognize, which reminded me of how long it has been since I spent any time digging in the dirt, getting close to the earth.

It was as if I was seeing things with fresh eyes, and, in a way, I suppose I was.

We’ve been away the past two long weekends at art fairs in Michigan and Minnesota, where Michael has enjoyed selling his art and cultivating contacts and fans. I had a great time being with him and living the gypsy life, but homebody that I am, any time away seems like forever.

I returned to blooming daylilies and herbs growing wildly in their pots, and to life winding down, in the form of my friend Tammy, who lays tethered to a hospital bed, ventilator helping her breathe, unable to speak, looking at me with eyes I’m not sure recognize me.

This has been my long way of getting to that topic, I guess. Wanting to write about it – about her – and not knowing how to bring it up. So there it is. My friend, my former neighbor, the woman whose laughter rang out across our yards, whose sangria packed a wonderfully tasty punch, whose fastidious gardens put my weeding skills to shame, whose stuffed shells begged to be eaten immediately, no matter if we’d just had dinner – she’s 50 years old and at the end of her life.

I wish I could say it is cruel fate, and perhaps in a way it is. Knowing Tammy, I think it is mostly the result of fear. As Marianne Williamson says in A Return to Love, “We’re more afraid of life than we are of death.” The truth is, the Tammy I came to know and love exited a long time ago, hiding from life in a bottle.

I miss her. And I’m embracing her failing state as a wake up call. Choosing to not live fully – to face our fears, chase our dreams, celebrate the day, love to the best of our ability – is to choose a kind of death.

When I quit smoking many years ago, I got through the toughest cravings by taking sharp, quick breaths and boxing an imaginary enemy, repeating the mantra in my head, “Choose life. Choose life.”

I wish that Tammy could box her way out of this one, could come out swinging. But if she doesn’t, I’ll honor her in the way I know best – by letting my laughter ring out, by shoving the coffee table aside and dancing to Motown, by taking joy in my home, my art, my books, my gardens, my family, my friends. By living the way she longed to live, that she once lived, but for reasons I’ll never really know, no longer can.

I see Tammy as she was, lingering over a cup of coffee on the front porch, then meandering through the yard, coffee cup still in hand, pulling a random weed, deadheading spent flowers, nurturing the life around her, savoring the beauty she created.

She knew how to take time. Thinking of Tammy – as she was then, as she is now – maybe the lesson will finally stick.

Just like that, it’s summer.

Which means the spring issue of my illustrated zine Stop and Smell the Butter, which started as the winter issue, is woefully behind schedule. The new sandals that need to be purchased, the warm-weather clothes I meant to buy before the warmest weather hit – clearly not happening in time. All the To Do’s at work that I intended to accomplish before my annual June review – ha.

But rather than stress out – just like that, it’s summer.

The pool beckons for a swim.

The rocking chairs on the front deck call for leisurely conversation.

The screen porch invites me to linger over a glass of wine.

The early morning light brings with it joyful bursts of bird songs, prompting me to lay in bed with my love a little longer, listening.

We don’t use air conditioning, in small part because our inefficient central air needs servicing, in large part because we spend the coldest months of the year longing for summer’s heat, for windows wide open to fresh air and the sounds of the forest.

I admit, I sometimes feel like the women in Harper Lee’s Maycomb, who “by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.” But as much as I dislike perspiring profusely when I’m getting dressed for work, I don’t mind at all the slower pace that comes with summer.

For me, it’s the season of surrender. It’s as if Mother Earth commands me to pay attention, to live in the moment. To savor “real” strawberries, the first ones of the year from Michigan, bought at the farmer’s market. To drink in the first light of morning that filters through the trees. To linger into the inky darkness of evening on the porch, our faces barely illuminated by light from the kitchen. To take my time heading for the office in the morning, knowing that it might mean working late, but knowing too that the forest rarely feels as alive as it does in the hours before the sun reaches the treetops.

Just like that, it’s summer.

The woods have filled in. The plants around the pool (the only place I can grow them) are lush with life. The tree frogs trill an occasional hello. A cardinal has taken up residence on a nest just outside the front door. A raccoon and her baby peek from the hollow tree in the neighbor’s yard.

Just like that, it’s summer. The windows are wide open, and my worries have sailed off on the breeze.

How can a man (Wayne Coyne) and a band (The Flaming Lips) inspire us here at Feed Me Farms? It all began on New Year’s Eve. We decided to take a well earned break from the farm and drive through snow and sleet to see The Flaming Lips play their hometown of Oklahoma City on this celebratory evening.

As soon as we hit the city limits, we began to see the positive influence that this band has had on their hometown. Instead of heading for the bright lights and big time status of living in L.A., New York or any other glamorous urban setting, they have chosen to stay in Oklahoma and help their States tourism and economy. And what a great job they’ve done. Wayne and his band mates have turned the ordinary into extraordinary. If more people did this, the world would be a much better place to live. No matter where in the world that might be, from small rural farms to big urban sprawl.

I picked up a local paper in the lobby of our hotel upon check-in and to my delight found an article called “10 for 2010.” To my surprise and delight, the first person listed was Wayne Coyne and his 10 for 2010:

1. To see U.F.O.s come down and enlighten all humans
2. To see all humans be kind to animals
3. To see religious fanatics disappear
4. To see the Pentagon levitate
5. To see Global Warming stop
6. To see marijuana de-criminalized
7. To see humans give love instead of taking it
8. To watch the Oklahoma (or in our case ,Texas) sunset more often
9. To sleep late
10. To accept things we cannot control

I was immediately drawn to Wayne’s wonderful philosophy and decided, right then and there, what my new year resolutions would be. I would adopt his and add 10 for 2010 of my own:

1. To live every day with no regrets and fill our life with art, music, entertainment and laughter
2. To think less of what I want and need
3. To think more about what I have and can do with it
4. To savor the smell of fresh hay, freshly turned dirt and green pastures
5. To savor the joy in finding a hidden egg or newborn farm animal on any given day
6. To really love those around me – be it family, friend or animal
7. To make things grow so that I can feed the minds, bodies and souls of those around me
8. To enjoy the simple pleasures of fresh food, a good bottle of wine and the time spent preparing it with the one I love
9. To embrace middle age and what it really means to be happy with yourself
10. To bloom where you’re planted!

So as we begin a new year here at the farm, these 10 + 10 will play a role in our philosophy here. It may not be the most glamorous of lives, and it’s not what I ever dreamed of when growing up, but it is where I’ve landed, and I really love it. I have come to realize that life is what you make of it, not what others make for you. I want to find the extraordinary everyday in the ordinary everyday.

Thanks Wayne!