It's been three years since our last... supersaturated spring, but that's what we're facing this year.  In the month of May, we received over 30" of rain, most of it in 3"+ downpours.  I think it's so funny that people bemoan the water like it's never happened like this, but I know it has.  I remember when James had to race home from work to fish out chicken coops from our lowlands, which were dramatically flooded.  We've learned not to move the chickens down there until later in the summer.

My labors to lay down mulch last summer and fall have been washed away, as you can see in the background of my blackberries.  These are on higher ground so they look great.  I'm finally getting them cleaned up and trellised properly.

 We planted some extra potatoes in with the mint in our one raised bed, and they may be the only potato harvest we have this year since the other potatoes are probably rotting.

 The weeds are taking over, as it has been too wet for us to get in and weed.  This week we began laying slabs of soaked straw in the walkways so that in the next week of rain, we can still get to the plants to pull weeds.

 The pond is bursting its banks, and I can only imagine the mosquito spawn breeding right now.

 And here are the garlic rows and onions.  This was a week or two ago, so the weeds are bigger, but we're beginning to get them cleaned up.

Our driveway has washed out twice, despite new gravel and repairs.  I think James has found a way to keep the water from destroying the entire drive now, so it will be safe to drive in and out.

I've made a big list of chores for the summer, and we are trying to plow through them now while it's cool.  I have no doubt that, come July, it will be so hot we will miss the rain.  Farming is not about calm weather, but about making the best of the weather we get.

Until next time, remember, this is not paradise.  It's Purgatory Ranch.

Fall is, in general, a less exciting time for blog posts.  I haul water and feed to the three coops each morning before dawn, Daughter #2 feeds and gathers eggs in the afternoon, and we move the one moveable coop three times a week, weather permitting.  The chicken tweens are in a permanent chicken yard for now, until spring comes.  We keep the yard and coop filled with straw and feed the, scraps for interest.

I am dreaming about what I will plant next spring.  Almost all of our seeds are old enough that I’m starting over, and I’m trying hard to be realistic about what we can and will care for.

Fall is a time for using up.  We have sweet potatoes to sell or eat, and I’m on a mission to use up all the odds and ends in the pantry and freezers.  It makes me sad to waste food through neglect, so before we raise chickens and turkeys again, I’d like to use all the meat in the freezers.

Until next time, remember, this is not paradise.  It’s Purgatory Ranch.

Hello, it’s me...

... I was wondering if after all these (months) you’d like to meet... (Adele, “Hello”)

I apologize.  It honestly has only occured to me once or twice that I’ve neglected this little space of the blogosphere.  The week after my last post, we had a stupid, life-altering accident.  Here’s what I wrote on my quilting blog:

I struggled to write this blog post: if I should post, what I should post.  Last Saturday morning, a few hours after my green post, I was working outside with my husband, building a compost bin.  At one point, the tractor bucket slipped off a Tpost, collided with my hand (which I already know should not have been where it was), and was quickly raised by my husband.

Unfortunately, three bones broke in my left (dominant) hand.  My third metacarpal broke, shifted, was pushed down and out of joint.  My first two thoughts?  No more quilting!  How am I going to write?

An ER visit Saturday, a visit to the hand specialist Tuesday, and surgery Wednesday all together mean I’m a threadless, fabric-deprived woman right now.  My hand is so swollen, and moving the fingers is so painful, that at this moment, it’s hard to imagine I’ll ever sew again.

It has been a long, slow, steadily improving recovery.  I don’t think my hand will ever be normal, but I light-years from the writing of that post.  The initial struggles of loss of motion and immense loss of stamina and strength has yielding to smaller, but more humbling struggles.  Writing is painful after a line or two, and what feels like a bone spur in my palm means hoeing, driving t-posts, and cutting with a knife are all troublingly difficult.  There is occasional swelling (minor compared to six months ago), particularly when I overdo.  I am only 7 months out, so another 5 months should bring further progress.

My saintly parents have certainly filled the gap this summer, helping plant tomatoes, peppers, and sweet potatoes, and assisting with harvest and cleanup this fall.  I am, this week, sorting sweet potatoes for storage that my mom planted and dug the bulk.

My strength is returning more quickly than my grip, and I continue to discover work arounds for my challenges.  I am forced to reorder priorities and to lean on the kids more for daily chores.  Our second, who I call Spunky, has taken over the afternoon chicken chores, and we’ve devised a way to move our chicken coops without the tractor!

It is hard to be forced to compromise on food choices because I can’t chop and cut as much, but I’m determined to fight my way through.

I don’t intend this to be a “woe is me” post, but an explanation for a long, unintended absence.  I have great faith that this accident won’t define me by what I can no longer do, but by how I grow.  I found a new favorite song, which I’ve quoted down below.  God has been with me, most particularly during the long, dark, sleepless nights of uncertainty.

Until next time, remember, this is not paradise.  It’s Purgatory Ranch.

I hear your whisper underneath your breath.  I hear you say that you have nothing left.  I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the night.  I will never stop marching to reach you in the middle of the hardest night.  It’s true, I will rescue you.  (Lauren Daigle, “Rescue”)

A Work Day, Abbreviated

Today was supposed to be a busy day.  The list was too long, we already knew, but we'd get as far as we could before dark.

Instead, JoJo woke up at 3:45, so I woke up at 3:45.  Since I didn't want to wake the rest of the family, he and I sat in bed with PK, he watching Chuggington and I stitching down the binding on a quilt.  When everyone else started to stir, James took care of animals and I cooked breakfast.

(We have the happy problem of so many eggs we can't sell them fast enough, so egg eating is important!)

I was exhausted, so after a little cleaning, I went back to bed and slept for (gasp) three hours.  The entire morning was lost, alas, since James can't work outside on the tractor and hold the baby.  He took care of phone calls for church, and I arranged lunch.  We made our monthly run to Costco, which was one of our chores for the day.

Once we returned, the rest of the afternoon was spent outside working on the grapes.  James brought over mulch in the tractor; I shoveled it, tied up grapes, and pruned grapes; Q ran messages to various people; the Assistant watched the babies; Spunky supervised JoJo.  All in all, we accomplished a significant amount even if we only made it through two chores.

(On a side note, we tried the wine I made last fall.  James says it's horrible.  I actually liked the few sips I had, which is hilarious since I notoriously don't like alcohol.  We'll age it further and see if it improves.  If not, we'll be more scientific next round.)

And, yes, it is the wrong time of year to mulch if we want the soil to warm around the grapes.  There are several reasons we are mulching now anyway.  James currently has the time, before the rush of spring.  I wilt once it gets hot, no matter the clothing and hydration choices I make.  Finally, the grapes are trying to bud too early, so cold feet can work in our favor since we still have a decent chance of another solid freeze in the next six week.

Until next time, remember, this is not paradise.  It's Purgatory Ranch.

Life, Inside

Outside, a fox killed a chicken and a guinea.  It's cold (finally, hopefully to destroy the oak mites).  The water freezes.  I can't lift bags of chicken feed or gallons of water yet, so James has manfully taken on all the chicken chores.  The chickens are laying more/again, so our egg bucket is filling again.

Inside, I'm washing eggs and there are eggs for sale again.  Baby PK, born December 14, keeps my arms and heart full.  We're still trying to find a new normal as a family of eight.

One thing I'm trying to do is be more conscious of things I haven't taught the big kids.  For example, gratitude.  We had a family and gift-filled Christmas season, but somehow in my survival of the day to day, I've grown lax at expressing gratitude in the form of thank you notes.  I love to receive them, and actually, I like to write a few at a time.  The trouble for me is there are many, and I feel less grateful when I write "thank you" for the tenth time.  Rarely do I manage to enlist the kids in a low stress manner, if at all.    In additon to the regular gifts, we've been blessedly inundated with meals from friends and parishioners.  Every time I think I'm caught up, generosity is bestowed on us again.

This year, I'm hoping to have each of the three big kids write two notes to extended family.  It's taking  significant time to guide the six-year-old, as I really write the thank you note and he copies it, but I remind myself that I only learned to write thank you notes by the teaching of my parents.  I can do this, and so can they!

Thank YOU for reading, commenting, and supporting our farm.

Until next time, remember, this is not paradise.  It's Purgatory Ranch.