Saturday, December 16, 2017

All Because

As I open the laptop to write today, a beautiful red cardinal sits perched on the hemlock out front.  Hello, Mom. 

While I am always grateful for these little feathered reminders of you, I wish you were here today in person to tell me what turned your eye from the practical jokester Jerry to his best friend, Roger.  I wish you were here to tell me about the dance you two went to in the snowstorm where you were crowned queen.  I wish you were here to tell me about his proposal on New Year's Eve, one you must have seen coming and yet one that surely made your heart leap just the same. 

I wish you were here to tell me what it was like to start your life together so far from your homes, where you didn't know a soul, in the middle of a war, making plans for a life with so much uncertain around you.  I wish you were here to tell me what went through your mind, when despite being a teacher, your husband still got drafted and the least of your worries was whether he'd get his job back, or moving everything to North Carolina and then to Louisiana.  I wish you could tell me what it was like for you, living with your parents with a baby, waiting out basic training knowing the next step was Viet Nam.  I wish you could tell me the relief you felt when he was chosen instead, for an office position stateside, and eventually when he was able to leave the Army behind ahead of schedule and resume your life with two young children.

I wish you were here, Mom, to talk about what was hard in marriage and what made you laugh out loud.  What memories would you have from the early years that would still be with you now, as treasured as gold?  What hard times have turned themselves into blessed experiences that forever strengthened your bond with each other?

I wish you were here, Mom, to know the babies you held, the children you read to, the teenagers you counseled have turned into parents themselves.  I wish you could know your amazing grandchildren!  I wish you could see Jacob's curls - straight from you!  I wish you could hear Emily giggle or see Robby's dimples, or the golden hair on Adalene or the mischievous grin on Little Garrett - they are all like you in so many ways.  Every one of your grandchildren has a heart of gold, an amazing sense of humor and a caring spirit for others that all come from a grandmother they never met. 

I wish I could take you to my classroom.  I wish you could be there for Fairy Tale Friday, or the day we hatch chickens.  I wish you were here to remind me some days of all the reasons you always believed I'd be a writer, to help me overcome the fear.  I wish you were here to remind me sometimes that God is good (all the time) or that prayer matters, or even that this is just the beginning.  I wish you were here to tell me what to do when my child breaks my heart, or when I miss him more than I can stand.  I wish you were here so I could apologize for ever breaking yours, or for not knowing how to handle my emerging adult life with the ending of your yours.

I wish you were here to meet James.  Oh how you would love this man.  Not just because he loves Dallas, or old county music, or even because for his big soft heart.  You'd love him for how he loves your daughter; for how he makes me laugh and how he comforts me when I cries.  You'd love him for his shameless sense of humor, his deep-rooted love for farming and the way he indulges your daughter with my crazy plans.

While I might wish every day that you were here, I will forever be grateful for all the days you were.  I will forever give thanks that you spent my whole life being the best mom I could ever wish for or dream of.  I might wish for more conversations, more time to know you, more years together, but I am so very grateful for all that you and Dad gave to us kids, even when it seemed like you had very little at all.  We were and are a family that loves each other deeply, has faith in all that is good and we are a family who still laughs far more often than we cry.  We are a family who still believes in the power of family, who still believe that God is good (all the time) and who truly understand how precious and short life really is.

We are a family.  All because two people fell in love (thankfully) too young to know how hard the road would get.  We are a family, a very blessed, very successful, very loving family all because fifty years ago today, those two people who fell in such amazing love together got married.

I wish you were here today, Mom.  I wish we were having a huge family dinner, I wish we were raising a glass and I was wiping away these tears as I led a toast.  I'm sure I would have agonized over finding the perfect gift for the occasion, even though I know that having your whole family around would have been the only gift you ever wanted.

Happy Fiftieth Anniversary, Mom (and Dad).  I love you both so very much and I will forever work to make my marriage, my life, my legacy as amazing as the ones you forged together.  All because you people fell in love.

Sunday, November 05, 2017

I can vividly remember a conversation I had with The Mister, even though it was nearly seven years ago when it happened.  I remember talking about his new house and the renovations he had in mind for it.  I remember talking about baseball, first dates and how I never let a guy buy me drinks.  I remember it so clearly because I was so focused on this man, his words, his body language.  Despite a crowded room, noisy televisions and conversations all around us, he had my complete and undivided attention that night and many, many days and nights since.

I do not remember well all the things he said, however, when he proposed.  I know we talked about his family while we walked through the park that night, but beyond that I don't recall much of anything.  It wasn't that he didn't have my attention that night, it was that my attention and energy was on trying to make him feel less nervous, to make the stroll seem more ordinary, to make him feel less vulnerable, to make the moment feel less life-changing than it was.  I don't like people to feel uncomfortable and that night, my energy was focused solely on getting to the other side of the proposal, getting to the part where The Mister was his fun, lovable self instead of the nervous, vulnerable man before me.  My concern for him was so great, in fact, that I even said, "No!" when he started to get down on one knee, as it was more than my heart could bear to have this man, this amazing, strong man kneeling before me.  No isn't what you're supposed to say, however when a man is kneeling in front of you with a gorgeous ring, but my heart was in the right place, I swear.

In both cases, I was listening to the love of my life.  He had my heart and soul's attention but in very different ways.  I dare say I was a better listener the night he proposed despite not being able to recall any of his rehearsed romantic lines.

The Mister and I have both noticed, more and more as the years go by, how much we enjoy just sitting with family or friends, talking and listening.  Our frustrations with social events seem to always be about how it was hard to hear, or difficult to talk with everyone or even how children are dismissed from conversations when we'd love to see them included.  I've also noticed and The Mister has endured many many after school conversations about how bad my students are at listening.  They are completely unaware that they are interrupting a conversation and they are eager to talk but have no interest in what the other person has to say.  It's actually a skill I try to teach, explicitly, in my classroom.  A few years ago, I had a student in my classroom with special needs that moved part way through the year.  On his last day with my class, we sat in a circle and each student chose to share a compliment about this student as a little send-off.  A fellow student said, "He is a great listener.  He even looks at you when you are talking!"  It was completely and utterly true.  But it saddened me that it was so rare that it stood out so much from this one amazing student.

Just a few years ago when I was working on my Master's degree, I was shadowing my principal when I asked her how she dealt with difficult parents, a key component to that position.  She said, "Most of the time, I just listen.  People just want to be heard.  Once they are heard, their anger often subsides and we can work together on a solution, but from the start, I just let them talk and I show them that they have my full attention and concern."  I wondered then as I continue to wonder now, could listening be the solution to most of the problems we face?

Maybe that's a pretty large jump to make, but it bears consideration.  There's nothing unique in this idea, certainly.  I have books dedicated to the topic that I use with my students .A simple Google or Amazon search would reveal thousands more, I'm sure.  If, at my next social gathering  I asked if people think that listening is a lost art, I'm sure most would emphatically agree.  But we continue to move in a direction that puts being understood above understanding.  Social media is about putting out into the world all the things I want to express.  Not only do we engage in fewer face-to-face conversations anymore (even phone calls were a back and forth proposition but how often now do we text instead of talk?) we now routinely engage in one-sided dialogues about life.  What we express is the point, not what people express back.  Facebook doesn't have a button that says, "I found your point interesting and I'd really like to discuss it further."  Even as I type, I'm aware that I'm writing a blog post, a very one-sided expression of ideas that starts and stops with the ideas from my mind alone.

It seems more and more we are caught up in all the things we are trying to accomplish. It has stopped being about connecting and started being all about what have we done.  Just wait until next month when the Christmas cards roll around.  Isn't every letter a list of accomplishments?  It's not hard for me to recognize that connecting with people is just part of my personality.  Given a genie in a bottle, I'd wish for the opportunity to talk with my mom again, or my grandma.  There's so much about them that I don't know, that I want to understand as an adult, so much I didn't think to ask before.  Even as I write "talk with my mom", the truth is, I'd really just like to sit and listen.  For as along as I possibly could.  I was so busy talking when she was here, but never listening.

It's worth considering as well, that not everyone cares what other people have to say.  The narcissists of the world are not small in number, I fear.  Is this trait taught? Is it taught unintentionally?  Is it necessary?  I could as easily, perhaps make an argument that focusing on ourselves and our needs is important, too.  While that might help us solve our own problems and satisfy our own needs, will it solve the world's?

A couple months ago, I was out with a friend for lunch.  We talk often, but rarely do we talk deeply about topics outside of our shared profession.  Even on this occasion, her comments were superficial at best about other things going on, but I could tell more was on her mind than she was saying.  I kept my response on the surface as well, saying only, "It sounds to me like..." but in that one sentence, something unlocked.  She knew I had heard what she was really saying and she felt safe enough to start talking about the bigger issue.  Later, she wrote me a note and even bought us a small gift in appreciation.  Feigned as gratitude for looking after their animals while they were gone, she later confided it was for listening and giving her a voice for her concerns.  The problem found a solution shortly after our conversation and her entire demeanor changed.  She had been heard.  And that was all she needed.

The Mister continues to be my favorite listener.  Whether I ramble for an hour (or two) about school, nudge in my not-so-subtle ways about an idea I have, or whether I say nothing at all, he knows what I mean.  He gets me.  He hears not only the words, but the lack thereof sometimes.  He hears not only my tone but my pain, or my joy that I'm trying to disguise.  Maybe that's why I married that man who spoke about sports and home remodeling from the bar stool next to mine.  Maybe it's because when I said that night that my idea of a perfect first date was a minor league baseball game and he said, "So I have to wait until Spring to ask?" I knew, right then and there, in a crowded bar on a Saturday night, that this man had heard everything I was saying.  Right from my heart to his.  I wonder, I worry, I pray that I am half the listener he is.

Maybe, just maybe that's as simple and yet as complicated as it gets.  We just need to listen.

Wednesday, November 01, 2017

The Push

Sleep and I don't get along.  I have, over the years, attributed my insomnia to many things.  Usually stress.  September and October tend to be my worst months, so it only makes sense to blame the pressures of  a new school year on my lack of quality sleep. The truth is, it isn't stress.  Or perhaps more honestly, it isn't only stress that keeps me awake at night.  It's words. 

I write in my head all the time.  I compose, recompose, edit, alter and rewrite emails I'll never send, conversations long since over, scenes I wish had come out differently.  I work each one through, creating the perfect comeback, retort, explanation or expression for my feelings, often taking hours of sleep away just to find satisfaction in what I should have said, might have written or could have expressed better.

Tonight is no different. 

Years ago, I felt God pushing me.  I was unsettled, searching and uncertain about my direction in life.  I was single, a parent, a homeowner, gainfully employed, but I was lost.  It took me nearly three years to finally make a major move - sold my house, uprooted my child and moved - to rediscover a calling I had been ignoring.  I found myself back in the classroom, teaching in a state I had never lived in.  God knew where I needed to be, I just had to be willing to follow.

I've been feeling it again.  I've been complaining and whining and stressing but it wasn't until a few recent conversations that I've finally been able to articulate what's really going on.  I feel a push.  I don't think a cross-country move, or the selling of my home, or uprooting my family is necessarily in order this time (you can breathe a sigh of relief now, Chief), but a change is coming.  All things considered, my own mother could have predicted this change and she's been gone quite a long time now.  I recently spoke with my dad about my frustrations with my career and my need to do something that brings passion back into my livelihood.  When he, in his calm, wise, paternally protecting manner suggest I do more writing, I wondered how he had enough restraint in him to not just say, "DUH, Amy.  WRITE."  Anyone who knows me knows I love to write.  Obviously, just looking at how long I've been blogging, writing isn't a new idea at all.  I might just be the last one to admit the truth of the direction God is pushing me.

Just this week, at school, we recognized our students of the month.  I teach second grade, so the "ceremony" was little more than a pizza lunch with parents, a short, redundant paragraph read by each teacher and a colorful, clip-art filled certificate for each recipient.  And yet, I couldn't leave it at that.  I saved my "speech" for last of all my colleagues, knowing they wouldn't be happy if I went first and they read their trite statements after, but I expounded on the need to celebrate more than just the child in front of us, but all the people who shaped, educated, raised and loved this child.  While I may have quoted Hilary and her over-used "it takes a village" concept, in a few short sentences, I painted a broader picture of the importance of working together to create life-long learners and genuinely true democratic citizens of our global world.  I'll admit, it was probably a bit too philosophical for my pizza-and-coloring-page audience, but it was my 30 second stage and I took advantage of it.  Several people commented later, each and every one saying something along the lines of, "you always write the perfect thing".  Writing isn't new to me.  Sometimes it isn't even hard.

And yet it is. But it feels like I'm turning a corner.  I've always loved to write, I've always kept a journal, a notebook, jotted stories, written speeches, notes on my phone, ideas for's just who I am.  But just saying that makes me realize it's bigger than that, it's who I am.  On one such note, I have a quote that I picked up along the way by my favorite author, Barbara Kingsolver.  It says, "The very least you can do with your life is to figure out what you hope for.  And the most you can do is live inside that hope.  Not admire it from a distance, live right inside it, under its roof."  I need to stop saying I like to write and start believing I am an author.  Live inside it, Amy.

And that's where it gets scary.  When my dad suggested I write, the unspoken suggestion was that I write with perhaps more intention and frequency.  "Without concern to content" is a free pass to creativity, but living under the roof of my hope to truly be an author means I need to write with intention, purpose and craft.  Maybe not right away, but the kind of writing I've always dabbled in has allowed me to be as lazy, imperfect and uncompromising as I want to be.  To move into the next phase is to actually put appropriate effort, time and care into it.  I likened it to why my dad doesn't golf anymore - the time it takes to really be good at it, has to match the desire. 

But I suspect sometime in me has the desire to really be good at it.  Not just along the "I've impressed a group of elementary parents" good, but truly good.  Good like my name is on the cover of a children's book, or good like I've been asked to present at a conference good.  A new level of good.  But good takes work.  It takes time.  It take a vulnerability that scares the shit out of me.  It isn't hard for me to impress my own class of eight year olds with a story I wrote.  But can I impress adults? 
Could I ever impress a publisher?

Live inside it, Amy.

So, lying awake at midnight on a Tuesday night, I feel the lyrics of Anna Nalick running through my head, "Two a.m. and I'm still awake writing this song, if I get it all down on paper it's no longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to."  This push I feel, is a need to find my passion once again.  God has used multiple people in many different ways lately to say the same words - "Write, Amy".  And so I shall.  I have no idea what that writing will look like, be about or even the structure it might take on.  But I am going to write.

For five years, I participated in NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month - in November.  The goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days, something I accomplished all five times (I even have a poster).  I haven't done it in years, but this seemed like a good impetus.  Years ago, I wrote a novel - one half during one year's NaNoWriMo, and the other half during the next year.  I printed it out months later, with the idea that I would go back, edit it and make it actually worth reading.  I was eating dinner out alone while Jacob was at youth group at church, and a person saw me marking up pages in a binder and said, 'Is that a novel?  Did you write it?"  It was one of my favorite moments in all my life.  Being able to answer yes to both was somehow so gratifying, even though I knew then (and even more so now) that the novel was absolute crap.  It was a bucket-list accomplishment for me.  I never opened that binder again. 

It's time to add a new bucket-list item.  Get published.  Somewhere, somehow, some day, get my name in print. 

Bear with me over the next thirty days as I write with abandon.  No clear direction, no pre-defined topic or structure, but just writing.  Maybe somewhere along the way I will find a spark, or nugget of something that will turn into something more.  Maybe I will know the direction I am headed once I get moving on this journey (or maybe I'll just rule out a few directions!) All I know, is when I hear my dad say something to me that sounds so very much like the exact words my mom would have said ("She'll either be a teacher, a lawyer or an author!") I think it's time to sit up and pay attention.

Thanks, Dad (and Mom) for the nudge.  Having given me this talent some forty-odd years ago, it's completely within your rights to suggest I finally get off my duff and get around to putting it to use!  The Mister is just going to have to get used to my side of the bed being empty at times (probably an improvement from the tossing and turning he's grown accustomed to sleeping with me!) As Dad said, "What have you got to lose?"

Live inside it, Amy.  Live inside it.

Sunday, October 22, 2017




Thursday, October 12, 2017

Our Farm Logo

After far more ado than would seem necessary to get to this point, we finally have a logo for our farm!  I am super excited about this!!  Not only is it awesome to have something so "official", but it also all but guarantees that there must be a calf and chickens in my future!!

Thursday, October 05, 2017

I was telling the Mister about my day, specifically about how I was trying to explain to the kiddos how words with "wh-" used to be pronounced differently (and still are in England) when he says, "like whore?"

And this is how conversations about teaching second grade just come to a screeching halt in my house. 

Friday, September 01, 2017


Some of our favorite feathered friends have been spending the summer months on Someday Farm.
This beautiful blue heron liked to hang out on the dock.  He was very skittish, so I had to creep down the lane and tiptoe through the weeds in order to get a good look at him.

The green heron lives out back in the marsh.  

I saw him from my bathroom window, crept out the back door and down the deck stairs with my camera (all in my pj's!) to see what he was up to.  He sat and sat and sat and then swooped in for a bite to eat!  Not sure if he caught a frog or a little fish or what he has, but it was gone in a flash!

The Garden

We moved the asparagus patch to the fenced in garden.
 It took off right away!
We have another raised bed ready to plant more asparagus next year. 

Our bean plants produced like crazy this year!  
We have bags and bags in the freezer already!

The cucumbers were perhaps the most prolific, (second only, of course to cherry tomatoes).
We had HUGE long cucumbers, meant for a family much larger than ours,
as well as delicious little pickles!
Even the strawberry plants that we moved (and lets NEVER do that again!) are thriving!
They are blooming and getting a few berries even in August!

Of course, tomatoes.  WAY too many tomatoes!
I might have gotten a little carried away in planting this year!
We have canned stewed tomatoes, tomato sauce,frozen roasted cherry tomatoes and even some tomato paste and we still have oodles!
This weekend, we are going to try canning salsa!

This is a panoramic view of the garden (so we remember what not to do next year!)  
We will certainly cut back on tomato plants next year, and we will move the sweet potatoes to someplace where they won't interfere with other plants!  
The Mister has also added more raised beds for me to move my herb garden and to get some rhubarb growing.  While I love having my herbs right outside my door, they aren't getting enough sun to produce much.  I look forward to next year and all the herbs we might have!

All in all, this has been the best garden we have ever grown.  The Mister put in so much work fencing it in, tilling, framing beds and even helping me build better supports for the tomato plants in the middle of the season.  I am so very grateful for all his work in making my little dream of a garden come true!  

Thursday, July 27, 2017


I wake to the robin rehearsing his song over and over as if performing a Shakespearean soliloquy in the trees.  I finish the book I started before bed and then venture out in my pajamas to see Charlotte.  Always eager to play (and escape into the house), she joins me on the porch as we ease into our day.  Sometimes the deer are under the apple tree.  Sometimes the cows are already lying under the pines.  She stays with me until her love tank is full and then heads off to see what playthings are nearby.  Maybe a dead leaf has landed in the drive.  Perhaps a piece of mulch is on the bricks. I head into the house then to get my day started - every option open to me.  I usually start on the elliptical - "worst things first" I always tell my students.  Some days I head to the garden after that.  Charlotte happily accompanies me, following close behind as we stroll down the path.  Once inside the garden gates, she often wants to play.  Hands picking weeds are prey to be pounced on.  Tomatoes, potatoes and corn provide excellent cover for a kitten trying to hide.  I tend to weed a little, pick a little, nibble this or that.  Beans are bountiful; tomatoes just starting to ripen, cucumbers ready faster than we can eat them.  I love time in the garden.  Even drenched in sweat, covered in dirt, the garden is so beautiful this year.  The Mister not only built a beautiful perimeter, but has continually adjusted the watering system to the needs of our dear plants.  

About this time, The Mister is usually home.  He sometimes has a project or two in the garden - tilling, fixing supports or moving a sprinkler head.  Every day he checks his corn.  We ate our first two ears this week, it will soon ripen faster than we can devour it.

My afternoons are for dabbling in school work.  I only do what is fun and excites me for the year to come.  There will be time later for all the "necessary" preparations to begin.  For now, I amend presentations, create math stations, organize my thinking and plan out lesson ideas.  My mind is constantly thinking about school ideas.

Late afternoon is for porch sitting.  Sometimes I'm snapping beans.  Sometimes I'm just moving the sprinkler on the grass seed.  Every day is for holding a kitten.  She comes up from under the bushes, happy to sleep on a lap instead of the mulch.  She'll sleep and play and sleep and play.

The Mister and I cook dinner together.  He is in charge of the grill, I handle everything else.  It isn't time consuming or taxing.  We keep it simple, fresh and light most days.  Potatoes are always available from the garden so they are often on the menu; roasted, boiled, baked or fried with onions.  We end our evenings with a couple episodes of something streamed on TV.  Right now it's "Blue Bloods", a show we are both enjoying immensely.  No real violence, great character development and superb family morals.

We head to bed together, The Mister to sleep, me to start a new book.  The robin sings to me at dusk, a bookend to my day.

I tell The Mister every day how lucky we are.  How beautiful our summers are.  How relaxed and blessed I feel.  Stress will come, the pace will quicken soon enough, but for now, we are enjoying the simple, steady, slow cadence of summer.

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

What You Didn't Know

Whether it's on the porch, couch, in the car or at the counter eating together, we are often side by side.  Even seated at a table in a restaurant, we always sit in adjoining seats.  I only realized today when we chose a booth at lunch, how rarely I sit directly across from you.

The restaurant was all-but deserted, which meant my people-watching was limited to the man seated across from me.  That's not a complaint in the least, in fact, it felt more like a date than a quick bite on a Tuesday afternoon while we were out for a Jeep ride.

It was your eyes that caught my attention.  While I know they are green, they seemed today to be especially iridescent.  Maybe it was the blue of your shirt, or the sunlight through the window, I don't know, but they just seemed to have more than the usual amount of twinkle.  The well-earned laugh lines touch me to my core.  I always wanted someone to grow old with, and those beautiful lines are evidence that you are doing that very thing with me.

Your face is full of sunshine - a mix of tan and pink from the sun.  You lift your cap just the way my granddad used to - the only other farmer I ever loved.  Your arms, full of poison ivy and raspberry scratches will always mark you as a hard working man.  Your already-worn ring gives the impression that we've loved each other far longer than we have - a sentiment I've felt since the day I met you.

You eat with passion.  Every morsel is savored, and you have this look when a particularly delicious bite touches your lips.  With the simplest of lines, "I would never abandon a sandwich!" you make me laugh from the pit of my soul.  Your humor is easy, fun and welcomed.

These are the moments I hope to remember forever, the feelings I wish I could bottle.  This is how I fall in love with you again and again.

And you thought we were just having lunch.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Back Home

Joining my aunt and uncle in a trip to Michigan, my dad and Judy decided to come a few days early to visit and hang out.  The Mister and I were both on vacation, so Dad suggested we think about maybe a day trip somewhere, since we had the time.  During a bout of insomnia, an idea crossed my mind, one that enticed me.  I dismissed the notion knowing how many times Dad and Judy had been there before and my assumption that they had no desire to return so soon, however, Dad called me later that same day saying, "feel free to say no, but I had this idea..." and suggested the very idea that had come to me at 4 am.  Let's go home.  Together.  You can't argue with an idea that comes together like that.  I don't think The Mister nor Judy got much of a vote (although we did entice them with all the great food we could think of back home!)

Back home.  

Home has been so many places for me - Illinois, Pennsylvania, Michigan, even Iowa and Louisiana had short stints in there as "home".  But "home" being "the place where I started from", is only found in one place, Woodstock, Illinois.  We figured I hadn't been back there since probably 2002, when Dad and Judy moved to TN.  The town is most known for being the home of Dick Tracy and where the movie "Groundhog Day" was filmed.  For us, however, it's home.

Our trip, I hate to admit, was centered a lot around food.  There were some MUST eats, like chocolate long johns from Swiss Maid Bakery and an Italian beef sandwich from what was Beef Villa.  We also felt like a twist cone was mandatory from DQ and we stopped long enough to bring back Julie's favorite deep-dish pizza.  We spent much of the rest of the time driving around, looking at all the places that were significant to my growing up.  We saw my elementary schools, middle school and much-renovated high school.  We drove by three houses my parents had lived in and I took pictures of the two that I had grown up in.  For the first time for all of us, we spent the night in a local hotel, something that seemed extremely odd given this was our hometown.  

We reminisced a lot.  I teased Dad that I should have used his old Dictaphone and recorded his commentary for all time.  I will never remember all the stories, people or places, but I left Woodstock having learned - or been reminded of - a few key things.

Dad told about how he and Mom used to make all their "major decisions" at the Dog-N-Suds.  As he spoke, it was obvious that the location, while used repeatedly, wasn't relevant.  The desire to make decisions as a team was the priority.  Whether talking about housing, jobs or perhaps even me, they sat together and talked it over together.

Food was meant to be shared.  The Italian beef sandwiches that I remembered being in our house were most often for a gathering.  Whether my parents were hosting the new teachers, a graduation party or the neighborhood, a roasting pan of beef and long baguettes of delicious bread filled our counters!  We decided to stick with the tradition of sharing and after having our own meal together, we took five pounds home for the weekend to share with the rest of the family!

No matter which house we were parked outside of, the conversation always turned to the neighbors.  My parents met most of their life-long friends over the proverbial back-yard fence.  Neighbors were more important than the layout of the house or the amount of acreage in the yard.

We celebrated accomplishments as a family.  Whether a band or choir concert, piano recital, little league game or performance on stage, Dairy Queen was the celebratory choice afterwards. Family bike rides would even sometimes stop mid-way through for a quick twist cone or chocolate malt. Just pulling up, standing at the counter to order, I felt as though I ought to have done something to earn it that evening!  

Catching up doesn't happen on social media.  It happens Wednesday night, at the summer band concert in the square, where the town gathers.  Within seconds of walking under the cobblestone entrance, Dad and Judy ran into people they knew.  The entire time we were there, they were talking and laughing with people they hadn't seen in years.  We even saw a teenager we were certain belonged to a family we knew - generations of our life coming together.  

Finally, I was reminded that a grave site is just that.  Visiting the cemetery where Mom's headstone is holds nothing for me.  It doesn't remind me of her, it doesn't make me miss her, it doesn't even feel like her.  Walking along the town square, remembering the shop she and I bought my prom dress at, the place we used to come to pay the utility bills, the place we took family pictures after Julie's wedding - those all remind me of my mom.  I had to stop and catch my breath at one point feeling like time stood still and I could have been ten years old all over again, looking around for her.  Short of the farm she grew up on, my home town feels like it is bursting with memories of my mom.  It is the place where she lived - the cemetery only marks the day she stopped calling Woodstock home.

I am so grateful for this trip.  I am so grateful that my dad was right beside me for it, reminding me of so many sweet memories.  I am also grateful for Judy and The Mister, as they not only tolerated this trip down Wilson-Memory-Lane, but they relished it alongside us.  

I grew up in a beautiful mid-western town in northern Illinois.  I attended a gorgeous college, lived in an amazingly picturesque area of Pennsylvania and I now live on a small farm that often feels like a resort.  I am so glad to know that my hometown is even more beautiful now and that perhaps there are new generations of families creating the same kinds of memories that we have.  More than a movie scene, more than the home of a famous cartoonist, Woodstock is my childhood, and the lessons I learned from being there will live with me always.

More Bird Watching

Female Cardinal

We were surprised when our viburnum tree (shrub?) filled with berries this month.  It has brought the most interesting birds to our front yard!  This yellow-shafted Northern Flicker was really enjoying the berries!

Northern Flicker

This remains my mystery bird.  I'm going with a phoebe bird, although it seems much grey-er than my bird book would indicate.  

Sunday, July 09, 2017


This little guy stopped by today to try out my oriole feeder.  I think he must be a young, male oriole, but I'm not certain. 

He drank from the feeder!  I was so excited!  We'll see if he comes back to visit again!

The Bovine Pair

Delilah was a hoot today.  We went for our evening walk and came upon Delilah standing over a sapling she had bent to the ground to get to the leaves on top.  The minute she saw us, she stood up with an expression as if to say, "What?  I didn't do it!" and then came trotting over to see if we had anything yummy to offer.

Earlier, I caught her napping under her favorite tree (Samson was very nearby, too).
It's unusual to catch her sleeping, but it sure makes us happy to see such contented cows!

Little Samson is growing up!  His coloring is so beautiful!  We thought he might lose all of his white highlights when he lost his winter coat, but he has more than ever on his head and face!  Even his tail is full of white!  He has gained a lot of weight (I can say that, it's good for a bull!) and yet is still as sweet as ever.  Delilah still grooms him and they are never far from each other!

He was napping with Delilah under the pines as well.  Usually around mid-morning and again in the afternoon, they will spend time just laying under the pines.  Of course, I'm spending the same time sitting on the porch in my favorite chair, so I think it's safe to say, everyone is enjoying summertime on the farm!

Aren't they just the sweetest pair?  We are hoping that she might be pregnant.  We only witnessed a few unsuccessful attempts by Samson earlier this spring, but we think he might have figured it out at some point as she hasn't been in heat that we've noticed!  A calf would be so exciting!

(Delilah refused to look my way.)

Caption This!

"Can you hear me?"

"So, a cardinal and an indigo bunting land on a birdfeeder.  The cardinal says, hey fella, can I get you some seeds?  You're looking kinda blue!"

Does He Have a License?

The other day while buying my eighteenth sample of paint that I still didn't like for the living room  running errands in town, I saw this dog waiting at Chick-Fil-A.  I wish I would have waited around to see exactly how this might have worked.  I mean, where is he going to ride when his owner returns and how, exactly, is the owner going to keep the dog out of the chicken?


I've been working on the front porch/door area this year.  I wanted to bring a little of our "rustic" design from the inside to the outside.  After painting the porch, I finally got everything re-assembled and looking just like I want it to.

My favorite part is our new welcome sign officially welcoming everyone to Someday Farm!

Monday, June 19, 2017

One Moment

A fatal accident occurred this weekend at an intersection we drive through regularly.  It's a back road, the straight shot from my home to my sister's four miles away.  An 18 year old ran a stop sign and the 30 year old driver of a passing car died.  I drove by the site this evening and cried.  Not just for the man who lost his life (whom I don't know) but for the child, the 18 year old whose life is forever changed from that instant in time.

I am not afraid to die.  I'm not afraid of what comes next.  I know my family would all be okay.  But I cannot for the life of me imagine what my life would be like if it had been James who had been struck, or Jacob.  I cannot begin to think of how I would even cope if one of them was taken so suddenly.  It doesn't just take a car accident.  My dad reminded me just yesterday of a well-known family fact: one trip to the doctor can change your life forever.

I know James loves me deeply, I have no doubt.  And I don't have one single regret or wish for our life to be any different than it is.  I wouldn't mourn for all the things we never got to - we live our life as full as possible most every chance we get.  I would just miss him so.  I would miss him dreadfully so.

And Jacob.  I don't see him very often now, and I don't hear from him too often, either, but if he was gone forever?  Oh how my heart would break.  He is such an amazing person, I just want to see where his life takes him and all the happiness that surrounds him.

In the blink of an eye, it could be gone.  Life redefined.

This 30 year old man left behind a fiancee.  Her life redefined.  The 18 year old who ran the stop sign will never ever be the same, nor will the passenger that was in the car with him/her.

I am so grateful that was not my James, nor my Jacob.  But my heart and soul aches for those affected by this one instant in time that went horribly wrong.

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Contented Creatures

It's hard to catch the cows napping.  Not because they don't, but because they are convinced we always have a treat and they come running to the fence just in case.  Today, the hottest day so far, I was able to sneak up and catch Delilah under the pines, enjoying the very spot The Mister specifically included in the pasture for days such as this.  The grass she and Samson were snoozing on was carefully planted by James last spring, after tilling, grading and even later raking away all the pine needles.  

Samson was there, too.  He was keeping his eye on me just in case the camera really was a sweet treat for the hot day.  

All we wanted was to create a pasture that was beautiful and practical, where our beautiful beasts could enjoy as much contentment as we do on Someday Farm.

Mission, accomplished!

The Gift

The past week was a bit stressful.  My last full week of school, complete with day-long meetings, field trips and assessments, and the ever-changing plans of out-of-state company made things more frantic around here than normal.  Friday afternoon, our company arrived and within a couple hours we were enjoying the deck, take-out pizza, wine and each other's company.  Saturday brought a trip north to see James' folks along with his brother and sister.  The frenetic pace of getting everyone accommodated for, snacks packed, plans made and finally the drive itself was tempered by a day of sitting on their screen porch with a beautiful summer breeze, laughing, talking and catching up.

In the midst of all the goings-on, I found myself sitting comfortably in a chair, watching a nearly 90 year old man tease his 87 year-old wife; a baby brother provoking his much-older sister; and an older brother try to remain stoically unemotional when surrounded by his loving family.

I could feel it with every heart beat, "Be Present".  I need not think about the upcoming last few days of school, or the long drive home, or what health ailment might next prove overwhelming to James' aging parents.  I need only to  I took a breath and I watched, I listened, I laughed.

I saw my husband wink from across the room, something that always makes me smile.  I saw a sister, walking with her mom through the yard, ostensibly to look at the flowers, but as it had been two years since their last visit together, I knew it was a chance for a mom and a daughter to say anything that needed to be said - just in case.  I saw an elderly man who seems anything but on most occasions - a man who still mows his lawn, makes the traps for the gophers and invents devices to make watering easier on his back - laugh at the antics of the grown children.  I heard jokes, teasing, discussions about each person's life and James' never-ending quest to learn everything Henry has to offer.  Wisdom is always shared with humility in this house.  I heard a compliment from a master-of-everything to The Mister about his syrup making - a compliment that will never be forgotten, coming from the wisest man we know.

I heard it again in my soul, Be Present.

This trip was a reminder that time stops for no one.  It's a thought that's always near the front of my mind but watching it unfold reminded me of the preciousness of the moment.  We long-ago stopped taking our cell phones into his mom's house.  Everything else can wait.  Beyond just feeling over-full from all the food they are intent on us eating, we leave with our souls feeling full; our hearts overflowing.  We always part knowing the next time is never promised to us.  We leave knowing their love abounds and everything else seems unnecessary.  We leave knowing, in every way we could, we wanted these people to know how much they matter to us and how much their love shapes our world.
I pray we have many, many more such visits, but if not, I pray that these beautiful people know without a doubt how much their very presence was a gift to us, each and every time.

Tuesday, June 06, 2017

Bird Watching

The Mister and I have a pretty slow pace around the farm.  We have a few "must do's" and lots of "should do's" but in general, we limit the "have to's" as much as we can.  I could spend paragraphs justifying my leisure time on the porch on Sunday, but it doesn't really matter if I have good reason or not, our porch is one of my favorite places in the world.

Out back this week, we saw a heron.  The Mister spotted it first and I grabbed my camera as fast as I could as the herons tend to be very skittish and fly quickly.  This one was apparently of the same mindset we were as it stuck around and didn't seem to mind us opening windows to get a better picture.  In fact, when I finally said, "I wish it would fly so I could see its great wings," the Mister tried everything he could to get it to fly and it wasn't going to be bothered.

It finally decided it was time to go, but it didn't go far.
Apparently it thinks our house is a pretty cool place to hang out, too.

This goldfinch stopped by for a drink.
I didn't realize their beaks were orange until I looked at the picture later.  

I was super excited to see my first orioles this week!  I had actually been hearing their song for a couple days (not knowing what it was) before I saw them.  After seeing the first one, we went out and bought two feeders, hoping to entice them to stay.  

We've seen them a few times now on the birdbath and I hear them singing a little ways away, but so far, they haven't found our delicious jelly or nectar.
(The hummingbird doesn't mind having another stopping point, however!)

I loved this guy, who seemed to really enjoy his bath!

This mysterious bird still baffles me.  Not sure what it is.
Saw it several times but this was the only picture I was able to capture.
Any ideas?

Same with this bird.
So regal sitting on the branch, but I don't know what it is.
(I have so much to learn!)

The bluebirds have also made themselves at home here at the farm this year!
I've heard them singing and finally figured out they made a nest in one of the birdhouses!
We normally only see bluebirds for one day in very early spring when they come to eat all the berries off one of our shrubs and then they are gone.  I've put out a special dish of mealworms to welcome them to the neighborhood, but so far, they haven't discovered it.

Isn't this little guy adorable?

He came down from the branch to have a little bath.
Seems to be the going thing.

But perhaps most excited the last couple of days has been the fledgling cardinal.
We like to think it's the same one that hatched outside our bedroom window.
This guy is so fun to watch!  He chirps back and forth to Mr. Cardinal, who is busy getting seeds from the bird feeder.

Then dad comes and feeds the fledgling.
He tried and tried to land on the feeder, but just can't seem to stick the landing just yet.  

We so enjoy the cardinals, and watching this family this spring has delighted me so!

So, if you're in the neighborhood, stop by.  Pull up a chair or a branch and stay awhile!
We can spend hours just sitting, listening, watching and marveling at God's creatures!