Goodbye, garden

Hello, root cellar?

Okay... I can't take credit for the popcorn. 

Okay, not quite.  First off, this room is much too warm and dry to be a true root cellar.  Furthermore, it wouldn't be prudent to store jars in a damp place.  However, with a few modifications, such as adding a second door, insulating the inside walls, scooting the shelves out a couple of inches, and installing an air-intake pipe for ventilation, this room would be well on it's way to becoming a root cellar.

Funny that I know this kind of stuff.  Seems I've recently become obsessed with root cellars after reading this book: 

 My husband says this obsession makes me weird. My father says I was born three generations too late. I'd probably agree with both of them.  But how cool would it be to fill this basement storage room with bushels of apples, pounds of potatoes, heads of cabbage, and crates of carrots? Or is it just me?

How I've spent my summer vacation

If everything at the store came in such pretty jars as these, I'd be tempted to buy more canned foods.  Alas, since they insist on covering the beauty with ugly screaming labels, I'll just have to keep making my own!

 

 

From left: peach jam, kosher dills, chunky applesauce,
spaghetti sauce, plums, pear halves, pickled beets

Baby Season

And thus it begins.  Everyone is giving birth, or announcing a pregnancy, or about to give birth, or about to announce a pregnancy.

At least, that's how it feels.

To a woman who is desires to feel her womb filled with life, Facebook is an unmarked mine field.  If she spends enough time there, she's bound to stumble on something that triggers a flow of emotions, regardless of how hard she tries to keep it together. The longer she stays, the more she feels the weight of her own cross pressing into her shoulders, and the grief welling up inside until she feels she is alone in her sadness.

Lord, have mercy.  For in my ignorance, I heedlessly posted pictures and updates of my own pregnancy and newborn child, unaware of the effect they may have had on my own dear brothers and sisters in Christ. 

Lord, have mercy.  For now I understand.  Now I feel that weight and that grief, and now I struggle to do the very thing our Lord commands of us: rejoice with those who rejoice.

Lord, have mercy. For centered in myself, I want only the things of man, not God.

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.  Lord, have mercy.

Great Big Gobs

Generally, I'm fond of all things living.  I cringe when I have to kill an earwig, as creepy as they are.  I smile as the young calves frolic in the pasture behind the house, and sigh at the thought of eating them after a year of growth. 

But yesterday, I bought traps.  Vicious two-teethed traps designed to spring into action at the slightest trip.  Indeed, these things will probably rip a small creature in half, or break the leg of a dog- and I'm okay with that, even if that creature is somewhat cute.

Greasy, grimy, gopher. . . guts.

That creature is destroying my garden.  That creature is going to eat the roots of all my beans, tomatoes, and cucumbers; and they've only just begun to set fruit.

So I bought traps, and I learned how to set them.  I will put them in those nasty gopher holes, and I will flush the thing out with water.  Should I choose to come a hole that has no trap, I will be waiting with a shovel. 

For Ewe

I made a new friend. In fact, I made several new friends. We met at a lovely retreat, hosted by two dear women who write here.  What a blessed reminder of the life that is ours through Christ both here on earth, as we join together as His body to encourage and build one another up; and there in eternity, where the crosses we bear will be exchanged for robes of righteousness.

More seeds

In a moment of self-doubt, I planted more seeds.  Figuring I had killed off my germinating tomato seeds after forgetting to water them for a day or two, I decided I better plant some back-ups.  Exactly two days after I planted the second batch, the first batch started sprouting.  

I started twelve more tomatoes, and four more ground cherries. For those of you doing the math, that's twenty-eight tomatoes and eight ground cherries all together. If I'm doing my math correctly, that's about eighteen more tomato plants and four more ground cherry plants than I'll need.


Hopefully mason jars go on sale soon, because I'm going to need quite a few more for all the tomatoes I could be canning this summer.  Provided, of course, that the little plants do as well in the garden as they have on my kitchen floor.

Sounds like an idea for a 1960's horror flick. 

Broken again

I'd like to think that I'm mature enough in my faith to join with Mary in saying, "Be it done unto me."  That is, that I would accept the gifts God gives as they come, and not desire any other gift or blessings in life than the ones I have been given.  After all, I have been blessed richly with many gifts, including a child-a son!  A healthy, well-behaved, intelligent, polite son.  He brings joy to me and my husband; he is the delight of his grandparents.  He charms the elderly and young alike.   I'd like to think I am content with this, my family, and spend my days rejoicing in the blessings of the Lord.  Most days, I am content.

Still, so many other days, the longing for another child overwhelms me in a flash, and my joy is turned to mourning.  The grief is so deep my stomach caves in on itself, and I am consumed.  I yearn to bear life again, to feel the quickening and eventual weight of a child in my womb, and to memorize the features of a newborn child sleeping in my arms.

Perhaps I ought not be taken by surprise at how quickly a pregnancy announcement or newborn's photo can bring on this sudden change; and yet, I am.  Just when I think I have learned to be content, I find myself desiring more, weeping over my brokeness, and wondering why.