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.

New Tricks

Had you told me three years that I'd be playing the piano for one the services during Holy Week at the church of my husband's first call, I would have laughed.  Three years ago, I didn't have a piano. Three years ago I couldn't play a single hymn. Three years ago, I wasn't able to envision a life without an infant clinging to me.

How things have changed.  Last year, my cousins gave us great-grandma's upright piano.  A few months ago, I started practicing hymns.  Somewhere in all that time, the infant grew up to be a much-less needy preschooler.  So I let him sit with someone else during the service, and I played for Good Friday.  And I'll play again for Sundays.  Maybe once I stop hitting so many wrong notes, I'll even learn to get my feet in the mix and give the organ a go.

Seed catalogues make me drool

In an effort to ignore all the snow I've seen in the last two weeks, I've planted seeds.  132 of them, to be exact.  One seed for each pod of an egg carton.  Mostly marigolds, but also several tomatoes, and a few ground cherries. 

I've also planned my garden plots, ordered (more) seeds, and started thinking about gathering all the recipes for all the canning I'll be doing this summer. 

Next week, I'll be building a trellis for peas, and sowing carrots.  Loads of carrots.

Preschool avarice

During one of his days at preschool, my son was prompted to make a New Year's resolution.  The teacher wrote up each child's resolution on a special paper, and posted it on the bulliten board.  Curious to know what he had said, I spent some time reading the board.  All of the kids decided they wanted to learn something- perhaps tying their shoes, writing their names without help, helping mom and dad with dishes or laundry- all of them, that is, except my son.  He doesn't want to learn anything.  He wants to "read more train books, and buy more things."

Sigh.