HARVESTING HAY

We normally harvest much of our hay and silage in late spring and early summer, but this year has been different, in almost every way. The extremely hot and dry weather that began as early as March meant that first cuttings were skimpy, and second cuttings were non-existent. Putting up hay now feels like it's the first hay of the season. A couple of nice rains this month have given the plants just the boost they were waiting for; it seemed as if you could see the grass, alfalfa, lespedeza, orchard grass and crab -- yes, crab -- grass grow. (University extension studies show that crab grass makes a very nutritious feed.)

This evening the boss was baling late. He wanted to finish the field before he came in. So at about the time most suburban midwestern families were sitting down to dinner in their dining rooms, I took him a milkshake and a hot dog; he smiled his thanks (I couldn't hear over the roar of the tractor and baler) and kept on chugging.

I ate mine as I watched him for a while.Every little bit he would stop and let the baler deliver one of these babies.

He was working in the field through which I normally take my walk.

I've been noting the progress of other crops along my route. The one I've been keeping a close eye upon is the crop of buckeyes.

I love these small trees! They bloom beautifully in spring, and their fruit is so interesting. This is how they look when they begin to ripen,

and this is how they look when the shell splits and the seeds emerge.

No wonder they are named as they are -- see the eye?

Despite the difficult summer, there appears to be an abundant crop of most everything, including walnuts,

hickory nuts

and some straggler wild plums.

This is the true crop we produce on our place.

The hay (and silage) are harvested for their benefit; we use all we produce.

If we had extra this year, we could do right well selling hay because the shortage has put it at a premium.

We're just thankful to have some to go into our barns. The cows and calves will be very grateful in a few short months.

I have never ceased to wonder at the vision of our ancestors who saw the potential in the Ozarks land, for it was surely rugged and rough, covered with deep woods, with nary a prairie to be seen down here.

But with lots of hard work and sweat equity, farms have been carved into the hollows and on the ridge tops. While it may not be the easiest place in the world to farm, surely it is one of the most beautiful.

The sun was nearly down, but as I came back home, I stopped to admire this passion flower,

growing among the ditch weeds. If it were dug up and trained upon a fancy trellis in the garden of a society horticulturalist, it would be oohed and ahhed over, its lovely blue noted as remarkable. I note it each time I walk -- another gift.

Hope your Wednesday has been a remarkable fall day.

Fern

Meet Fern!

Isn't she lovely?

Can a fern be a she ... or a he? I don't know, honestly, but this fern has a decidedly feminine look about her. She's a she in my book.

I really am fond of my friend, Fern. She has been a porch companion of mine for many, many years. At least 10, and surely more. I don't know how Fern has survived, when so many of her cousins have not. Under all her frilly fronds, Fern is a hardy old girl.

I'm not going daft in my old age, feeling affectionate about Fern. There is just something about her that mades me feel fondly toward her.

In one of my most favorite Masterpiece Classics, Miss Betty Barker, retired milliner of Cranford, almost loses her beloved milk cow after the old girl wanders into the town's lime pit and gets stuck. The poor bovine loses all her hair because of the nasty experience, and so Miss Betty sews her up some cow-sized flannel pajamas to keep her covered. In one of the episode's funniest lines, Miss Betty says, in all sincerity, "That cow is like a daughter to me."

Well, I feel that way about Fern. Except, unlike Miss Betty, I do have real daughters. So don't tell them how I feel about Fern. They might not like sharing my affection.

This is one of Fern's favorite seasons. She's happiest in Fall. So am I. We're a lot alike in some ways, Fern and I. We love the porch, and we love gentle breezes, the warm morning sunshine on our faces and a nice cool drink in the warmer afternoon. It really doesn't take a lot to make us happy.

There's a lot to be said for a friend who is always there for you, doesn't demand much and doesn't talk back. Fern is a forever sort of friend.

I am part of a group that makes Prayer Shawls. For the last couple of years, we've met twice monthly and made all kinds of things for a variety of folks who have a variety of needs -- loneliness, grief, pain -- take my word for it: the needs are there.

Our desire is simple -- to knit (or crochet or whatever) things with built-in prayers and blessings. Sometimes when we start an item, it's with a particular person (and his/her need) in mind. And sometimes we just start, knowing that a need will arise. The sad thing is, it always does.

This shawl is called Balm to the Soul. Aptly named, I believe, for as soon as it rolls off my needles I learn of someone who needs it to help sooothe a hurting soul. This pattern was introduced in July, and I've made three of them. With each one, I had no idea why I was making it -- just knew that I wanted to make it.  And each time, just as I was ready to bind off, there appeared -- seemingly, out of the blue (but not really!) -- someone who needed it. Each time, the answer was completely unexpected. But always perfect.

I love this pattern, with it's pretty lace edge and just the perfect triangular shape. And this yarn was just a dream -- the uber-popular MadelineTosh -- perfect for this Balm. I felt peace and contentment in my own soul with every stitch I took. As the project progresses, the prayers become automatic -- blessing adds to blessing, row after row, until the shawl is complete.

I am mailing this shawl today to a friend who is losing her husband. He's too young to go, and she's too young to lose him. But lose him she will, and I pray that this shawl will wrap her in a hug of loving concern. I can't be there to give her a hug in person, but I pray that she'll feel a soothing comfort as she drapes the pretty shawl around her shoulders.

And would you believe -- yes, you will -- that just this morning I learned of another friend who's facing a similar challenge? It always works that way. Tonight I shall choose some yarn  (I have another couple of balls of MadelineTosh in a lovely burgundy color -- maybe?) and begin another prayer shawl.

It's what I can do....

My pantry smells absolutely heavenly today! New bundles of rosemary and sage hanging to dry ....

Once upon a time there were two cousins who just happened to both be seven years old. This is an advantage -- being seven together. This means lots of fun will happen when the two are visiting Mimi at the same time, and a Mimi -- well, a Mimi just better be ready. 

On a hot August day in the Ozarks, there is no better place to find that together-fun than the creek.

First we braved the deep, dark jungle to find wood to build a fire.

There was some tree-climbing involved, but that was a side adventure.

(May I digress from the subject at hand to say that I got that fire going with one, single match? Give Mimi a point, please.)

Hot dogs eaten on a creek bank, mixed with a little sand and grit, are the best.

Then we gathered our creekbank tools and got serious about why we were there.

Swimming...

swimming....

Freeze dancing in the creek....

Tango-ing in the creek....

And pondering the important things in life. Like, "Looks like Mimi is resting. Wonder if she would scream if we both splashed her at the same time?"

The tools were employed in the building of a hot tub.

 Luci: "Wyatt, you do the deep and I'll do the wide."

This must have felt oh-so-good because they stayed in the hot tub for a while.

All good things must come to an end, so after a little more exploring we called it a day.

A good day. A very good day at the creek.

The end.



Today's garden tip: fill your canning jars with heart-healthy produce.

I am referring to the original "pins and needles" when I say that's what I'm on these last few days. Every time the phone rings I jump. My sleeping hours are semi-wakeful, expecting that nighttime call. My heart beats just a little faster than normal as I anticipate what is just ahead. I've been in nesting mode, even though it isn't my nest that's fixing to change....cleaning, tidying up loose ends, keeping the laundry all caught up, stockpiling some casseroles in the freezer.

When your daughter is expecting a baby at any minute, it ALMOST feels like you're expecting, too. In fact, you are!You so easily recall that swollenness, the back pain, the ready anticipation of every twinge that makes you want to sit down. You feel the heat for her, the tight stretch of skin across wide belly, the tiny headache of anticipation that never goes away. You tick off her list: suitcase packed, older children's bags ready to go to MawMaw's house, plenty of gas in the car, bills paid, extra food in the pantry,

It brings back overwhelming, just-like-yesterday memories. Yesterday was Sunday, and she was born on a Sunday, in the middle of a long, hot summer. A week past the due date, and every day was soooooo long. The twinges had been there for a month, but they were just that -- nothing more. Church was long, too, that morning, and the pew was unrelentingly hard, even with a thin cushion. The doctor sitting in front of me felt my can't-sit-still misery and said to come in the next day -- he might induce if the indicators were all set to green.

Home to lunch, and the body demanded a nap -- for good reason, for it was set to go to work. Awake at 3:00 and real contractions began in earnest. But there was other work to do first -- the first day of school for the older children was the next day, and the son insisted on blue jeans that were in the laundry basket. A quick wash of the last load, drying dishes put away, last-minute instructions given, the call made to the friends who would tend the older kids, and we set off. Suddenly, when we were all in the car, as the engine raced, so did my contractions! Hurry! Don't get out at the friends' house -- just push son and daughter out the slowing car and GET TO THE HOSPITAL! Thank goodness it was just around the corner!

That red-headed nurse was having a quiet Sunday afternoon, in no hurry at all -- until she gave me a quick look. Then it was a mad dash -- call the doctor -- HURRY! Don't push yet! After an interminable 15 minutes, in he comes and catches her -- Why didn't you tell me at church you were going to have this baby today? he asks, laughing. I catch my breath and say, Why did it take you so long to get here? It was now 5:32 p.m. We had left the house at 5:00.

Sunday's child is "bonny and blithe and good and gay", and Baby Sister lived up to her birth day prediciton. And now my Child Number Three is having her own Child Number Three.

We mothers wish we could do it for them -- take the pain onto ourselves, the fear, the trepidation -- but each mother must feel that herself, and it is rightly so, for the hard part only contributes to what comes next: the utter joy, the boundless love, the inner connection that never is severed.

Oh -- the phone rings! I run to it, but it is only one of our helpers on the farm -- so I'll settle back to waiting. Waiting for this blessing in the making. I'm hoping to catch up my ironing today, just in case...