Libby gets a Face Lift

Weekend Farmer Husband's MO is quick start, fast work, and super sized objectives.  You can imagine we have several projects in process at one time.  And, you'd be right to harbor a slight suspicion that it's difficult for us to truly complete a number of these projects because - well, because.

One of the gaps in this method is I rarely get opportunity to take "before" photographs.  I'm inside.  He's outside.I walk outside to invite him in for supper and - wow! there's piles of dirt, tarps, tools, wires, whatever - and a happy guy staying busy.  So, I remember to offer a quick meal, fill up the water bottles, and try and grab a few photographs of our Work In Progress, whatever it may be this time.  (That's what WIP stands for mom- {{smile}} )

The WIP I'm sharing today started differently.  Our farm energies have been spent for the last two years on outbuildings, livestock, vegetable gardening, minor home renovations, home education, and Weekend Farmer Husband's profession.  We've done zero landscaping.  It hasn't impacted the quality of our life in any negative way.  But it is certainly one of those things that once you make a commitment to you wonder what took so long?

Given the "extra" time afforded by ongoing unemployment W.F.H., (You know who that is right?  That handy and handsome guy I call my husband - ) suggested that we could do the inexpensive but time consuming prep work and that he'd make limited funds available to get started with planting.  And, hadn't I talked to a friend about helping me with some of the design elements?

A few quick emails later, my friend reveals that she has just begun an epic landscape project of her own and would gladly bless our family by sharing a number of shade perennials with us.  We have a nice visit, she has me make a list of what I'd like, and less than 48 hours later I've received a surplus of mature plants that she releases to either flourish, or in her words, "die on my watch!"

It's been the better part of a week now and sometimes we're still outside at 10:30pm raking, planting, digging by the final streaks of light just to our west.  We sure do love living on the Western edge of the Eastern time zone.

And, finally, the beds are planted.  We have plenty of finish work to do including mulch,step and porch repair, and long over due new paint.  Our soil quality is unknown, but we have plenty of organic and nutrient rich matter mixed in.  Transplanting is stressful for the plants and you can see from the pics some of the plants are suffering.  We'll give them plenty of water and hope for the best.

A water feature is planned for this big patch of bare dirt - won't that be nice when we sit on the porch to enjoy our morning coffee and the sunrise?

Who's Libby anyway and how did she make it into the title of this post? W.F.H. gave me a short list of criteria for finding our new property when this adventure began.  I saw this place first and called him from under the shade of the amazingly large Catalpa Tree and suggested I'd found the one, would he like to come see, and if we buy it it will be called Liberty Farm.  We named the house Libby for short.

And, should you wonder what the little kids do while mom and dad labor, I've got great news.  Twice a week they're allowed to stay up late and enjoy summer bliss.  In recent weeks the heat has been oppressive and we've been blessed by a backyard swimming pool.  Can you think of anything more fun than swimming for hours after supper - even past sunset?  The pictures are fuzzy, grainy, and poor - but the joyful smiles are worth breaking "blog rules" for photos, don't ya think?

Rest

Close friends recently described their plans for their upcoming weekend away and I confess I struggled with the tiniest bit of envy. Words like "sit around" and "lots of sleeping" and "just doing nothing" hold a powerful attraction.

You see, one of the reasons (I think) we've been able to accomplish as much as we have in two short years on the farm is because of our love affair with work.  Both Weekend Farmer Husband and I get all happy dancin' when there's a project, or two, or ten.  And, thankfully, we feel confirmed time and time again through the counsel of the Holy Spirit that some of our best worship is through work.

There's a downside.  You knew that, right?  Seems like once we get started we can't stop.  And, in gospel terms, we can easily get ourselves in circumstances in which our ox is constantly in the well. (Luke 14:5) There it is in black and white, the ones responsible - "we".  Any good thing in excess easily becomes negative.

Self awareness is helpful in the lifelong pursuit of a proper ratio, Industry : Rest.  By now I suspect it evident to you that our ratio is skewed and our equation looks more like Industry > Rest.

A brief weekend spike in temperature is what got our attention.  Our day fell to ruin on Saturday, and we were forced to at least admit that when it is hot we must adjust our expectations and our pace.

Fortunately, we had already made plans for Sunday, The Lord's Day, to set the AC to arctic zone range, cook early in the morning to keep heat out of the house, nap after church, and then travel the short 1/2 hour to the glimmering shores of Lake Michigan for an evening picnic and break in the routine.

Pulling into our long gravel driveway by the light of the night sky and barn bulb glow,  sleepy kids rinsed sand and sunscreen from skin and slipped into soothing cool sheets.  Moments later sleep crept in and peace was upon the house.

-Weekend Farmer Husband continues to process, plan, grieve, and debrief following his job loss.  We are grateful for so much space in outbuildings so we don't step all over each other and can be sensitive to emotional and practical needs.
-The countdown is on.  Firstborn Son is coming home soon and although there's not long term clarity on career and future there is confidence that law school is not in the immediate future.
-Graduation open houses for so many home educated seniors connect us in community and we encourage one another in the journey
-Lake Michigan so close
-Watermelon, Pasta Salad, Sandwiches- abundant food
-Energy to keep pace
-Constant talk from the little girls, generously peppered with "mom (or dad), I love you"
-Weeks of happy play for friends and our kiddos in the pop up camper
-Good news for my father at his recent evaluation at Dana Farber Cancer Institute - his blood counts indicate (at least clinically) that he will be cured from cancer.  This is the Lord's doing.
-Multiple job interviews for Weekend Farmer Husband.  We wait in expectation for the Lord's leading.

Savoring - Little Things 2012

Patience, my friends, patience.

While these docile creatures sniff the breeze and feast on long grass, Part II is in it's final stages of development.

Edited to add: And please forgive the random advertising pop up hyper links.  They're all underlined.  I don't know where they came from or how to get rid of them? Obviously I will be learning something new in order to resolve this intrusion.

Meanwhile, we're drinking deep of sweet sweet summer and savor its gifts from sun up to sun down.

Is there anything more divine than a perfectly sun ripened strawberry?

We have the tiniest most succulent strawberry patch in two raised beds that yield ruby red jewels.  Weekend Farmer Husband and I often stroll the property in the evenings with fists full of berries, slipping each berry into our mouths and wondering if we can even comprehend how blessed we are.

To fill the pantry with summer's stores we buy multiple flats from local growers.  And then we commence to make a steamy, sticky, syrupy, sensational mess of the kitchen for a couple days:

Mmmmmmm - Strawberry jam in shiny glass jars and freezer bags full for pies, smoothies, and baking later in the season.

When the kitchen has cooled, is cleaned and reclaimed, we start all over again after supper.

Mountains spill over the counters:

The sharp contrast of steamy bright asparagus plunged into icy water while evening breeze ruffles through the kitchen windows brings a settled deep satisfaction to the night.  Bags ready with spring green wait in the freezer to accompany hearty roasts, potatoes from our garden, and lingering Sunday dinner. The sting of January seems less concerning.

Seeds are sown in long rows and the sprinkler makes it's regular hum through the day, coaxing optimism from the soil.  Sprouts are pushing through and there's less anxiety that we got our gardens in "late" as we see the earth yield.  Our soil will require years of amending so we're avid composters.

Good thing I'm finding these all over the yard and porches!

Home days have been very restorative for Weekend Farmer Husband, and there's been a chance to grieve, reflect, pray, and rest.  Faithful prayers of family and friends have upheld us and we are encouraged and made hopeful by a flurry of interviews and possibilities for the near future.  We are settling into a more mature understanding that the LORD is our provider and He may require us to wait rather than have work (income), and if that is so, we will yield to Him and His blessings rather than our own comfort or plans. (Did I really just type that...*gulp*)  Well, at least that's how we in humility hope to respond.

Projects abound.  We wonder how we ever maintained/sustained all the operations of our mini farm before Weekend Farmer Husband was devoting most of his days to fixing, building, tinkering, and overall giving his focus to Liberty Farm.  It's a little frightening how much we fly by the seat of our pants...but, it points to God's faithful confirmation of this venture.

And as I suspected in writing earlier this year about how I hope to focus and respond to what the Holy Spirit equips us for in our kingdom work, the little things have continued to hold my attention and teach big lessons.

Psalm 46:10
He says, “Be still, and know that I am God; 
    I will be exalted among the nations,
    I will be exalted in the earth.”

A Mooooo-ving Weekend Away- Part I

I suggested it in the post just before this one...you know, the "would you like to hear more about that?" question I shamelessly inserted.  And with the general lack of response to that portion of the post, (y'all were gracious, encouraging, and faith building to the most important news and thoughts - so you shouldn't hear me complaining, ok?), I decided whether or not you want to hear the story, I need to capture it to try and cement it in a more factual rather than "you should see the size of the fish I caught" manner.

So, all the information included in this little story of mine is true - although I might venture to use some hyperbolic adjectives, ok?

Lest I shock my face to face friends and family by departing from my usual verboseness, I do manage to use an abundance of words.  So, this is for fun, for learning, and for preserving the story of Liberty Farm.  You might want to grab a mug of steaming coffee or tea (if you're in the chilly midwest), or a tall iced tea and settle in for a bit - ready?

It started like any other day, early.  Which if you know me at all already puts my ability to have clear thoughts or make good judgements in jeopardy.  But, as I stretched and snuggled up to the midnight sneak who had found her way into my bed sometime in the wee morning hours, I felt compelled to get out of bed and rejoice in the glorious morning we'd been given.

Our house is very tall and we have lots of windows, so I have a habit of walking round from view to view to drink in the new light of the day, look for birds, check if Weekend Farmer Husband has already let the chickens out, and if they are mooooving about for the morning, I do an automatic head count and check on the cows - from the second story that is.

Having been interrupted from sleeping well, I didn't trust my perception when I noticed four cows happily munching on the green grass of the horizon.  Are they a little far?  Huh- I wonder if my depth of field is skewed without my glasses - which by the way I need for reading and seeing up close, but without my morning addiction delight of murky, dark, smoky coffee I didn't really think about that.

I did notice my heartbeat quicken though, something certainly didn't seem right.  So, I lurch back into my room to clutch for my glasses and the phone rings.  This part confuses me, but I ignored it.  I figured that whoever was calling me well before 7am could just call back, after all, I needed to see what my lady friends were up to. Should it have occurred to me that a phone call unusually early might have been to alert me that like Miss Clavel encountering distress in the Madeline books, "All is not well" ? Nope, can't say I'm smart like that.

Glasses on, I reappear at the window, and wow, those girls are messing with my depth of field.  They're right along the back fence line.  So, I figure if I see the fence post disappear as the lovelies walk past they're inside the fence, but if not...

Cardiac Arrest.  And, the phone rings again.

This time I'm pretty sure I know who's calling -
 "Laura, did you know your cows are eating my garden? You better do something about that..."

Long frizzy hair flying out behind me, boots barely on my feet, granny jammies hitched up, I catapult out the door to alert Weekend Farmer Husband.

"Get the kids.  I'll need their help."
 Well now, that's a sensible suggestion.

Hollering, I rush into the house, haul the kids outdoors and tell them game on, the cows are loose.

Poor things don't even get to use the bathroom, have a drink of water, or get dressed.  Good thing a couple of them practically sleep with their boots on, and they consider PJ's an unnecessary piece of laundry since they're gonna wash their clothes anyway why would you introduce a new outfit?

A small diversion here - for those of you (us) old enough to remember a popular TV sitcom Newhart this next little bit will make sense.  For the rest of you, allow us older folks a chuckle, ok?  Our cows have an established and evident social order.  One cow is the leader, two follow closely, and the last is rather independent.  We don't really name our cows per se, but it's helpful to have a means of identifying who's who.  So, the lead cow is Larry...ah ha, you're catching on.  I know, I know they're girls, but just for fun-
"Hi. I'm Larry.  This is my brother Daryl, and this is my other brother Daryl."

This is Larry:

Behind her is Daryl.

And here's her other brother, (sister) Daryl:

And, if you think we cannot give names that are a better fit, here's "Black Cow".

Seems like now is the right time to introduce you to the other main characters in this epic.


(I tremble ever so slightly in the telling of their names as I'm aware of a currently influential woman, home educating mom to six kids, farming, blogging, best selling gal, and she speaks so highly of her husband who bears one of these names.  No, silly, not black cow.  No association, ok?)


Back to my gripping tail tale - These girlz are skittish to the max.  So anything that's ever worked before in getting the cows to where we want/need them to go isn't working.  We encircle them and try to use their natural instincts to turn them towards home.  Treats come out far earlier in the day than they are accustomed to, and let me tell ya', we'll fill their buckets to overflowing trying to lure them into the pasture we've just opened up.

And then, the neighbors dogs start barking like crazy, and those cows turn tail and bust into the woods just behind our property line.

Weekend Farmer Husband and three kids follow them into the woods.  We've never gone in there before and remember,we're relocated suburbanites who are learning this country life as we go.  So, off into the woods with no idea of why or what now.  But, there are school buses whizzing up and down the street, farm equipment lumbering by on the way to fields, commuters pulling out of driveways - and have I mentioned we live on a fairly busy road and our cows are loose?

It's been an hour, a few of the kids have had the sense to come back and get a couple of radios, cell phones, and a bicycle since we're suddenly trying to cover better than 100 acres on foot.  None of them have seen their dad or the cows.  And I don't know what to do.  So I make a really rookie decision.

I decide to alert "the authorities".  My stress level is though the roof, not so much for the cows, but for all the traffic, and those are big animals, and what if they get on the road, and what if... And, we live in a rural agricultural county so animal control must have had a call like this before, right?  Oh- they're not open.  So, I feel like it's in the public's best interest to alert another layer of authority and after some time a serious looking public servant pulls up in a pretty impressive vehicle.

 And he's not pleased that I called because they don't deal with this sort of thing, and he needs to know why I alerted them, and could he please have my name and birth date (exit to fancy vehicle to run background check...), and my simple answer of trying to exhibit diligence in alerting the community at large of the beasts careening in the woods was insufficient.

Thankfully, an interested, pleasant, and kind county deputy with Animal Control had made himself present and was willing to relieve the other stern public servant of this distasteful responsibility of dealing with a caffeine deprived, granny jammied, rookie country girl. For several hours he helped, was unceasingly courteous, and continuously encouraging.

The deputy suggested I call some friends for help, and do we know anybody who knows anything about cows?  Huh.  We figured we'd learn on the job so we clearly didn't know enough about cows, and being still pretty new to the area sure didn't know folks who know about cows.

But, one dear friend took my call, heard the desperation in my voice, and shortly thereafter her husband and son arrived to help.

Whose Idea Was This Anyway?

Picture this.  We're young and probably immature.  It's a family member's birthday and he's just ever so slightly older than us.  There's not a history of exchanging gifts, but we do seek the perfect card.

The one.  Simple.  A line drawing - almost a sketch - with just the minimal water coloring to fill it in.

Is there such a thing as the perfect hybrid of wonky and geeky?  That's what this youngish looking line drawn man looks like.  The text balloon above his head says, "Remember when you were 14 and you couldn't wait  to grow up?"

Inside - "Who's good idea was that? Happy Birthday anyway..."

Ha. Ha.  It was funny back then since we had just entered into the realm of grown up, newly married, finishing up school, managing finances, and excitedly living the adult experience.

Fast forward.  May 2012.  Being a grown up is tough. Although many are in bloom, things just aren't coming up all roses around here.  And being "grown up" is a good idea.

We've encountered unprecedented challenges in parenting.  The mini farm we're gratefully developing taxes all our limits.  Finances are strained.   No kidding, our cows ran away and took a three day mini vacation in the 100+ acres of woods, swamp, and neighbors fields - unbelievable stress and exertion tracking them, understanding their away from home habits, and eventually just waiting for them to come home.  (Do you want to hear more on this later...it has the potential to be a pretty entertaining post?)

And here's the biggie.  Unemployment.  Ugh.  That's a weighty one to type.  After many years of commitment,  sacrifice, and personal investment, Weekend Farmer Husband's company has severed ties and he's out of a job.

So, how could this possibly be a good thing?  A good idea?

Although the stress and discomfort produces a constant ache in my chest, there's a deeper knowing even more central.  This is the process of maturing.  The coming to contentment in plenty or in want.  Personally experiencing weakness, completely coming to the end of ourselves, and resulting in the increased understanding that when we are poor He is rich.  It's the feeling like you're at the edge of an endless abyss and circumstances beyond your control shove you in.

And it feels like a bad thing, this free fall.

But, God's ideas for how we grow are far beyond ours.  And He is always good.

So, for those of us who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and live to glorify God our Father, this is a good idea. It necessarily and logically follows.

Because this free fall doesn't require or even offer a safety net - no matter how much we want or think we need it.

Unconcerned with how fast, how far, how sloppily we fall we can only end up in one place.

We fall into the infinite character of God who never changes and who's promises hold fast.

And when all else seems to be coming undone it comes to me as more than a good idea.  It is my only comfort in life that I belong body and soul to the One who holds all things together for His glory and my good.

Amen.

• In uncertainty and want, the Holy Spirit tenderly leads through scripture, songs, and worship to minister to my fearful heart.
• Friends rally.
• Holiday weekend takes the edge off no office hours required.
• Plenty of deferred work getting done in barns, around the property, and the messy stashes of a busy life.
• Cows quietly enjoying their green pastures while the electric fence (newly reinforced) hums all around them.
• Strangers providing for needs we didn't even know we had.
• Friends just showing up and praying.
• Seeds going into earth promising a harvest and providing metaphors for hope in this gritty personal growing season.
• Mercy poured out and lavish forgiveness for the guilt I bear from selfish sin.
• Excellent hospitality in recent weeks growing relationship in our community of faith.
• Enough for now.  Isn't that always enough?
• White Horses  stampede and threaten to sweep away, but this repost reminds me it's all good.
  
• Grace aplenty.

At the End, Glory.

First of all, I need to say that I've missed being here.  In this glorious gift of  being sanctified in marriage, mothering, home educating, redeeming an old farm, and venturing into new opportunities, I'm discovering that spring is this breathtaking dance of hope and hard labor that doesn't lend itself to recreation and or writing.

You also need to know that if you keep reading past this point there are no photographs, and the only thing that will compel you toward that final punctuation mark is possibly a divine appointment.   Apparently I need 1200 words to finish my thoughts. Sheesh.

That being said, I would like to give a little nod to the butterflies in my middle that make it hard to be here, because I'm working on some big (to me) thoughts, and I'd like to share them with you, but the keyboard and the words feel rusty.  Will I really be able to concisely, comprehensively, and carefully communicate what's at work within me? It feels too much.

But, I'd like to try.  I've enjoyed and appreciated the idea that some bloggers tenure which allows me to preach to myself in a sense, and in community pray that you will be blessed, with the fondest hope of glorifying God with each fearsome word.

So, here it is.  I had a difficult and disappointing experience with Mothers Day.  With the exceptions of a sweet brief message initiated by a far away sister and my favorite mother in law preparing gifts and a feast for her daughter, me, and our families, Mother's Day was entirely forgotten and possibly ignored by Weekend Farmer Husband and our children.

And I was miffed.  Am still -  a little.

I know, I've told you and myself that I live a life of contentment.  And I do.  So what got me so bent about  Mother's Day?

I don't rightly know.  But, I have chewed on it hard and have been undeservedly blessed in what I've found so far.

First, I've been properly reminded that this unmeasurable mothering gift is above all and only designed to glorify God, raise up Godly offspring, and in so doing make me more holy that I might know Him with greater sweetness and bring honor to His name.

Somehow I get pretty mixed up and want the day (Mother's Day and *wince* every day...) to bring honor to me.

I increase in my desire for Weekend Farmer Husband to esteem me for my virtue and value, to yield to loving me with languages that I speak, to make me queen of his heart and home on Mother's Day - and for that matter we might as well lump our anniversary and my birthday in there too.

If what I've said above about mothering is true at all, then how much more so is this abundance of marriage, this secret and supernatural union that gives me glory glimpses into how the Father relates to Himself in eternity past, present, and future as three in one a landscape that gives sweeping views of "thy will be done" instead of "my wife reigns supreme"?

So, with a contrite heart, a meek spirit, and watery eyes I come to this for now.

First, Father, forgive me for making it all about me and being willing to substitute your mission for my mothering for some commemorative (thoughtfully chosen) trinket from the dollar store.  I'm mindful of C.S. Lewis who aptly penned that even when offered infinite joy we are much more inclined to behave like a child who in a slum keeps making mud pies for want of imagination about what is offered to him on holiday at the sea shore. (definitely a paraphrase...I'm sure to step on somebody's toes for not getting it right nor properly citing a source...grace? ) 
Secondly, shame on me for displacing all the primary and right things Weekend Farmer Husband and our image bearing offspring do day in and day out to love.  At least twice yesterday I heard myself say, "The best thing a mother can know on Mother's Day is the love of a faithful husband, children who know the Lord, and who bless one another by being in right relationship with their Savior and one another."  I mean every word. And, should you spend any time with us you'd find evidence that given those criteria, I might just be the most enviable woman in the world.

But, still, by bedtime I had to keep my mouth shut and head turned away on the pillow because I'd allowed my flesh to be weakened by disappointment.  No cards.  No gifts.  No recognition.

Ah - there it is.  I've known it since my mid teens.  I'm a recognition junkie.  I'll do just about the meanest job you ask me to if you'll recognize my effort.  I'll work crazy long hours if you mention me in your company newsletter.  I'll work tirelessly on a project if you tell me you're really pleased with my results and you'll mention it to...?

I'm an idolizer.  Not one of my moments, gifts, skills, insights, abilities, or capacities is of my own making yet I unceasingly strive to make much of myself.  Oh, I need thee every hour most precious Lord.  Wasn't it less than a month ago that I wrote that I'd found myself in a "less of me" spot?  Oh the groaning of my soul when I find myself at the bottom of this slippery slope I didn't even recognize I was careening down.

And, for now, the last thing, is that I must confess that none of the above is new to me.  I've been round this mountain before.  And in the days before yesterday I observed all the signs - the secret expectations building up in the background of my mind, the lack of planning and attention from my immediate family, and the busy demands of life right now should have moved me to action.

I didn't open my mouth.  And in silence I bear (in my mind) almost all of the responsibility for the flop.  What if I had with a quiet spirit and humility asked Weekend Farmer Husband to find a way to make the day special?  As as faithful friend and all around good guy I have to believe he would have more than met my expectations.

I'll read these words at the dinner table tonight.  I think Weekend Farmer Husband and the kids have figured out this misaligned mama and I know for a fact that they're working hard to have a Monday after redo.  I'll try to bless them with words of thanksgiving for how grateful I am that they are in my life and how I treasure each day as the jewel that it is.  They are all more than enough without cards, gifts, trappings, and most importantly - recognition.

And, I'll find my place at the foot of the cross where Jesus made himself nothing, yielded himself completely to the will of the Father, and obeyed even unto death that I might know a life where He again and again makes all things new.  Because of him I'll get a do over too.

Glory.



Really, really, really tried to get the button code to work...
Linking to Ann and plentiful others who chronicle gifts and give thanks.

Would you Rather...

Several Christmas's ago, our older sons gave our family a game called, "Would you Rather?".  It's a fun family/party game that presents different options or scenarios and in turn you are called upon to answer based upon your preference.  Lots of laughing is involved, lots of "ewwwww", or "I would never...", maybe a "That would be cool...."

So, honestly, I would rather answer the siren call of this:

And bask in the revealed glory of this:

Than have the record of our evening display this:

Well, you got me, that's not me.
(Weekend Farmer Husband pausing briefly with that wry resigned grin of his when he knows he's in my camera sights)
And, frankly, I play much more of a supporting role than a lot of the actual hands on dirty work - even though I would be willing, I'm much more effective and helpful managing little people, and sourcing the necessary elements for the job, as well as directing clean up in the aftermath.

I think I've got a whole 'nother post rolling around in the grey matter ready to take on the important topic of work.  It's a necessary and valuable part of a farm and no other lifestyle is entirely exempt.  We all do it.  We all have a love hate relationship with it.  I don't know about you, but I often find other work more engaging and worthy than my own...you know how it is, organizing somebody else's closet is much more attractive than dealing with your own.  Maybe it's because at the end of the project you can truly just walk away, you don't have any lingering responsibility.  Whereas your own work is wherever you are regardless of age, profession, socio economic status...excepting for brief sabbaticals, work is ever present in our day to day.

It frequently occurs to me that I offer only the smallest peeks into the labor and effort of restoring and redeeming this farm and life of ours.

(And, especially for my friends whose reformed theology carefully distinguishes between a faith based and works based sanctification, I want to assure you that I in no way believe that our family can redeem it's own life - {gentle smile})

I simply want to disclose that this adventure is work.  And lots of it.  And it occurs any time of day or night.  A farm is no respecter of the clock.  And it's often stinky, gross, heartbreaking, conflict generating, and downright difficult.

But, this Green Acres is as idyllic as you or I see it.  Notably, it is multifaceted, demanding, comprehensive in it's draw on our resources, and profoundly difficult as well as rewarding.

Many of you dream of living as we do.  You share fond hopes that someday you'll leave your city lot behind, or your suburb, or your village and secure your own piece of green.  Oh, how I long for your dream to be the reality and for the blessing of this life for you and your loved ones.

And soon, I will write more about work.

For now, I will conclude with a picture that displays the nitty grity of what it sometimes takes to live this happy dream.  And, I'll be humbled by servant's hands and love that labors to meet all our needs.

P.S. Thanks for your concern... we all do have and wear gloves.  Some jobs require hands on and gloves off...We're still figuring out how to heal our hands.