I am my mother's daughter

My mom is literally a part of me. You can't say that about many people, except relatives and organ donors. ~ Carrie Latet


When we are younger, we always assume we know what's best for us -- often to our detriment. But, that's part of growing up and learning from our mistakes.

Now that I'm older, and supposedly "wiser," I find, as many often do, that my mom was right all along. And the scary thing is, I'm starting to think and act like her too.

I can't really pinpoint when it happened, that I transformed into my mother -- I only know that somehow it did.

Let me explain. Driving with my husband through town the other day, we passed the high school as kids were getting out and heading home, and my mother distinctly came out, loud and clear, from my own mouth as I found myself saying, "How could her mother let her out of the house dressed like that?" As soon as I said it, I clasped my hand over my mouth, and looked at my husband -- who, grinning ear to ear, replied, "Was that you or your mom?"

It happened again here in the office, when I had a reporter running late to a story and reminded her to take her time and drive carefully. Over her shoulder she said, "Yes, mom," with a smile.

Just recently, we had friends coming in for the holidays, and I spent all evening the night before they arrived hurriedly cleaning, scrubbing and putting things away to make sure our cabin was "presentable." I may have actually scared the dogs, who were not familiar with the type and intensity of militant cleaning that was going on.

And why was I cleaning like a crazed scullery maid? Because in my mind, I have visions of my mother and our impeccable home - not a spec of dust to be found, no streaks on the windows -- just a perfectly comfortable and amazingly clean home that always greeted our guests, whether they were the neighborhood kids covered in dirt and grass stains or men in three piece suits from my father's office.

The final straw came in a phone call with a relative who, just before ending the conversation, noted that I sounded "just like your mother."

And to be honest, I'm taking it as a compliment, because my mother is an amazing woman -- smart, witty and able to multi-task with the best of them. Now, if I could just figure out how to do everything she did -- running a household, dealing with kids and a husband, handling pets and taking care of finances -- and still do my day job, I'll have it made.

Whatever happened to the "Thanks" in Thanksgiving?

To speak gratitude is courteous and pleasant, to enact gratitude is generous and noble, but to live gratitude is to touch Heaven. ~Johannes A. Gaertner


Gratitude, that simple acknowledgement of thanks for something -- anything really -- a friend, a flower, a good meal. How sorely are we lacking in modern times of this simple gift on a daily basis?

In my opinion, Thanksgiving is one of the most abused festivals in our holiday calendar, for we live in a society that has largely forgotten how good it can be to feel grateful.

100 years ago, a harvest thanksgiving really meant something to the farmers and their families who had worked all year in the fields. A poor crop a century ago did not mean higher prices for avocados and oranges at Walmart. It meant real deprivation, with the potential for starvation staved off only by the charity of others or the local soup kitchen, if there even was one. A couple of bad harvests meant the loss of a lifetime's work and families driven from their land.

A century ago the opportunity to give thanks around a table laden with autumn's harvest treasures was a deeply meaningful celebration, a chance to breathe a sigh of relief. Life would go on until next Spring's new beginning.

Today, the vast majority of the population lives in cities and urban areas. The world has changed. Our western civilization has developed the mechanisms to ensure that no one needs to starve to death. Fresh vegetables ands fruits are available in supermarkets year round now. But there was a time when they were something for which you were grateful.

My husband's favorite Christmas gift growing up on a farm in rural Louisiana was an orange - can you imagine that? In today's world of fast food and frozen food aisles, an orange was what he most looked forward to.

We have become a society where more and more people drift through their lives oblivious to the gifts laid before them. They have never known want or deprivation. They don't know how to feel grateful for things that have just always "been there" for them.

When we come down with an illness, we expect medical science to fix it. When we lose a job, possibly even through our own negligence, we expect a good severance package or, failing that, we look to the government to pick up the tab and help us get back on our feet. When something bad happens we cannot understand why the police can't rectify the situation and protect us from, ... well, everything.

Let us rejoice in being alive. Let us rejoice in being with family and friends now and then. Let us rejoice in being part of humanity. Let us dare to say, "Hi" to a stranger and even risk a smile. Okay, they might not smile back, being taken by surprise and all, but perhaps they will smile at the next person. Expressing your gratitude gives a gift to someone else.

Long ago the Jewish philosopher Maimonedes described a hierarchy of giving. At the pinnacle of that pyramid was the anonymous gift. It was the most religious and blessed thing we could do, he said, to give without any expectation. It was the ultimate act of gratitude, being able to say, "What God has given me, I will give away."

This Thanksgiving, let us remember to pause and appreciate the good things that have come our way. Let us also pause to appreciate the tests that have challenged us and helped us grow into the people we have become. Let the song of gratitude swell in our hearts. Let us not withdraw into a sense of "entitlement." Instead, let us embrace life and spread that joy, and take the time to be grateful.

The road to self sufficiency is paved with a lot of blood and guts

Living on a homestead, and working towards being self-sufficient is a somewhat painstaking process. First, you have to buy some workable land and build your home, preferably without having a mortgage or loan left over following the process.
Then, comes the well and electricity to run the well and power your home. We are currently on the grid for power, but have future plans to combine solar and wind energy to eventually get off the grid, plus we have the house wired for a generator back-up should the grid ever go down.

Next up are the gardens and cultivating enough land over several seasons to produce a bountiful harvest all year long. This includes rotational planting, the erection of greenhouses and a cold storage option, such as a cellar or basement of some type. We settled on an acre of harvestable land, two greenhouses for food production through the winter months, a root cellar, and, next Spring, fruit and nut trees to go in on a plot of our land close to the river. We are also going to start up a bee hive in the spring, to help with pollination and to produce our own honey for home brewing and for a natural sweetener alternative, along with Stevia.

The next step is where the blood and guts come in. Chickens, rabbits, goats and -- in future -- a dexter cow or two.

Now, please remember -- I'm a born and bred New York City Girl. Yes, I have managed to live happily in a tent, roughing it in the outdoors, taking cold showers and utilizing composting toilets. But when it comes to butchering livestock - that's where I start to get just this side of seriously squeemish.

Thankfully, we have a good friend who is more than experienced in this and I have the Marine, who has probably never felt squeemish in his life. So, the ground rules have been: 1) I am not allowed to name our "food." 2) I am not allowed to treat our "food" as pets and 3) on butchering day, I need to be anywhere but in the barn, so as not to disrupt the cleaning and butchering process.

Number three is not a problem whatsoever. It's numbers 1 and 2 that could be trouble.

I love animals - both domesticated and wild ones. So not getting attached to cuddly furry rabbits and cute baby goats will take some work. (The chickens however, won't be a problem - I love chicken and dumplings way too much to feel squeemish about that).

So, I figure sometime in the near future, even though the rules have been laid out for me in advance, I will still find myself coming in from the barn and asking my Marine where "Bo-Bo" the goat is, and undoubtedly he'll look me square in the eye and tell me, "He's run off. Now eat your stew."

"If" by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; 

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 

But make allowance for their doubting too; 

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, 

Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, 

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; 

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; 

If you can meet with triumph and disaster 

And treat those two imposters just the same; 

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken 

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, 

And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings 

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 

And lose, and start again at your beginnings 

And never breath a word about your loss; 

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 

To serve your turn long after they are gone, 

And so hold on when there is nothing in you 

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch; 

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; 

If all men count with you, but none too much; 

If you can fill the unforgiving minute 

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run - 

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 

And - which is more - you'll be a complete human!

Fall arrives in the Ozarks

Growing up on Staten Island, I used to dislike the arrival of fall. Except for the fun of Halloween, it just seemed such a dreary, cold and all around dreadful time of year. As a youngster, Spring was my time - the warmer breezes, clear sunshine, tulips and irises...that's when I felt truly alive and enjoyed being banished to the outdoors during the day so our parents could get things done around the house without all of us kids stomping around.

But growing older, and having moved to more temperate climes, I find that Fall is beginning to be one of my favorite times of year. Walking with our dogs through the crunching leaves, feeling the chill of the air settling in, and that crisp-ness that only comes in October here in the Ozarks. It makes me long for a good book, wood in the old cast iron stove and hot chocolate warming a mug filled with marshmallows.

Watching the leaves change from golden to red, and the berries come out on the dogwoods for the birds, and stealing that last afternoon catnap in the hammock before the real cold sets in. Even our cats are enjoying the change in the seasons. We often find them at our heels, walking with us and the dogs through the woods, venturing out to climb trees and chase unsuspecting lizards.

Yep, the wheel is definitely turning, and the New Year is just around the corner. What will it bring on the chill of October, as we celebrate those who have passed and look ahead to the year before us. I for one am ready to embrace what's coming, and to look within for what will be.

When being Me annoys others

Ever had one of those days when just by being yourself, you manage to annoy just about everyone around you? I swear, it must be some innate skill hidden away in our DNA that just switches to the "On" position on occasion.

I'm not doing anything I wouldn't normally do - in this case, helping a friend through a tough time - and kapow! Everyone around me all of a sudden looks at me like I'm stark raving mad.

I assure you, I help people all the time, whether they be true friends or just folks needing directions. It's part of my nature. It's part of who I am. Always has been and always will be.

So, color me befuddled when my innate desire to help is twisted into some odd type of behavior that causes everyone I care about to look at me like I've grown a second head.

The view does become somewhat clearer, as I realize that the person I am attempting to help is also someone those around me find "annoying."

So, apparently, when someone is considered annoying by the pack, they must be thrown to the wolves and left to suffer. Somehow, that just doesn't sit right with me. Everyone deserves a chance, and they deserve assistance, annoying habits aside.

So, I guess I will reside in the corner with my "annoying" hat on, because I don't intend to change who I am to suit the masses.

Growing Pains

Ah, the pain of growing pains...we all go through it as we age year to year, from child to teen, parent to grandparent. But what about the spiritual growing pains? The emotional growing pains?

Sometimes I think they can be more painful that the physical manifestations of age.

I watch as a dear friend experiences true heartbreak for the first time, and desperately wish to hold them and "make it all go away," but doing so would remove the lesson to be learned as well. Growth – and change – are seldom easy, and often require fortitude of body, mind and spirit to get to the other side.

It's funny how, as we grow older, our perspective grows as well, and we can look back on times when we acted out and shut ourselves off, only to be faced with another sunrise and another day to move on.

I'm not saying I'm any wiser – far from it really – but I can look more objectively now, and see the situation from a whole new angle. Perhaps it's just knowing from experience that it does get better, that once the growth is achieved – whether mental, physical or spiritual – the body re-centers itself and life continues.

A teacher once told me to never sacrifice body for the sake of the mind; mind for the sake of the soul; and the soul for sake of the body. In other words, keep all sides of your true self in balance and the world will be a happier place for you. I'm beginning to see the wisdom in those words, and perhaps, growing a bit because of them.

Preparing for the Arrival of "Family"

Preparing for the arrival of any family member can usually be a bit of a challenge – at least, it is for us, because we have four dogs, seven cats, a small cabin and a lot of dirt, mud and leaves to be swept, scraped and removed.

But preparing for the arrival of chosen family – those folks who love you no matter what your house looks like – now, that's always a lot easier. Sure, you still straighten up and hide the big messes in a drawer (which typically it takes both of us to get shut again) and doing a light sweeping, you don't have to go quite as crazy as, say, when MOM is coming to visit. That's when the toothbrushes for the floorboards come out and the husband goes into hiding in the woods...with the dogs...

And so it is the former we are preparing for today, cleaning up, straightening up and preparing for the arrival of chosen family who will come and spend a long weekend with us, laughing around the fire, sharing stories and songs, telling tales (most of the times on each other to great comic effect) and basically relaxing and de-stressing from the chaos of our mundane lives.

I have to admit, this is the only time I find myself smiling and humming while do anything resembling housework. The excitement starts to build, knowing not only will there be some days away from the daily grind, but those days will also be filled with loved ones who make the daily grind worthwhile.

The identity of "Me"

Having one of those days where the weather is dreary, work is tiresome and I find myself trying to fit into too many different categories – wife, mother, sister, minister, counselor, editor, friend, confidant, daughter, leader

I feel like each is a merely a piece of who I am, but without all those pieces, who am I really?

If I let go of the sister piece, will I still be me? Or does losing that piece mean I lose myself?

What if I let leader go – will I feel aimless?

This is one of those days when I want to let them all go, disappear into the darkness and emerge as a butterfly from the chrysalis – reborn anew, without worry, responsibility, fear – or pain.

And yet, it is the pain that makes us human, is it not? If we did not learn, we would not grow. If we did not grow we would become stagnant and die...and have to come back and do it all again.

I'm weary, in my heart. And the plaintive patter of the rain outside the door sounds like a dirge to me. What I wouldn't give for a ray of sunshine at my window right about now.

The End of Osama

I was born and raised on Staten Island, NY. We rode the famed Staten Island Ferry, visited the Statue of Liberty, gawked from the top of the Empire State Building, skated beneath the Christmas lights at Rockefeller Center, took great delight in the amazing window displays on Fifth Avenue and ate in the world famous Windows on the World restaurant in the Twin Towers.
From Staten Island, we watched as those towers were built. Day after day, week after week, they climbed higher and higher into the downtown Manhattan skyline. On September 11, 2001, when they came tumbling down to the ground, it was as if the world had gone mad for a moment -- the impossible made possible, in some unfathomable way.

The loss of life that day was devastating -- from the towers in New York, to the Pentagon, to that lonely Pennsylvania field. So much loss of life and for what? A crazy man's beliefs?

And now, they say the crazy man, Osama Bin Laden, has finally been brought to justice. For many of the families affected on that day, news of his death brings much needed closure.

But the sad truth is, that he was not the only one, and there are more who wait in the wings for their chance to shine in jihad against the civilized world.

My hope on this dreary Monday, is that the "pretenders" to the throne, as it were, are just that -- pretenders and nothing more. That another September 11 isn't on the horizon, in retaliation for bin Laden's death. That perhaps with his passing, part of the jihad fire will have waned, and sanity can once again creep into the world, and peace may one day rule, where terrorism has held sway.

The Way of Tolerance

On a recent Sunday, the sermon given really spoke to me, and I feel compelled to share it's message with you of religious tolerance. It's something we encounter every day in our interactions with people, but we may not recognize it for what it is, or how important it is. In fact, here in the self-proclaimed "belt buckle" of the Bible belt, it can be increasingly hard to find.

Religious toleration is the condition of accepting or permitting others' religious beliefs and practices which disagree with one's own. Most people tend to view religions other than their own primarily in one of three ways:

* Exclusivism: One's own faith tradition is the only true religion.

* Inclusivism: One's own faith tradition is the only completely true religion. Other religions are incomplete or partially developed faiths which have some truth.

* Pluralism: All religions are legitimate, valid, and true -- when viewed from within their particular culture. All faith traditions are deserving of respect.

Pluralists may hold very strong personal convictions even while being "tolerant" of conflicting belief systems. They might feel that their own convictions are absolutely true and valid for themselves. But they believe that other people's belief systems are equally valid, if judged within their own cultures.

So, an American Christian could hold very firm religious beliefs. She/he could also accept that Muslim belief systems are also true and valid within Islamic cultures. They could accept that Buddhist beliefs are true and valid for Buddhists. They are probably tolerant of non-Christian beliefs within all other religious groups, ranging from Agnosticism to Zoroastrian, including Buddhism, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Paganism, etc. They would be tolerant of other person's and groups' beliefs whether expressed within their own locality, elsewhere in their country, or in foreign lands.

A person may hold very strong personal convictions and believe that other people's beliefs are either partly or totally false. Still they might respect the fundamental human right of religious freedom.

Religious freedom includes:

* The right to follow one's own spiritual and religious path,

* The right for a person to convert from one belief system to another.

* The right to communicate these beliefs with the hope of converting others.

* The right to assemble with others in religious services, seminars, etc.

So they will work to assure that everyone enjoys religious freedom.

Ultimately, this is the only way to guarantee their own freedom of religion in the future.

A Native American saying goes:

"All the races and tribes in the world are like the different colored flowers of one meadow. All are beautiful. As children of the Creator, they must all be respected."

Toleration isn't much, but it is the first step towards curiosity, interest, study, understanding, appreciating and finally valuing our community's diversity.

In my Arkansas county alone, we have Interfaith, Baptist, Church of Christ, Methodist, Mennonite, Assemblies of God, Adventists, Non-Denominational, Catholic, Episcopal, Jehovah's Witnesses, Pentecostal, Pagan, Lutheran, and Presbyterian. We are a veritable melting pot of beliefs and paths, all of which lead to a greater understanding of God.

I ask that you endeavor to bring some tolerance into your own life, and in doing so, into our families and our community. By embracing our differences and recognizing our similarities we can make our community strong, and by sharing our faiths and experiences with each other, we make our community even stronger.

Speaking Up for Those Who Cannot Speak for Themselves

I care not much for a man's religion whose dog and cat are not the better for it.
~Abraham Lincoln

The recent headlines concerning the horses out at the Kankey Farm help shine a light on a problem here in our area. When owners are arrested, pass away or are forced to leave their homes due to foreclosure, many times animals are left behind to fend for themselves.
Whether it be horses, goats and cows or cats, dogs and birds – these animals are left with no food, no water and no shelter.

Many times, in the case of loyal dogs, they will stay on the property, slowly dying, waiting for their owner to return.
You might think, “Well, friends or family will care for them,” or “Perhaps a neighbor will take them in.”
Too many times, there is no family to turn to, and neighbors may not be all that neighborly, especially if it’s a pregnant dog about to give birth to pups or an older dog, long past its prime.

At the recent Fulton County Quorum Court meeting, a young man asked the court members why Fulton County doesn’t have an animal control unit. As you might have guessed, the answer comes down to money. Running a unit takes a lot of money and quite a bit of man-power.

The purity of a person's heart can be quickly measured by how they regard animals.
–Anonymous

But there are alternatives currently available. Two organizations in our area rescue animals that have been left in this condition: Izard County Animal Rescue Effort (ICARE) and the Spring River Animal Rescue Effort (SPARE) in Cherokee Village. Both of these organizations are volunteer run, existing almost totally on donations and the kindness of their members, to shelter these animals, properly feed them and have veterinary care for them, and in the end find loving homes for these animals.

But both agencies need the community’s help to survive.
SPARE is an active local animal rescue which has been very successful in placing dogs with breed-specific rescue organizations and finding them wonderful homes. Donations are needed to assist SPARE's critical rescue effort.

Anyone wishing to contribute to help the animals can contact Spring River Animal Rescue Effort (SPARE), Inc. PO Box 364, Cherokee Village, Ark., 72525 or call 870-847-0727 to get more information. Every donation is tax deductible. You may also email them at spanimalrescue@aol.com.

ICARE’s mission is to promote responsible, compassionate care and relief of suffering and homeless animals. Their major need this holiday season is pet food, collars, harnesses, pens, tarps and straw, plus donations are always welcome and are tax deductible.
To make a donation to ICARE or for further information, call 870-368-5000.
In this season of “Goodwill towards all men,” I encourage you to broaden your scope and include the animals in your thoughts.

Be kind; it is hardly ever the wrong thing to do." –Anonymous

The Power of Words

Listening to President Obama’s speech at the memorial for the victims of the shootings in Arizona, one thing he said really rang true to me.
“... It's important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we're talking with each other in a way that heals, not in a way that wounds.”
Although the President may have been addressing the political rhetoric that has surrounded these tragic events, they also “speak” to the way we speak to others in everyday life.
I was born with a mildly deformed foot, and for many of my early years, I had to wear special shoes.
As a child, anything that made you “different” from other children would inevitably lead to name calling and, in my case, often times being left out of games or adventures, due to my big shoes and clumsy gait.
One day in particular from my childhood stands out to me even today, and it was the utterance of four words that completely changed my somewhat isolated outlook on life, at that point and time.
I was watching the local neighborhood kids playing bocce ball, a popular Italian ball game often referred to as lawn bowling. I had become accustomed to sitting on the sidelines, because there was less chance of being called names or picked on if I just sat quietly on my own and watched.
Our neighbor, Mrs. Cardinale, came out of her house on her way to the local market. She watched the kids playing on the lawn, and strolled over to where I was sitting and watching the fun.
She smiled at me, leaned down and said, “You can do that.” Just those four words, and then she walked on, towards the store.
If you are the kind of person who has always been encouraged by your family or your friends or somebody else, maybe you will never understand how happy those words made me feel. Four little words: “You can do that.”
I have never forgotten them. To this day, when things are not going so well, I think of those words and I lift up my chin and move forward.
I have a feeling many others have memories like that in their lives – small and sweet memories that are strong enough to override other memories of bitterness or sadness. Memories based on the simple act of using words of kindness, of encouragement and of support. There’s a lesson in that.
In our non-stop society, when off-handed cruelty at times seems to be the accepted norm, it may be worth giving a little thought to the idea that the small moments of people treating us with decency and empathy can last for a very long time – that the echoes of kindness can be as loud and enduring as the echoes of callousness.

Surviving the End of the Holidays

The Marine and I have travelled over 1,500 miles this holiday season, visiting family and friends and sharing in seasonal parties and events. I actually had to go to the chiropractor to fix my hip, as the amount of driving and sitting in the car had actually knocked me out of alignment.
Our bellies are definitely bigger from all of the wonderful food, and our heads are a bit stuffier thanks to the regional allergies that kicked up (Texas Pine Tree dust anyone?)

As much as I love the holidays, and the reconnecting with family, having to cram it all into just a few days is a bit much. You see, we have Christmas, our anniversary (which is the day after Christmas), my Dad's birthday (which is Jan 2) and the Marine's birthday (which is Jan. 8) all to celebrate while we're together as a family. This means we eat way too many desserts (pies for Christmas and the Anniversary; cakes for the birthdays) and gorge on several different wonderful dinners. And we had three days in which to do it all - oy!

I'm actually looking forward to New Year's, when we have two friends coming over to help us ring in 2011 with a frozen pizza, champagne to toast, and some fun games to play. It will be nice to relax, sit back and laugh with friends and not have to worry about the rigors of holiday get-togethers.

We'll have the beautiful Ozark night sky filled with stars, two dogs and five cats who will eagerly be jockeying for positions next to the warm humans, and a toasty wood stove to keep things cozy. Who needs to ring in the New Year with a bang? I prefer the quiet, peacefulness of the Arkansas Ozarks, with the owls hooting in the background and the coyotes singing in the distance.

Losing a Chosen Family Member

As I write this post, a dear friend of mine, someone I have "adopted" as chosen family, is fighting the ravages of lung cancer and pneumonia in a Memphis hospital and not expected to live through the night.
Trudy is a family member I only met three years ago - a woman who has had songs written about her, has brought laughter and guffaws from her storytelling, and whose shoulders I have leaned on at several times. And now, when I need a shoulder to cry on, I can't cry on hers...

Friends are your chosen family. They are the folks that you choose to be in the trenches with you; the folks that you choose to celebrate your success with.

You can choose the mother you never had. A friend that will always nurture you. The first one to consider your feelings when you call to talk about a run-in you had with your boss.

You can choose the perfect brother. Someone who will tell you the truth without mincing words. You know you can turn to this person when you feel like lying to yourself because they won't, but they are always in your corner, there to help you grow.

You can choose the perfect father. Someone who has your back, but calls you on your BS.

You can choose the perfect sister. The friend you call up to catch the latest movie or take a road trip. She's fun, energetic, and always there for a good time.

Some friends come into your life for six months just to help you through a hard time. They don't know anything about the story and they can offer a fresh perspective.

Others are around for a lifetime. They know your every nuance. They can tell you why you made the decisions you did if you begin to question them.

Great friends keep you grounded and help you fly.

A chosen family is composed of sisters of the heart, brothers of the soul, and stand-in mothers and fathers who are companions and guides through the rollercoaster of ups and downs in life. They are the people who we choose to spend time with, not necessarily those we are born into.

Our chosen family members are not just capable, but also willing to be constants in an ever-shifting world, assisting us in that which we cannot do alone, or at least that which we would prefer not to do alone. These are the people in our lives who we choose to love and who can give us that love and support we desire in return, without all the mess and guilt that comes sometimes with blood ties and birthrights. I'm talking about connection, shared circumstances and intersecting life-journeys.

These are the people we spend holidays with; the people we share moments with -- births and deaths, dinners and wine, conversation and coffee.

Some of them come, some of them remain, and some of them move on. But these are the people who, no matter the length of time between visits, you can call and feel like no time has passed or whom you can visit and blend right into their world. We lean on these people in ways we cannot lean on our parents and siblings and we share with them things our blood families might never understand.

We cannot choose the family we are born into -- not really. Though we are perhaps born into the exact family we are supposed to be born into, for whatever lessons we're supposed to learn, we cannot be expected to get everything we need in terms of support and love from those bloodlines.

And though we should not stop loving our blood family, we can also seek out the people who are the family we wish we had and give and receive all that there is to offer, growing ever-wiser in the process.

Knowing Trudy has been a gift in my life, and from her I do believe I have grown just a bit wiser. In fact, I think that is her gift to many of her "chosen" family, and it is with great pride that I count myself among them. And it is with great humility, that I pause today to think of her and to be grateful for the lessons I have learned from her.

The Turning of the Tap

We've really done it now - gone from electricity to honest to goodness, clean running, water...from a tap....when you turn the faucet. COOL!
Yep, if there's one thing this city girl has seriously missed these many moons out in the woods, it's been that wonderful thing called a shower. Now, we have our little gravity fed solar shower, and have become experts at sponge baths in the winter time, but a luxurious, long, hot, shower has just not been possible...until (almost) now.

The well is in, the pipes have been run and at the cabin, the turn of a faucet brings beautiful clear well water on demand. Now, we just need to add the on-demand propane heater and build a bathroom, and my dream of an endless (well, endless til the propane runs out) hot shower is on the horizon.

Trust me, you'll know when that happens, cause I'll be wandering around town with a big old smile on my face and the pruniest skin you've ever seen - but it will be the cleanest pruniest skin you'll ever see.

The Power of...Well, Power!

We have finally done it - the Marine and I have joined the 21st Century at our little cabin in the woods, thanks to our new friends at the local electrical co-op. Yes folks, we have power at the flip of a switch instead of the yank and pull of a generator cord.
We can now watch the television and have the computer on - both at the same time!

We can leave a small night light on at night next to the loft stairs so we don't have to play "step on the cat's tail" in the middle of the night.

Now, instead of percolating on the propane stove for twenty minutes, I can plug in a coffee maker and be enjoying my caffeine in just under five minutes.

I can actually get dressed in the light, instead of guessing if items match in the dark (hey, no more days of mis-matched shoes at the office!)

Best of all, until we get the wood stove hooked up for the winter, we can now plug in the electric heater and stay warm in the evenings without layering on clothes til we look like Nanook of the North.

And next week - in case having power at the flip of a switch wasn't enough - we're having our well drilled, which means running water! AKA Hot showers, a washing machine for laundry, dishwasher for dishes and, in the future, a flush toilet!

And to think, this time last year, I was still living in a tent, keeping warm with a wood stove, watching DVD's on our laptop, and going through our daily checklist of inspecting the tent and tarps for leaks.

We've definitely moved up in the comfort class, but we have still managed to keep the best part of our life out here in the woods - falling asleep to the sounds of nature, marveling at the amazing display of stars at night, and treasuring the simple joy of sitting with friends around the campfire, laughing and relaxing.

The Trials and Tribulations of Going Electric

Ah, that magickal flip of a switch that turns the lights on. Today, most everyone takes it for granted. However, those of us who lived in a tent for two years and are just recently closing in on the wonders of electric light still see the awe in flipping a switch and having the lights come on.
Now, it hasn't been that bad. We have propane lanterns and oil lanterns. We cook on a propane stove and heat with a wood stove. And we have the occasional decadence of a generator so we can watch movies and hop online to do e-mail.

But that little switch flip - I have to tell you, I'm counting down the days like a little kid at Christmas, just waiting for it to happen.

And of course, like most things in the country, it's never an easy process.

We had the local electrical co-op come out and look at where we had power lines on our property, and then look at where our cabin was to see how they were going to get the lines up our lovely 600 foot high hill. Underground seemed to be the best way to go. They checked that our dwelling was larger than 500 sq. ft (which it is by quite a bit) and saw that we had a contract to put in a well, so the representative said to go ahead and get the trench in and we'd go from there.

So, in goes a four foot deep, three foot wide, 600 foot long trench, right up our main driveway. Yes folks, I now have the Ozarks version of the grand canyon in my front yard. Anywhoo, we call the co op folks, all excitedly and say, come on out and let's do this.

Ah, that was our first mistake - getting excited. It's just not ever that easy.

Out they come and go - well, turns out "we can't lay the lines yet, as you don't have your well." Oh really? And what about the 600 foot, four foot deep, three foot wide trench we just dug? How do we get the well guys to the well site over the chasm? Needless to say, the Marine and I were beginning to see the value of going solar and not messing with the co-op, if they were going to be acting quite so contrary. But I miss my washing machine and dryer, I'd really like to have a modern stove again to cook on and, to be honest, I kind of miss watching television.

After several phone calls, we reached an agreement - if we signed a contract, guaranteeing that our well will be in by December 31, they would come and lay the lines - but NOT turn on the meter until the well was in. Meanwhile, I'm sitting here thinking: they've already missed out on three years of monthly electrical payments from us, they have all those expenses from the bad ice storm in 2009, and they're still going to make us jump through hoops to get power so we can pay them? Really?

Oh, and here's the best part - now they have decided they need a concrete pad to put a transformer on half way up the hill. So we have to build and pour that too, before they'll come out and lay in the lines, so we can fill in the trench, to get the well guys in to dig, so we can get the meter turned on.

Patience may be a virtue, but I'm about to the point where virtue doesn't really impress me all that much. Here's to hoping that next week, we may finally get some lines in. All just so I can flip a little switch and see the lights come on. Honestly, I'm beginning to think my propane lantern and stove do just fine.

The Dangers of Living in the Ozarks – Armadillo Edition

There are lots of dangers to watch out for when one is roughing it out on 43 acres of Ozarks wilderness. We have pygmy rattlesnakes, copperheads, black widow spiders and brown recluses to contend with, plus the occasional hungry bear and large cat moving through. I had never quite categorized the lowly armadillo as worthy of the title, but after last week, I now consider them one of the most dangerous little creatures out there. Let me explain why...
Our dogs love to chase armadillos, and frequently play "dillo ball" any time one is stupid enough to roam onto their turf, where they roll it into a ball and bap it back and forth across the acreage until the poor thing dies of fright or manages to skitter away. "Poor thing"...humpf.

Aside from digging up our gardens and flowers and shrubs and most everything else we try to plant, those little monsters make holes - deep holes -- some that go about straight down and then curve -- holes that are the absolute perfect circumference for a size 8 foot, such as mine.

Yep, you guessed it - I found an armadillo hole alright - with my foot. One broken and badly sprained ankle later and I am now relegated to crutches for four to six weeks, and having to ask my darling Marine to drive me to and from work every day for the week until the doctor clears me to drive again.

So when you're making out that list of dangerous Ozark denizens, be sure to put A for Armadillos at the top - and encourage those dogs to play some more dillo ball whenever you can.

The House that Laura Built

Living the country life in a house with very few amenities in the modern world is a challenge. Living the country life in a house with very few amenities in the late 1800s makes my modern challenge look like a cakewalk.
Recently the Marine and I had the opportunity to take a break from home building at our cabin to visit the home built by Laura Ingalls Wilder and her husband Almonzo in Mansfield, Missouri, where she wrote the Little House on the Prairie books.

Walking through that beautiful farm house, and admiring the amazing ceiling support beams that Laura and Almonzo cut down on their property and shaped themselves, was awe inspiring. This beautiful home, with it's low ceilings and picturesque windows was such a wonder for us. My favorite part was the stone fireplace that Laura had Almonzo create in their living room from three slabs of gigantic limestone they pulled from their apple orchard.

To see the craftsmanship of this sweet home, nestled on a rising hill just off the main road on a place they called Rocky Ridge Farm in 1894, and to know that they too started from a small shack they quickly cobbled together to this amazing house over almost 18 years of hard work, side by side, gave me hope that our cabin may soon find it's way to completion too.

Their daughter, Rose Wilder Lane was an amazing journalist and quite successful for her time. She used her earnings to build a lovely rock home for her parents on the far end of the farm while she moved into the lovely farm house that Laura and Almonzo had built together. Being loving parents, Laura and Almonzo dutifully moved in to the new and modern rock house (equipped with electricity and a new-fangled electric stove). But not too many years later, Rose felt the pull of journalism and left the farm once again, at which point her parents rather quickly packed up and moved back into the pretty white farm house they had built together, and where they both spent their final days.

Having endured only two years so far of cabin building, I can completely understand how Laura and Almonzo felt - the new house was certainly nice, but there's really no place like home - especially a home you have built and made yourself. That seems to hold fast no matter what century you live in.