Keep It Pink

I’d like to live in a pink world, and every so often, I get to. The trick is to keep it pink.

My son learned meditation many years ago. The process has brought him clarity and helped him with struggles. He seems content, one of the most content people I have ever known. When I lost my way and struggled with anger and hurt, he taught me to “Look for pink light.” Bear with me as I bring this full circle. I remember in college (when I thought I wanted to work in prison corrections) I read a study about the best paint color to use in prisons. It said PINK. Pink is known for its calming influence, and especially where people are so angry. Pink represents baby girls! Pink is spring and baby animals. Pink is peonies and lilacs. It is the color that inspires thankfulness in a gentle sunrise and the bold, vibrant sunset that screams “I’ll be back!”.  And in meditation practice, pink is clarity. It is a pure, transparent light that opens us to understanding and contentment. 

I see “pink” actions all around me. I am loved. Today I live where neighbors do for neighbors, and it is a commitment made with little thought. I am inspired and often brought to joyful tears by the kind and compassionate work of others. I want to be that happy person who thinks of every single person as a possible connection. I want to be helpful and give and love and serve. 

Some might say that I want to live in a world tinged with rosy colored glasses, and I wouldn’t say they are wrong. But, these days I live in a world that I don’t understand. A world where vengeance, revenge, and conspiring seem to be acceptable. Conversations are guarded and hard to have. Relationships are strained. Simple issues turn into misunderstandings, judgment, and worse yet, hate. Pink can be hard to find.

I’d like to live in a pink world, and every so often, I get to. The trick is to keep it pink. Do what feels best for my heart, appreciate loving gestures and give as many as I can, stop at the end of the drive to take a picture of the breathtaking sunrise and stand in awe of the bold sunset as a promise of new, better days ahead. 

The trick is to keep it pink.

It is a Miracle!

When the Avian flu wiped out chicken hatcheries and farms, the price of eggs wasn't the only thing affected. If no chicks are hatching, then there are no chickens. What's a fake farmer to do??  Well, I discovered I could either wait until July for 12 new chicks at $5.00 a piece, or I could just pay for the $60 incubator. 

Tax Day we have PAY OFF! Twelve brand new little chickie babies entered our world, starting the evening before. What a rush - 12 eggs, 12 babies! The chicken experts are saying 100% hatch is amazing!!  

Apparently, our rooster is doing his job!

You know, I can best describe my hatchery knowledge with a phrase my mom used, "You know just enough to be dangerous." So, so true.  I read the "book," stalked my social media chicken groups, and followed the written directions. It really isn't complicated. 

The mechanics are interesting, though. The incubator provides humidity (which I didn't know was needed) and rotates the eggs every 120 minutes. The temperature stays between 98-100*. The directions laid out which days to candle. That means to shine a bright light through an egg to determine if a chick is growing. The light on the incubator sucks, but I discovered the flashlight on my phone worked fine. At the Day 7 mark, I could see veins and a very dark spot. Day 14, I wasn't sure about any of it, and allowed myself to be discouraged.  Then on Day 19, I removed the rotating tray, sprayed the eggs for additional humidity, and candled again. This time, the air bubbles in all the eggs were at the wide end. I saw movement in two eggs, like the chicks were startled by the light. And then, we waited.

Monday evening, I saw pip marks in seven eggs. I was pretty happy, but it takes hours to progress from the little four cornered crack to full release from the shells. At bedtime, there were no chickies. At 4:40 am, there were six, and at 6:15 am there were three more. Over the course of the day, the last three worked their way into the world, with the last one rolling out at 5:20 pm.  Last one to hatch!

The chicks are about as ugly as you can imagine, but within minutes, they are dry, fluffy and noisily looking for a way to get out. I moved them to a heated box after each was dry and watered each by dipping their beaks (We learned this from the hatchery three years ago).They weren't fed for 24 hours...something about absorbing the yolk that is in their bellies. 

We have four breeds of chickens, but only have one Rhode Island Red rooster. Our chicks will all be crosses.  Barred Rock/RIR = Black sex link. Buff Orpingtons/RIR = lighter red than RIR. Leghorns/RIR = Golden Comet. And of course Rhode Island Reds (with little red strips from tip to tail). Don't know a significant cross with our Wyandottes.

Of course now the real waiting begins. In four to six months they will begin to lay eggs. They get worried over and fed well (freeloaders) while we wait for those first tiny butt nuggets!

It is spring, and there is nothing cuter than a baby. This experience was more important for me than hatching eggs for our chicken operation, such as it is. It reminded me that I can still follow directions and have a successful outcome, honestly, beyond my wildest imagination. I can still be amazed by the miracle of creation and birth. 

Happy Easter everyone!  

Do Your Little Bit

I love Dollar Tree, though I call it the $1.25 Store now. I have outfitted our camper with supplies from there, and I have purchased lots of items for arts and craft projects. I like to go alone, because I walk every aisle, slowly and check out all the "stuff."  Taking a list is futile.

Just recently, I was in $1.25 and moseying along, when I passed a woman about my age talking on the phone. I knew she was talking to her mom; she was working to be clear and patient. She pointed at her phone and mouthed, "Sorry" as I walked by. I smiled and moseyed on. 

In the next aisle I was looking at "stuff" when she passed me. She said, "My mom" and kind of laughed. "I totally understand." At that point, she stopped and said, "I'm so tired." 

I have no idea who she was, but she was about my age. She shared that her dad had a stroke a couple years ago and her mom had health issues too. They were headed out on Friday to celebrate her granddaughter's wedding in Kansas City, and while she'd made all the arrangements, her mom called two to three times a day to tell her what all they needed to get done. 

"I always take the time for the conversation." However, it was clear that she had a lot on her mind. I didn't go into detail, but I told her about caring for my mom, and I knew how it can be overwhelming and isolating and tiring, that the pressure to do the right thing was frightening sometimes. "You get it." 

Now, I don't normally hug strangers! Don't know why, but I walked up to her and put my arms around her. She melted into that hug and put her head on my shoulder. She was weary, and if I had thought about it, I would have asked her to coffee or given her my name or phone number. She said "Thank you" and walked away giving me a big smile.

Funny, I didn't cross her path again in the store. As I got ready for bed, she was still on my mind. I realized that I needed to hug her, and she needed my prayers. Life is way too short to ignore the pain of others.  

We're Having an Experiment

I've been making supper basically 49 years, and I don't know about you, but I'm out of ideas! I have 82 Pinterest boards, and at least half are about food. The problem is that when I'm needing an idea and look up a recipe, I don't have an avocado, truffle oil, or fresh ginger. What really happens is a trip to the pantry to see what I can sling together instead of making another grilled chicken breast. 

Once I am in process, I tell Frank, "We're having an experiment." And he just says, "That's fine." A bit of a back story - my husband has never outright not eaten a meal or insulted it/me. When we were first married, I had a problem in that I only knew how to cook for five. I should have halved every recipe, but a casserole provided lunch for several days.  The only way I knew Frank didn't like a dish was when it was all gone. "I think we can not have that one again." or "We can take that one off the list." He'd eaten half the casserole without one single complaint, and we had lots of casseroles!! (After 45 years together, he's not afraid to tell me when an experiment is not so good!)

Tonight, I had a giant chicken breast thawed out. I thought I'd throw together something Mexican, maybe fajitas. I sliced and fried the chicken, adding s/p, garlic, chili powder, cumin, and onions. After it was cooked through, I added half a can of black beans, a can of Rotel, and some Spanish rice. Simmered until it tightened up. Got the HEB butter tortillas browned and all the usual trimmings ready. Looked good, smelled good.

I put my serving on tortilla chips and admired my appetizing work. After two bites, I started to feel the heat in the back of my throat. Eventually, my nose was running and my mouth went numb. "Is it too hot?" I asked Frank. "NO! It is good!" Adding sour cream didn't work. More tea didn't work. I was miserable, and predicting a horrible case of heartburn about bedtime.

Now all I can think about is what did I do??? I have decided it was the Rotel, and since I had cooked the liquid down, the flavor was intensified. With hubby declaring it a success, I will need to tone it down for me!

Share a recipe disaster in the comments - if you've ever had one! 

The Most Unlikely Gift

Last week I was subbing at OCHS in a special education room, and was having a conversation with one of the paras while the teacher was packing up to leave for a golf tournament. Paula asked if I was related to the Jennings in Osage City. I told her I grew up in Lyndon and my maiden name was Pouch and my grandparents were Goldsmiths. She shared that her dad had managed the grocery story in Lyndon, and she worked there. "Are you related to Ann and Raymond Goldsmith?" Yes, Raymond was my mom's first cousin. And, as most conversations wander, I shared that I didn't know Ann was such a celebrated artist until I read it in her obituary, and that I hoped to find one of her paintings. "They were very good friends with my dad," said Paula, "and Ann gave him a painting. It has hung over their mantle for years." 

Again, our conversation shifted. Paula said she was in the process of preparing her parents estate for an auction and how hard it had been. I told her our story, and how there were still boxes to go through. "What do you do with things that meant a lot to them, but not so much to any family member?" Well, when Dad was the superintendent in Chase County, he purchased a painting of the courthouse, painted from the north end of the main street. As my brothers and I were deciding what to do with belongings, none of us were married to the painting. We decided to see if the school district would accept it as a gift. One email and a trip to Strong City later, the superintendent happily accepted the gift and showed Frank and I where they were going to hang it. 

"I want you to have Ann's painting," Paula said. "None of my sisters want the painting, and it will just go to the auction. I'm glad for you to have it. It will be with a family member." 

And, she went home and got it on her lunch break!  I love landscapes! It is subtle, and looks like early spring in the Flint Hills, just barely colored in and strikingly beautiful. 

Paula knows me only through the times I have subbed. I still cannot believe this serendipitous, kind act of generosity! A picture is never as good as the real thing, but I hope you enjoy seeing it, too. Now I have to decide where it will hang in our home. 

What was I Thinking? Part II

Every corner, every building...full.  We spent all our first summer playing catch up - call the honey wagon (septic hadn't been serviced in 5 years😬), service the generator, see about selling antique tractors and equipment, pulling weeds. It was overwhelming and sometimes exhausting. 

After the first cleaning!

When my parents moved here, they stored a lot of their boxed belongings in the milking suite of the barn. Seems smart - concrete floor, undercover. But, those boxes sat there since 1992, and the bottoms were gone! So much waste, and at the same time, little treasures found, like my dad's high school memorabilia and the white glass "steins" we fought over, the original phone for the house, and the newspapers that declared the resignation of Nixon and the assassinations of JFK and MLKj.  

I wanted this suite for our chicken house; I'd been dreaming about that possibility for months. It was the smart thing to do - concrete floor, water source, nighttime protection, and built in nesting bunk.  Can I just tell you - or maybe you can guess - we didn't have a clue! Do you know what chicken poo does on concrete. Correct! Slippery as snot! Water source - outside hydrant that meant we had to carry water. And nesting bunk? Let's just say that chickens are picky little ...

So began our sojourn to where we are now. I'm particularly proud of the fact that we have built and added everything from the supplies readily available all over the farm. We use sand and straw on the floor and it makes for great insulation and it is easy to clean. We insulate with straw bales in the winter, the chickens tear them up, and that is what we smell - fresh straw! We found an old pigeon roost Dad had built (his measurements are in pencil all over it), and repurposed it to nest boxes just in time for the hens to really get to laying. Recycled tin went on the ceiling. 
The most expensive thing we did was rewire a 100 year old barn so we wouldn't accidentally burn it down when we turned on box fans in the summer.

The dairy corral was completely overgrown with brome, which was easy fodder for30 chickens. Dad had planted dewberry bushes and those were eaten first. While we knew we had predators, we ASS-U-MEd that we had that covered with nighttime lock down. Never guessed a fox would hunt in the daylight. DUH! Even though we had run chicken wire to the ground, we decided we should fortify the bottom - another recycle of tons of limestone and sandstone in our pastures.  Unfortunately, we continue to learn fencing lessons, but I suppose that is all part of the process. 

So why chickens? I like chickens, predominantly because they require nothing but food and water and they give back. They keep the bugs down and their poo is the best fertilizer I've used.  I had a wish to serve our family and friends with free or affordable eggs, even before the 2025 Egg Disaster.  Above all, my grandma had chickens. One of my best memories is hunting banty eggs all over the place. (They are game hen sized chickens who lay small eggs in grass tufts and roost in trees.) It took a lot of time to hunt those eggs down. I'm sure that was Grandma's hope! The next morning, I watched Grandma fry bacon, then fill that cast-iron skillet with as many tiny eggs as would fit. She didn't turn them, and the edges and bottom would be crispy brown. She slid it out on a plate, and Grandpa's breakfast was ready! 

When I worry today about the nutrition and health of the girls and if we are doing everything right, Frank quietly says, "What did your grandma do?"  It helps me remember that less is more and food and water sustain us all.