Considering Faith

What spurred this meander through my faith has been two things, the writings of a pilgrim on the Camino in Spain and the death of the Pope. No, I'm not Catholic or wishing to walk 500KM as a pilgrimage, but I was unexpectantly moved by both. Both have had me deep in thought for days, about the role of faith in my life and what I've learned from others. 

My mom always cried when she was in prayer. I didn't understand that until I lost her. I'm a struggling Christian, a conversation that Mom and I had many times. Oh, I believe in God and the Gospel, but I struggle to dovetail the world I live in with a blind faith. In fact, I have struggled with this my entire life, at least since I was old enough to consider what faith really is. 

I remember little of church until I was in the eighth grade. We lived in a small Swedish community, Scandia KS, and we had a full congregation at the UMC each Sunday. Our Pastor Miller was a quiet, devoted man. He loved the youth, and I have very fond memories of youth group meetings. He loved music, and his daughter Beth had a sweet voice to lead our songs. It was during these days that I realized I went to church for the music - the traditional, four-part Amen, the Doxology, and the hymns. Music made me happy and could bring me to tears. 

I was a good kid, really. I was (am) sassy and stubborn, but I steered away from the typical experimentation with sex, drugs, but never rock and roll. 😊 During my junior and senior years in Chase High School, our dad started the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. I also had a special youth group in our church, led by an elderly missionary couple, whose names I've long forgotten. As I worked to justify the juxtaposition of cruel world/compassionate Christ, these two groups allowed me experiences that contributed to my understanding.

The summer following my junior year, I attended the FCA Conference at Oral Roberts University. I went through a wide range of emotions while there, shifting from annoyance at the girls throwing themselves down and confessing their faith to quiet submission of my own. One evening the topic was when we met Jesus. Lots of the girls told elaborate stories. As my turn rolled around, I realized I didn't have a story. I said, "I didn't meet Jesus. He's always been right here (pointing to my heart)." Oh, how can that be??  Then the answer was IDK. Now the answer is that my parents were Christians, they taught Christian behavior, and I really didn't know any differently. I never felt like I had to meet someone who was already there. I came home, feeling disappointed that I didn't have a meeting. 

In March of my senior year, the couple took our youth group to Bolivia on a mission trip, where they had served many years. I spoke minimal Spanish but it didn't matter. The times we all spent together building a small chapel and worshipping together only needed the attitude of prayer for us all to convey our faith. I have never forgotten those days, the sacrifice of the native people, about generosity and compassion. 

Life took me to new churches and raising our children in the church. Now, we are not churchgoers. We've been workers, servers, and when it was all over, our church families did not minister to us. That sounds horrible, but I have felt let down by organized worship since I began serving on various church committees. "I don't have time" became such a common reply when I asked others to participate or help. I loved helping to plan the new or different worship activities, but hated doing so much of the work. And when I didn't feel I could do it any longer (youth group, choir, education committee, admin meetings), no one asked about me, about us. 

Full circle - I'm 66 and I find myself missing a good sermon and hymnal music. I'm not impressed with the changes in churches to attract the young, because those changes are alienating our elders. They want a hymnal, a bulletin. They don't want to read off a screen or sing unfamiliar praise songs. Instead of organized religion, I serve where I am needed or asked. I pray and I have quiet time each day to think on my journey. 

I don't know if I've ever encountered another person as faithful as my mom. Moved by her commitment. Sitting at Jesus' feet, absorbing every word. Now I understand why she cried. She was blessed and she knew it. She was humbled that Jesus loved her and she couldn't wait to meet him. Her tears were of deep, personal JOY. I can only wish to attain that, some day, some how.

Redbird Ranch(ette)

Our 30.3 acres is bigger than many farms in Asia or Europe where they subsist just fine. In the U.S. 30.3 acres is often scoffed at - like - do you really need a tractor? can you really make egg money?

Ok fine, whatever. I love that we are a Century Farm, though only technically.  In Kansas you have to be 100 years old and have at least 100 acres. We were a Century Farm until we sold off much of the land, because, we aren't farmers. We don't have the experience, knowledge, or equipment to become crop farmers this late in life. 

I spent time trying to find out if my grandparents had a brand for their cattle, the kind you burn into their hide as your identifying mark. I've never seen a branding iron, and nothing about the family name is found in the history of Kansas brands. I thought it would be cool (yes, cool) to recreate that brand for the purpose of making a barn quilt and naming our farm/ranch/ranchette. You know - the |G - The Bar G for you novices. |G Farm feels like we should be harvesting wheat. |G Ranch indicates LOTS of livestock and LOTS of land. Ranchette is tongue in cheek, a few animals on a little bit of land.  The name needs to be historic and have a ring to it.  So many names we've discussed, and rejected.  GPJ Homestead is just too corporate.  

What do we have that anyone would notice? Birds! And especially cardinals. Redbird Ranch/ette? I like it; alliterative and rememberable. I already saved a barn quilt pattern just because I liked it. Our brand could be the Double (RR), if only for stamping our steaks with a mini iron. 

The best reason of all to choose Redbird Ranchette is because my parents, especially my mom, loved birds. They would watch for hours, and even participated in counts and migration observations. My mom could name a bird from a inept spoken description or its song. Feeders, suet, and houses are all over the yard. But it is the redbird that they loved most. I suppose it was the color, but also their prolific return in the colder months to feed close to the house, or maybe the myths about cardinals being harbingers of loved ones passed. Nothing is more beautiful than a snow-covered yard full of red birds. It makes winter bearable, and it is a sign of better days to come. 

Redbird Ranchette it is. 

UPDATE....Today we were having lunch with friends and they threw out some different ideas we might consider... 4 Gen, Redbird Roost... Thanks Mrs. Mac and Mrs Wilson, I think! 

Preservation

Preservation isn't just about the saving of old houses, though that is a noble endeavor. Preservation on the farm, that is more of a desire to redo, reuse, and to prepare for the future. 

My contribution for the last few days has been making jelly! It is the process of preserving fruit in the form of a peanut butter partner for the times when it is winter and I don't want to go shopping! Honestly, homemade jams and jellies are the best ever, especially because I know exactly what is in them: fruit/juice, sugar, lemon juice and pectin. Nothing more.  The process is the same, too, no matter what kind of fruit I choose. 

I belong to a group on Facebook that are SERIOUS homesteaders and home preservers. They argue over methods and training, water bathing or pressure canning, cheap jar vs. Ball or Mason. I have learned a couple of tricks and ways to speed up my process, but I mostly just laugh at their SERIOUS beliefs surrounding canning.

Summers were busy times for canning when I was growing up. My parents always planted a pretty substantial garden, and that required weeding, feeding, harvesting for the sake of preserving for the winter.  Mom froze peas and corn, then the canners came out. It was not unusual for her to can 80 quarts of green beans or tomatoes. She'd start dill pickles in crocks and then can when they had pickled enough. Bread and butter pickles were canned right away with the sweet and sour syrup poured over cucumbers sliced in the jars. Fall brought the tangy aroma of apple butter baking in the oven. One time, my brother Kevin went to Lions International Band in Hawaii. He shipped home a case of pineapples, and my mom canned most of them! It was so good when opened in the cold blurry winter months!

My forays have not been as productive. I used to kill myself, trying to do what I thought was being a good mom!  Mom bought me a canner for my birthday one year! I assembled all the tools one at a time. Mom always had extra green beans that I'd take home to can.  I bought corn, tomatoes and cucumbers from vendors and froze/canned them.  After our kids were gone, years went by before I even thought about canning. We moved to The Farm, and I discovered the matched set of my equipment - canners, tools, a box full of lids, and about one million jars. The first fall, I made one thing - apple butter - from the apples on the tree in the yard. I did okay, but it wasn't my mom's. The next summer, my bestie and I made strawberry and peach jellies, which I still have plenty of two years later. I also found a farm where I can pick strawberries and corn. This year I've planted six tomato plants, four more than last year, and I'm planning for salsa and spaghetti sauce. 

Preserving is such a broad term. Our farm has been preserved and handed down to three generations. I am preserving the "old ways" when I plant, harvest, and make groceries for our family. (Even the chickens!) And all of it is preserving the memories - the days of working side-by-side with my mom or grandma learning the processes to use some day. 

Not-So-Fake Farming

We really like the show Homestead Rescue. The Raney family from Alaska, who have lived off grid for decades, travel to failing homesteads to teach, repair and gift their help and goods to give the homesteaders a new beginning. They are brilliant with their ideas and are hard, hard workers. They repurpose and reuse, as well as do more involved projects. 

As we are watching, I always think, "Why would you spend every dime to move to a place where you know nothing, don't hunt, you're afraid of the wildlife, and can't produce your own food or water?" Interestingly, this question might fit us pretty well. You know, one can delude oneself about how much one feels prepared to do! 

For me, I rely on memory and research. Hmmm...that sounds uninformed straight out of the box. Memories are sweet, but they don't include instructions! And research is only as reliable as the source.  Yes, Grandma had chickens and my mom talked about cows all the time, and I gophered for my dad's projects a great many times. None are the same as doing. Nothing is as simple as it looks or as common sense would dictate. Nothing. 

Man, were we lucky with the chicken house. We did the responsible things - updated electric and replaced glass windows with plexiglass panels. We carefully considered needs and repurposed where we could. The mistakes are harder to swallow. Instead of putting up more panels
and chicken wire for a bigger chicken yard, we used snow fence. OMG - what a mess. We traded certainty for faster. We never bothered to consider that a 100# Pyrenees could pull it down enough to hurdle it. And you see where that got us! 

Another issue we've had to learn is what comes first! Not just in prioritizing projects, but in project steps. We've been replacing fence since October. Boundary battles (totally unexpected) and weather have set us back. Without that fence, goats will go where they will. The goats were headed to livestock sale, and our timeline got tight to take advantage of the price. The building was ready, and we had 30 days to take delivery. Fencing goes to the final battle (we won), then we have two weeks of rain, creating a muddy hillside for the fencing crew. One more day building a temporary place where the goats are corralled unless we are outside. We bought them to wander and groom the pasture - now we hand deliver their greenery every day. Necessary, but not ideal, steps.  

Murphy's Law is really real to us. We do the work and something always happens, fails, falls apart, goes south - you call it. Long ago, we changed that to Jennings' Law - if something can go wrong, we find the weirdest way! However, we are pretty pragmatic. We know we don't know and we know what we don't know and go on anyway. It is all in the work, and the lessons, I suppose, are God's way of showing us to be more prepared and be better planners, not to mention keeping us humble! That said, we are still proud of our commitment and work toward building the little ranchette we've wanted. 

Only time will tell and in what order. Hopefully, it is dogs come home (they finally did), fence is finished (almost there), and the damn goats get busy!