Vacation Bible School and Brain Cancer

Vacation Bible School week at church is one of those times when you plan on blessing others with what your church can provide the kids with...but you always end up getting a blessing yourself from an unexpected source.  Our church's VBS was 2 weeks ago already.  It runs like a machine, really. Kids are dropped off, we feed them a meal, we teach them songs and stories about our faith, we play games, we pray over them, we laugh together, we become friends. I hadn't though of it before, but it's really a good model of what every parent wants to provide for their children: a loving, safe place to grow into the person God wants you to be. A place where someone tells you, "You matter. You are loved. I believe in you."  As the week went on, the fun increased, the relationships deepened, and our ministry we provided increased. As we sensed the deeper needs of the kids coming, we were able to meet those needs with food, clothing, and prayer. To some of the kids there, we were a parent to them. To others, we were another positive voice in their life. All were treated equally, all were loved and cherished. And once again, I received a huge blessing from an experience where I was the one supposed to be blessing others.

For me, VBS week was a week I will never forget because this year, it was the week I found out my father has brain cancer. And not just brain cancer, but lung, kidney, and colon cancer as well.  As I was caring for and loving kids I had never met before, my mind was racing with memories of me as a young girl with my Dad. I have the best Dad on planet Earth...hard working, smart, kind, funny, committed, brave. You name it- he's been it for me. Everything I was trying to do for these VBS kids in one week was just a reflection of what had been done for me my entire life by my own parents. When I would see a child come to VBS in clothes too small for them, I would start to cry because my parents were always able to provide clothes for me. When I would see a Mom and Dad come pick up their child from VBS and give them a huge hug, I would start to cry because my parents had done that for me, too. I felt so much gratitude in my heart for my parents that week. I knew my Dad was sitting in a hospital hearing bad news, and yet he was still cracking jokes, smiling, staying positive and putting his faith first.

I've spent lots of time the past few weeks marveling at how many people are pouring out love and appreciation for my Dad during this rough time for him. He's not famous, he's not rich, and he hasn't won any special awards. But my Dad has been all-in his entire life. He's never backed down from what life had for him- he has always stayed in the game regardless of if he would win or lose. He has spent his life making sure others were encouraged and lifted up. His message to me, for as long as I can remember, has been: You matter. You are loved. I believe in you.

I keep trying to help my Dad through this tough assignment we've been given, and yet he keeps blessing me, my sister, and my mom with more love. What if we all had a Dad like that?

Teagan's Turn!

So here I am at the vet's office. On Sunday. On Father's Day. We aren't people who frequent the doctors office for ourselves or for our kids, but apparently our dogs are another story all together. We've been here for serious emergencies twice in the last 2 weeks. Cody- venomous snake bite 2 weeks ago- and now, Teagan...who has sliced her paw pad open quite deeply and needs stitches. For a dog, this requires that you put them under completely. She never cried or whined, she didn't even hold her little foot up. The only way we knew she was hurt was that I saw a few faint spots of blood on the floor after she came home from her walk! As farm dogs, their "walk" consists of exploring and running and playing. They aren't on leashes, but because they are working dogs, they generally stay close to us as we explore each morning and night. This morning, the dogs do what they do every morning: they act like dogs. Actually let me put a finer point on that- they act like farm dogs.

Life. We want it to be easy, we would like for it to be fun, we pray for it to turn out well. It's human instinct I suppose, that we all crave ease.  This past week, the 3 Orlando tragedies have both my brain and heart hurting.  I think everyone who has heard about them feels a tugging on their heart toward the families who lost someone this week. It just hurts to imagine the type of pain they feel.  As a mother, I put myself in all the mother's shoes who lost a child this past week. The lives of those affected will never be the same. All the what-if's will haunt their minds for years.

I'm 38. Older people think I'm young, and younger people think I'm old. Is this middle age? It's definitely a time of life where I have accepted that there are ups and downs and lefts and rights and completely out of nowhere twists of life. I don't expect happiness everyday, but I strive to have a perspective of contentment with any circumstance. I don't expect life to never hand me disaster, but I certainly pray to be spared from it. And yet I can't help myself from longing to avoid every frustration and pain of life.

The injuries our 2 furry friends have had recently were accidents; but they both happened when our dogs were being dogs. They were loving life, being adventurous and playful. I can't, nor I won't, stop them from being dogs. Could I keep them inside all day, taking them out on a leash and hurry them back inside? If I did, I would be keeping them from the life they long to live. I would be protecting them from harm and at the same time, preventing their joy.

Each tragedy in Orlando this week happened while people were loving life...enjoying friends, family, and just being people. I do everything I can to protect my children from danger, and yet at the same time, let them still be kids. That's not an easy balance, but I know it's what's best for them. The same goes for my husband and myself- we don't intentionally put ourselves in harm's way (most days!) but life is about taking necessary risks and also accepting challenges that may not turn out peachy-keen. 

Cuts, scrapes, scars, stories, lessons learned, lessons learned again, and sometimes even deaths... All from just waking up in the morning and living the life God gave you. We can't avoid the bad, we can't prevent all circumstances from coming our way. We can try, but even the most safety conscious person must admit that even in that endeavor, you turn down experiences that could bring joy, growth, and deeper satisfaction.

Dr. B just came out to tell me Teagan did fine in the surgery. Kennel rest, wearing the cone of shame, and antibiotics for 10 days. It's a bump in the road for our sweet girl.... She will have many stories to tell throughout her life because, well, she lives her life as a farm dog! Teagan is an extremely tough dog, who has a very high pain tolerance. Maybe that has come to be who she is because of what she's experienced. She's sweet, smart, obedient, and I love to watch her enjoy the doggie pleasures of life that God intended for her. Grateful for more time with her, grateful for our amazing vet clinic that has once again served us and our puppies so well. 

Grateful for one more day to live life...whatever it brings. 

Too many snakes

I started to write this story a few days ago. It was so good in my head….but it never got down on paper. As it turns out, there was more to add to it, so God saved me the time of rewriting it and let me just sit down once.  It’s another snake story, like the one that made me famous, and spoiler alert- it all ends well.

Last Friday morning, around 6:45, I put my purse on my shoulder and grabbed my water. I was headed to work for the day. Some of you may not know this about me, but I have been an Occupational Therapist for 16 years, and I love helping the elderly along their road to recovery back home after rehab.  I was heading to the nursing home and saying goodbye to my 3 early-bird sons. Stephen said “Oh, the dogs are home!” right as I was about to walk out the door. We have 2 Blue Heelers, 1 year old. A male, Cody, and a female, Teagan. They are adorable together and they love to explore the farm each morning. But they usually stay gone for at least  2 hours…sometimes swimming in our pond, sometimes just seeing the woods for the hundredth time. It was unusual for them to be home so soon, after only being out about 20 minutes. As soon as Cody ran in, we knew something was wrong. He was whining and laying down. Stephen bent down to pet him, to see what was wrong, and a drop of blood hit his hand from Cody’s nose. He said two words that made me immediately put down my purse and water and simultaneously start shaking- “Snake bite”. Stephen grew up on this farm, and had several dogs. He knew immediately, from past experience, that this drop of blood from his nose along with his obvious pain he was in, was most likely from a snake fang. Cody was loaded up in the truck within minutes and headed to the vet’s office. I had to ask Stephen one question before he left. I’m a cut-to-the-chase type of gal, so I didn’t mind asking the hard question: “Will they have to put him down?” Stephen is a man of few words, and I trust his judgement completely. He said calmly, “No.”   But he isn’t a vet, and I knew the final answer would come later.  Because the dogs love to swim and they were both wet that morning, we assumed it was a water moccasin that bit Cody.  I knew there was nothing I could do but pray. We’ve had so many animals here in the 10 years we’ve lived back on the farm. We’ve had fun with them and learned so much from them. But we’ve had pain, too. We’ve had loss, we’ve had heartbreak, and honestly…I really didn’t think we would go through a tragedy again.  This snake bite couldn’t kill him, could it? Certainly, Stephen would tell me the truth if he knew it was possible. I waited for the phone call- every minute seemed like an eternity. By the time Cody got to the office, his head was swollen. His neck was swollen. He was very uncomfortable.  All the necessary and available medications were administered, and Cody responded very well. He came home to rest, and we all took good care of him. Every day he got stronger, and every day, the swelling went down more. It was about 5 days post-bite and he was back to his energetic self again. 

Today marks 1 week since the bite, and just like any traumatic experience, time seems to dull your memory of what it felt like to go through it.  I kept reliving each moment today, of last Friday, remembering how grateful I was to finally find out that he would most likely survive, and how grateful I was for fast acting medical care for Cody.  But I didn’t relive the scared, shaking, sinking feeling….until about 2:00 this afternoon.

So many people have asked me, “When are you going to start writing again?” and commenting “We miss your stories!” and I usually just say, “Thank you so much, I appreciate that. I’m glad you liked them” But really inside I’m thinking Crazy, funny, random things don’t happen much around here anymore…I just don’t have that much to write about other than my adorable kids saying adorable things! 

Back to 2:00 this afternoon! I was 95% ready to take 2 of my kids swimming. Everything was packed up inside the house and needed to be carried outside. My 6 year old asked, “Can we take the flippers?” He has become an excellent snorkeler, and even though the addition of the mask/snorkel/flippers to our already loaded down selves makes us even more of a Jeff Foxworthy  quote than we already are, I said “Sure! They are out in the garage closet.” Out ran the 4 and 6 year old to get their flippers through the garage door. As I’m gathering up the bags, here they run back in the front door, both crying and screaming, and out of breath. I’ve never seen them so scared, poor babies. “There’s a SNAKE!!!HE’S IN THE GARAGE!!!”  We’ve lived in this farm house for 10 years. I’ve seen one tiny white oak snake near our garage in that entire time. And of course, those snakes from ye olden days when I had chickens, but those weren’t anywhere close to my door. And because all things scary and dangerous and difficult MUST happen when I am alone with the kids, Stephen wasn’t home, so I called downstairs the next best thing: my 10-year-old son. Never having brothers, I had no clue how valuable these 3 boys would end up being to the ever present Florida problems of bugs, critters, and dirt. I rely heavily on their knowledge and skill when Dad isn’t home. The 2 little boys were still jittery as I sat them down, so I told them to take deep breaths, and headed out with my 10-year-old to inspect this situation. We got as close as we could to the garage snake and yet far enough away that I could run to safety if he moved a muscle. I was making a lot of assumptions at this moment in time, one of which was that snakes are too dumb to follow you to “safety”- (note to self: find out if snakes are smart enough to follow you as you run to safety). The snake was coiled up with his head cocked back. My son and I both felt like we weren’t 100% sure about these markings. It was not a rattlesnake, that was confirmed by my information loving child next to me. But was it a white oak? I kept saying, “Doesn’t it look like a white oak who has been drug through mud?” The markings were just not familiar to me. Son decides to slowly roll a skateboard toward the snake. Just because? Remember, he’s 10 and I’m a city girl. I have no way of knowing what is standard protocol for unfamiliar snake examination when you aren’t in eminent danger. The skateboard seemed like a good idea. As soon as it touched the snake, he slithered away further into the closet. PERFECT! Out of sight, POOL TIME! (Now that I think about it, I really can’t believe I killed that snake in ye olden days without 100% confirmation via photo text that it wasn’t poisonous. I didn’t have photo text capability then. I just remember describing it to Stephen over the phone. Those were different times!) I dried the remaining tears of the little boys, loaded up everything but the flippers- Mr. Snake can hold on to those a little while longer, thank you-and we headed to the pool. I called Stephen, told the story, and he made me keep going back to this “mud” that was covering the snake. I could tell he didn’t like what I was saying but I kept insisting it looked pretty much like a white oak, but with mud- like I said! No way was it a poisonous snake: no rattle, it wasn’t black, and it wasn’t a coral snake for sure. Several hours pass. Pulling into the driveway tonight, the kids happily shout “Daddy’s home!” This is a familiar cheer to moms everywhere because it means your valuable teammate is back! Or in this case, the snake slayer is home. As we get closer to him, I notice he has a look on his face of concern. One child comments, “He has a gun!” Another child comments, “No, that’s his phone!” (it really was his phone), and yet still another child, “Why is he holding a hoe?” (I roll down the window instead of getting out, because, well maybe I will need to speed off to safety from this snake ridden land that I call my home. And thankfully I have pizza in the car, so I could just eat in the car somewhere safe. Without snakes.) Remember, Stephen likes to keep it simple: “It was a moccasin”. My jaw drops. My babies were getting flippers out of the garage and they were literally brushing their hand and feet next to a venomous snake. At our house. At 2pm on a normal Friday afternoon.

The moccasin’s life had passed on to wherever venomous snakes go when they are no longer needed on planet Earth, yet his body remained on my driveway. We all stood around and got a proper lesson from Stephen on colorings, markings, head shape and size, and snake anatomy. Fascinating stuff, people. I sat later on the couch with my kids watching a movie. In the end, life is good, God is good, last Friday and this Friday we were spared tragedy…and I am grateful. I think next Friday we all just may stay inside! 

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven

Here we are again, planting season. Another March. Another farm year. Let's see....what number is this?

13. Thirteen. The 13th year on the farm for me, anyway. Not sure we could calculate it for the farmer! He's 40 now, so he's probably been at the very least helping with planting season since he was 10? So let's give him 30 years...my 13th farm year and his 30th.

Sometimes we get to ease into the season changes of life. Kids growing up is always a slow and gradual fade from childhood. Learning math and reading is a slow progression of knowledge and skill and memory. Becoming a man, or a woman, also seems to take it's time and life has to teach us all sorts of things before we feel grown. But then there are things like becoming a parent. One day the house is quiet and the next there is crying: life will never be the same. And what about losing a loved one? One day their presence is real and present and enjoyed. The next day, the supernatural realm holds them forever and we long for the laughs and the touch of them.

Planting season has no ease. No slow warming up. There is no alarm bell ringing a warning.

One afternoon the farmer is toodling around the yard at 4:30 in the afternoon, the kids are begging him to play baseball....I'm getting dinner ready to have at our normal 5:30 time with all 6 around the table...2 parents are on night-routine duty...then the next night it's only 5 at the table, with a 9pm text "I'm heading in, see you in 30"

Okie dokie, guess that's the signal. 13th Farm Year has commenced!

I hear it all the time: Farming is such a good life! It's a hard life, but a good one!....Farming sounds wonderful!....I wish we would all go back to the way it used to be and we would all have our own farm! And of course I love all the sentiment, really I do. I especially appreciate the folks that understand this type of job comes with a cost to all involved. I will never forget a statement made to Stephen once: "Oh, you're a farmer? So you are one of the few folks left  who actually work for a livin' "

I've always wanted to tell the story of that statement but its not a very long story so I never have. This man was an insurance adjuster for our car insurance. He came out to our house to look at our van once that had a dent. He asked about the land our house was on, and the farmer told him that it was our farm. Then he made his statement above that I have always treasured. He had grown up in Appalachia, the mountains of North Carolina. He cut trees down with hand tools and rolled logs down the hills with his brother, for his grandparents in the 1960's. He understood about a way of life that does hard manual labor for the good of others, for little in return. And I was so thankful that someone understood that concept and gave me that phrase which we often use between us.

I'm not ready, I never am. We have 4 kids, ages 13 down to 4. One parent 6 days a week for those ages just isn't ideal, and I really miss my partner to lean on when the physical and mental work load is often to much for me. Our kids are familiar with the routine of Dad missing dinner and bedtime and they don't complain. I try hard not to either.

Planting season is followed by harvest season, all totaled is about 9 months of the year.

Rain isn't always what the farm needs, but the one blessing rain always brings to us is that Dad is at dinner that night, and there to tuck a few kids in. And God knows that sometimes, we all need that.

What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.  I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live;  also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God's gift to man.
Ecclesiastes 3:9-12

The days are long, but the years are short!

Spring of 2009...

Spring of 2016....

Same Field.... TOTALLY different on all other aspects!!! 

 Life has been good to us and we are grateful to God for the blessings and the hard times. Its a journey of trusting HIM and trusting the process. And also, trusting that my hair will never look the same in any 2 photos! 

Fruit Snacks....neither fruit, nor a snack.

Whosever child brought this to school last week and either gave it to my child to eat, or simply gave their trash to my child to bring home, I am sorry that this blog post may offend you. I plan to rip this apart to the full extent that I can make up material for. It really made my day, so for that, I thank you. I'm sure we are friends, and I really want to stay friends, but please let me make fun of you for a minute. I love you, OK? 

Let's start with the name: YumEarth. I want to let you all down easy on this one, but I don't see how to. These "fruit" snacks don't come from the earth. Not these fruit snacks, nor the non-organic fruit snacks. The earth doesn't produce these, farmers don't grow these, these aren't on the food pyramid, these aren't mentioned in any nutritional books as being a real food. They are a processed food in its purest form. Ok, that didn't come out right. They are a processed food in its purest non-pure form.  This my friends, is JUNK FOOD. 

And yes, our kids cry over these and beg for these, and we pay good money for them. #firstworldproblems anyone? 

Next issue.  The fruits are smiling. Actually, the fruits are laughing. DYING LAUGHING. All the way to the bank in fact. Because of the media and all the internet research done by all of us, we are told that if you buy Non GMO, "Natural" (this is in quotes because this word is not regulated in any way by the FDA/USDA and therefore means nothing when you see it on packaging. Anyone can put this word on any item), USDA Organic, locally sourced, blah blah blah.... if you buy these products- my friends, your entire life will get better. WHAT? Please don't tell me that you sleep better at night knowing that your child is eating YumEarth fruit snacks instead of Betty Crocker Shark Bites. I won't believe it for one second. If your child is eating these, they are eating junk food. (And to set the record straight, my kids eat these. I try not to buy them at every shopping trip but the begging and pleading and tantrums start and because I'm a great parent, I let them have what they want. I know it isn't real food. I know its junk.) Back to the laughing fruits- they know it's junk too. And they found a way for you to buy fruit snacks at a higher price. This is marketing. This is branding. This is business people, that's all this is. 

Last thing- I'm not going to get into the GMO argument in this post- that's for another time. I saw the 'Non-GMO' label on here and I had to laugh about it because, again, #firstworldproblems, but I want to challenge you....do you know what a GMO is? Do you really understand this issue? Or do you simply look for the label and buy it because someone told you they are bad and we need to stop buying products with GMO's in them. One step further....does that person/source you heard that from understand the issue and know what GMO's are? How are you sure? We've become way too accepting on who we get our information from. We are suddenly demanding that we will NOT BUY FRUIT SNACKS ANYMORE unless we can find the Non-GMO kind. Way to stand strong middle class America! (Too harsh? Ok, sorry.)

 Stay tuned later for a blog post on GMO's. Can't wait for the fireworks after that one! 

F6 + 2 Puppies =

Since I've taken a short break from the blog, (2 years is like one day in my life!) I have a few things to catch my 15 followers up on before I get to the stories that brought be back from my blog-sabbatical. 

• Shortly after we lost Sweetums, we decided it was time to let all the animals go to a new home, and thanks to the beauty of Craigslist, this was a very quick and painless process. Maxine and the 2 calves were loaded up with a nice retired man who wanted to start a small herd of dairy cows. I didn't cry when they left. It was time. Via con Dios, cows! 
• Stephen and I started our own farming business, after his Dad retired in 2014.  Its called Fulford 6 Farming Company..."like" us on Facebook! 
• We decided it was time to get a family dog in the Spring of 2015.  Mallory, our beloved Native-American Brown dog, had been gone for a few years and the kids were begging. Stephen has always wanted an Australian Cattle Dog aka "Blue Heeler", so we began our search.  And we found 2 litters of dogs born a few weeks apart. So what does an incredibly busy family of 6 do when faced with a choice between 2 litters of puppies? Get one from each of course! 

So last spring, we brought home a male from one litter, Buffalo Bill Cody, and a female from the other litter, Waiting on Teagan. We call them Cody and Teagan for short.  Oh, why did we get a male and female from two different litters you ask? So, funny story..... Stephen thought it would be a cute idea to have puppies! Yes, this is ALL.STEPHEN'S.IDEA.  I can blame him for this one because I take full responsibility on the whole can-I-please-get-a-milk-cow-and-you-do-all-the-work adventure.  Puppies....cuddly, cute, stinky breath, sleep in your lap, melt your heart puppies. Who can resist them? Not us! (update: I can totally resist a puppy now. Show me a puppy and i will show you my callused and non-compassionate heart) But seriously, Stephen thought it was a good idea to get dogs with the idea of breeding them and having at least 1 litter...you know, for our kids. Because kids love this sort of thing, and it enriches their childhood, and it's kind of farmish to have a litter of puppies, and Stephen says "We had several litters of puppies around the farm when I was a kid (and look how good he turned out!)", and because mainly, we are super bored, with nothing pressing to do and breeding dogs and caring for new born puppies and finding them homes just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. 

This is Cody at 8 weeks old. Can you even stand it? The black eye patch slays me. 

This is Teagan at just a few weeks old. We went to see her and her parents/litter when she could barely open her eyes! See what I'm talking about? Totes Adorbs as the kids these days say.

And here they are at a few months old, BFF's, soul mates, life partners. They really are precious together. I've tried to tell them  parenting is a hard and holy calling. Has it sunk in? Only time will tell.