Jumping Write In

You might be a redneck if.....

2011-02-07T17:43:00.000-08:00

The mobile home was finally here, set up, stabilized, and tied down. The power company had been contacted and asked to come and set us up with power, but as of yet, nothing had been done.

I longed to move in. Though I loved Steve's family, I wanted the privacy that came from living in my own home. They had been great and everything, but a month was a long time to live with parents when you have four little kids and have lived on your own for so long, so I decided to proceed with the move in and live without electricity for awhile. After all, they were just a few yards away if I ran into trouble.

I had washed down the walls, refrigerator, sinks, tubs, and toilets, but I was stuck on what to do about the carpet. I wanted a professional to come in and clean it, since they could get it much cleaner with their truck-suction vacuum than I could with a self-cleaning upright.

It seemed that I was stuck, though, since they needed power for their vacuum to work. Hmmmm, what to do? Then I remembered that there was the extension cord we'd been using to run our lamp and fan (one at a time, mind you, as there was just one plug-in to the orange extension cord). The power source was at the chicken coop. Steve's mom and dad had put lights in there so the hens would have more light in the winter and produce eggs year round.

Deciding to not let the little things get in the way of fully moving in, I opened the telephone book and called the first carpet cleaner I could find. The conversation went something like this:

"Hello (I don't remember their name) carpet cleaners."

"Hi, I need to get my carpet cleaned."

"Okay, how many rooms have you got?"

"Three bedrooms, a living room, and a bathroom." (as an aside: I know, right?? Why is there ever carpet in a bathroom anyway??) "But there is just one thing, do we need to have the electricity hooked up before you can clean the carpets?"

"You don't have electricity?"

"Well, we have an extension cord coming up from the chicken coop, will that work?"
.
Long silence. "Ma'am, call me back when you have electricity, okay?"

So there you have it: I can look like a redneck even in the hills of Tennessee!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You might be a redneck if your hen house has electricity but your own house doesn't!

I came across this writing website....

2011-02-06T18:37:00.000-08:00

Writer's Helper

9/11 2001

2010-09-19T09:14:00.001-07:00

I woke up this morning thinking of this song (Alan Jackson's "Where Were You"). I have to admit that I have issues with "Patriot Day". It reminds me of free-er times, especially of flying without being searched every 30 yards in the airport. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but it is how I feel.

On the original 9/11, I was living at the Ronald McDonald House in Louisville when the Twin Towers were destroyed. I was in the upstairs living room attending a house meeting, the tv was on, and I watched with incredulity.

After the meeting I called Steve, or he called me, I don't remember which. He gave me a crash course of street smarts during times of terrorism. He told me that if I saw a package lying on the sidewalk or anywhere out of the ordinary to not pick it up because it might be a bomb. He was worried about me crossing the bridge to Indiana from Louisville for fear it might be blown up. He had learned all about the ugliness of war and the things to watch out for while he was in the Marines.

I finally did get up the courage to cross the bridge into Indiana to go to the closest Walmart. When I got there, I found people standing in a circle, holding hands, and praying at the front of the store. When that group left, another group would fill their place and another prayer was offered. I never participated. Maybe I should have, but all of this felt so surreal; I felt very detached from it all.

Back at the Ronald McDonald House I heard parents and grandparents talk about relatives they knew who were going out and enlisting.

For me, however, I was seeing life tottering on the brink of death every day at the children's hospital. Little babies hooked up to machines that hummed, whirred, and beaped, creating an orchestra of sound all day and all night while nurses stood guard like soldiers warding off death and despair.

I saw my premature baby, Michael, struggling every day to breath on his own, to eat on his own, to keep up his own body heat. I felt fear every day that his shunt for his hydrocephalus would malfunction or get infected, or that he would get RSV and we would start from square one, trying again to get him off of the same ventilator that had kept him alive for 7 1/2 weeks while he couldn't breathe on his own back in the beginning. I felt like my son was being held hostage, and I was far from home hoping for his release.

In other words, I was part of another war. One that wasn't on the tv being covered in great detail by the media. In my war, many families were hoping that their children would recover, but knowing that many would not: an 8 year old on a ventilator and not being able to come off of it after a routine surgery, an 11 year old who had had an unknown heart problem and when he dove into the water at the swimming pool he had a heart attack and now had brain damage causing CP and mental retardation, and endless baskets of babies with myriads of problems including one with a rash on his skin that caused him pain at every touch and needed an ointment which played havoc with trying to keep lead wires for monitors stuck to his injured skin, others undergoing heart surgeries, while still others had neurological problems. These were the casualties of another war, and the battles kept on day after day.

My view was skewed that year. While many cried for their relatives, so did we. Sitting by bedsides. Hoping for life. Hoping for normalcy.

We each fight our battles every single day. May God bless us all who are struggling with events that happened and were created that 9/11 of 2001.

Leaving Eden

2010-09-17T06:12:00.000-07:00

Things had gotten ridiculously hard after Michael was born. Within the second week of his life a bill had already arrived announcing how much his first stay in this world had cost: $250,000.

Steve and I had always tried to be self-sufficient. We had had to turn to family at times, but we always liked to repay the debt. There would be no way that we could pay for this baby by ourselves, and the realization was frightening and humbling.

As we looked into alternate methods to pay, we looked first to the hospital charities that were available. They took care of the bulk of the first charges. Then we turned to the state and got accepted for Medicaid. With the medical bills in some sort of order, we then started feeling the crunch elsewhere.

Steve had lost his tele-commuting web work job during the dot com crash. He tried working at a local computer store in a town 45 minutes away from home for a little while, but when he realized that he was making less there than he could doing his own business, he drove full force into the entrepreneurial life.

We had owned and managed a web hosting company for about 5 years, and though it paid some of the bills it had never managed to pay them all at once. Steve spent all of his time trying to bring in more web hosting clients, and I got some work for us building websites for a few local companies.

Steve had taught me html, and though I was still very shaky on the how-to's of building a website I wanted to help out too, so I came up with the ideas for the layout and he wrote the code. We charged $200 per website, which was nothing to sneeze at, but after all of the time it took to create them we were probably just making minimum wage.

Before Michael was born, Steve and some friends had started a wireless internet company... or tried to. In the fall and spring they could get reception, but during the summer when all of the leaves were on the trees the signal remained low. They tweaked, and worked, and got dishes up on cell phone towers, but no matter how hard they tried, their best wasn't good enough and after a year and a half they threw in the towel.

Unfortunately, a new business is expensive to start, and each of them had invested a lot of time and money, and just because they decided to call it quits, our credit card company still wanted their money.

When I learned that we had put $20,000 on the credit card in expenses for the business, I was devastated. We were making such a small amount of money a month and didn't have any extra. We were bound tightly. We worked hard and had little to show for it. The time came when we were only able to make interest-only payments on our mortgage.

My mind started turning to Utah, where we were both from. Good paying jobs were easy to find there with Steve's skill-set. My family was all there, sans one brother and sister-in-law, and Steve's grandma and lots of aunts, uncles, and cousins were all there. In Kentucky, we had Steve's parents and some younger siblings, and they had been a wonderful help while Michael had to go back time and again for more surgeries and I went with him and left Steve to being a single parent raising our other 5 children alone for weeks at a time. Maybe going back to Utah would provide some relief financially and we could spread out the need for help throughout a wider family network there. I talked to Steve and he agreed, telling me that he had been feeling the same way. So we put the house up for sale in November and had a buyer by January.

The cold and flu season hit our family hard that year. Instead of packing for the move, we were nursing each of the children, each other, and ourselves. When the day came for the move, we were ill prepared.

Many from our church family came to help us pack up the rest of our things into boxes and then into the moving truck. I asked one friend to direct everyone as to where to put things and what to do, and I sat and fed Michael and tried to keep him warm while we had the door opened most of the time in that February weather.

Eventually it was all ready to go, and my heart panged. This had been my Eden, my haven from the real world. Though I had been anxious to get moved so that the terrible financial struggles would end, now I almost regretted that decision: leaving the markings on the wall that showed how my kids had grown, leaving my beautiful soapstone woodstove, leaving all 120 acres of my haven that had made me feel like Simba, because everything that the sun touched was mine. My heart felt so heavy as we drove down that driveway for the last time.

Afterword

2010-04-06T07:20:00.000-07:00

This story was the answer to the ongoing questions in my head as to what I would do without my husband Steve. Would I be stuck forever in the city because I'd be too afraid to live in the country alone? Would I be able to manage a farm by myself? Not to mention that every time that he came home late when we did live in the country I would have already planned his funeral and had him dead and buried in my mind. Such is life for the worried.

I am a tough lady who feels that I can do anything, but there is that place way down inside where I worry. This story allowed me to take a look down deep and realize that I really *can* do anything I put my mind to. I was able to look at my fear, call it out, and overcome it, thereby making friends with the unknown and the scary.

One weird thing is the naming of my husband in the story. Jack is my dad's name. It was weird to have that name come to me and not go away, but that is what happened so "Jack" he stayed.

"Jack" is very much like Steve. There are a few differences, but for the most part, even singing the "Put another log on the Fire" song, it is Steve. As I've already mentioned, the main character is me. Steve told me that he has read that the first stories you write will be autobiographical, and with this work he is right. The story is located on a 120 acre farm in Adair County, Kentucky, in a little town of Gradyville. Steve and I lived there for five glorious years. It was my eden in the beginning, yet it got a little hellish at the end. After having Michael, our youngest son, born 10 weeks early, our economic condition deteriorated rapidly. Stress over having to take Michael back to the hospital for yet another surgery mixed with worrying about the mortgage left a bitter taste. I felt like I was being evicted from Eden, just like Adam and Eve.

After reading through my story, I found holes in the logic and Steve found some too. I am still thinking about remedying them, but then am also thinking of leaving them. I won't ever desire to publish it. It is my first work. And another reason is as follows:
"I like the fact that in ancient Chinese art the great painters always included a deliberate flaw in their work: human creation is never perfect." - Madeleine L'Engle
My work will never be perfect no matter how hard I try, and it is okay with me that it isn't.

One thing that discombobulated Steve was the scene after the main character came into the house and knelt down to pray. When she stood up, she had insight into the love and all the preparations her husband had made for her. Steve doesn't think that way, but I do. It might not be logical to have those thoughts on the front of the mind when your favorite dog has just been eviscerated, but that is how I think.

I really enjoyed writing the story and peering into the depths of my own soul. This story was really for me.

Rainy Day Adventures

2010-03-11T06:34:00.000-08:00

One day in February when we lived in Tennessee, the children and I were tired of being cooped up in our small mobile home. We had been inside for too long, while the torrential rains and tornadic winds blew through, so we felt like it was a good day for an adventure outdoors.

On this particular morning, I kept Josh home from school, since he was tired of sitting in the hall in tornado position all day. The rains had come and gone, and we decided to take a walk through their Grandma and Grandpa's 100 acre woods.

We lived high on a hill, and down below was an interesting fairy world filled with bugs so innumerable there was no way for us to name them all, hollowed out trees that look like bears, and funny little birds that aren't afraid of anything, but I get ahead of myself.

That morning we decided to go down into "the hollow" to simply see what we could see.

The children and I walked down a somewhat slippery slope, as the dirt road had turned into mud over the course of the past few days. We were chattering as we went, about this and that, probably sounding to the animals how squirrels sound to us. As we rounded a corner, there was a fluffy little something-or-other sitting on a log. When we neared, I saw it was a bluebird. It had fluffed itself to double its normal size and was asleep with its head under its wing. I hushed the children, so that the poor, sleepy thing wouldn't wake up. My hope is if we were a cat, or some other animal dangerous to it, it would have woken up. I still worry about its fate!

On down the hill we went. On the rocks, cascading down from above, we saw a waterfall. There had been so much rain over the past few days that the land had soaked up as much water as it could, and simply couldn't soak up any more water, so the rain water just came tumbling over the rocks. The sight and sound of it was as soothing as a lullaby.

We ambled our way along until we saw something dark and shadowy in front of us. We slowed our pace a bit as we approached it. What we saw was a tall tree that had the top of it broken off somehow and was hollow in the middle. It was big enough for the children to go in and stand up. Josh tried it out first and said that there was some kind of a bed on the floor of it, so we stopped entering some animals house without permission and walked on.

As we walked we heard a noise behind us, like an animal chasing us. We startled and turned to see our dog Graham running by chasing a rabbit. Hurry, bunny, run!

Up the hill we climbed, through the brush and trees, trying to avoid the spiderwebs that had been built between them. The kids' daddy wasn't so lucky as to avoid the spiderwebs when he went running in the mornings, and he was always brought back exotic spiders in his hair: red ones, yellow ones, greens and blues. He had taken to wearing a hat as of late, just to avoid direct contact with them.

When we'd climbed to the top of the hill, we got back on the dirt road. The children found all sorts of rocks with all different shapes, sizes and colors to pick up and take home as a souvenir of the day.

Then we went home. We were wet and cold on the outside, but warm and cozy on the inside. There isn't anything quite like spending a day having adventures in the woods!

part 5

2010-03-10T11:01:00.000-08:00

Today the sky is blue. The woodshed is filled with good hardwood. The house is tidy and the windows are polished. I am enjoying time outside playing with Jewel and Lassie and the puppies. Yes, there are more puppies on the farm this spring. Seven, to be precise. Most look just like Lassie this time, a first for her really, but one tiny little black boy looks like his daddy and his brother. I'll keep him, as a memorial to old Ben. And to remind me that though things look dark and hopeless they can turn around in the blink of an eye.

Jewel has healed from her incident with the bobcat. I had washed her insides and carefully tucked them back in and sewed her up with a stitches kit Jack had bought, insisting that it would come in handy living on a farm. The next day, when the creek had gone down I took her to Doc Harris in town. He is an excellent vet. He looked over her and gave her some oral antibiotics. He said that he would operate if it came to it, but that everything should be okay as long as infection didn't set in. That was two months ago, and she healed up just fine, taking it easy for a few weeks, but she is now back to her normal self.

And as for me, I'm healing too. The event with the bobcat jolted me out of my funk and made me grateful for what I have. I won't have Jack to go through life with like I'd hoped and planned, and I miss him terribly, but I know that he is waiting for me on the other side.

I asked a neighbor to come and help me learn how to use the farm tools that always intimidated me, including the chainsaw. He was a super big help, and now I feel like I can conquer any project that comes my way. Life is feeling good. I think I'm going to like farm life, with all of its hard, un-ending work. Paradise once lost is now restored. It isn't perfect, but it is still my little bit of heaven on earth.
Continue to Afterword

part 4

2010-03-10T08:33:00.001-08:00

I hadn't gone ten feet up the hill before I remembered the lawn cart. I would need it to carry all of the logs I needed to get. So back down the hill I went.

The rain had started to pick up a bit, and the wind started blowing. Typically I'd be frustrated with the horizontal rain, but today I was relieved for the noise. Silence might be golden at times, but simply unnerving in others. Minnie, our best mouser cat went running into the field, probably chasing a mouse. It was nice to see and hear the spell of death be broken.

Walking in front of the house I saw the creek in the front of the house was rising higher and faster than usual. I hurried across the bridge and dashed across the lawn. As I opened the door to the woodshed, something told me that there was trouble in there. I opened the doors fully and found a bobcat in with the puppy. It was taking bites of the flesh and had blood oozing out of its mouth. Its eyes narrowed and it shrieked a warning. It let go of the pups' body with its claws and started slowly toward me. I quickly grabbed each door and pushed them closed, but just before they were completely shut I saw that Jewel had stealthfully gone inside the woodshed to protect me from this malevolent creature. I tried to call her out, but the cat had seen her too, and darted toward her. I screamed and hesitated, not knowing what to do. I called to her again, but she was now at battle with the bobcat and wouldn't desist.

I left the doors open and ran inside the house for my shotgun. I opened the front door and ran through the house. This was my nightmare come true. I tore open the closet door and pulled back the dresses. In the back of the closet was a 12 gauge shotgun that I had been given as a present from Jack when we first moved to the farm. He had been adamant that I learn how to load, unload, and shoot the monstrous beast. He had warned me that at some point I'd probably end up using it on some form of enemy on the farm. I'd always hoped he was wrong, but like with so many things, he was right.

I grabbed a box of slugs and took one out and fed it to the gun. I filled my pockets with ammo and turned to walk out of the bedroom. As I walked through the door I heard a gurgle sound. I quickly looked to the noise and saw the beast just coming up the stairs. Panicked with fear, yet knowing what I must do, I said a silent prayer that my shot would be accurate. I pulled the gun up to my shoulder, sited the beast in and pulled the trigger. The gun's kick made me wince, but the beast kept coming; I'd missed my mark. I ran to the bedroom and shut the door. I hurried and put in another slug. The beast clawed at the door and shrieked. The door was like paper to his claws and he shredded it as he tore at it. I placed myself back from the door about 10 feet and waited for him to bust his way through. As soon as I could see his body through the hole in the door I raised my gun again. This time the adrenaline had kicked in and I felt calmer than I had on the first shot. I took my time siting him in and pulled the trigger. At once the bobcat flailed in the air and fell backward. Blood gushed from his belly and oozed from his nose and mouth. I waited, expecting him to be dead, but knowing he might try to fight a little more while he could. He laid still. I put in another slug just in case and slowly crept toward the door. I turned the knob and opened the door, more out of civility than necessity, and walked into the hallway. The cat lay silent.

My thoughts turned toward Jewel. She never would have let this creature into the house had she have been alive. My heart sank. Tears welled and I hurried downstairs. There were bloody footprints along the carpet where the bobcat had walked, and blood smears in the dining room both on the floor and along the wall. I couldn't see anything obvious that would make the smears. My eyes swept the room, but there was nothing. I looked in the kitchen, but it was clean of any blood. I walked outside and saw her.

She lay on her side on the front porch with her head down and her tail still. She looked at me with her big brown eyes, searching for something to tell her what was going on. "I killed him girl," I said. "I shot him and he is gone." Her tail moved slightly, trying to wag as if she understood. My eyes swept all around us, making sure the danger was gone. I shut the door, just in case the creature wasn't really dead in there. I knelt down beside her. I saw blood oozing out from somewhere, but with all of her long fur it was hard to see where it was coming from. I lifted her front leg, everything looked ok there. I lifted her back leg and gasped. Part of her bowel was looped out of her belly. This was bad, very bad. I looked at her eyes. She looked back, pleading me to help her. I didn't know what I could do for her. I was glad that there weren't any flies out today; it would cut down on the risk of infection. I went back inside the house to call the vet, taking my gun with me and shutting the door on the way in. I found the vet's number and took the receiver off the hook. I dialed the number and put the phone to my ear. There was no sound: no ringing at all. I hung up and lifted the receiver. Nothing. It was dead. I was on my own. Oh goodness. How could I do this? I don't even know what I'm doing! I knelt down and pled for help. Help to know how to take care of Jewel. Help that I could be calm. Help that no other beasts would come to do damage. I needed help. I knew I couldn't do this alone.

I stood. I looked around. I saw all of the love that Jack had had for me: this house with all of its light and beauty. The pots and pans hanging above the stove that he had given me as a gift. The pretty soapstone stove that kept me warm in the winter. The lovely dining room table that was simple yet had a touch of elegance. The comfortable sofa and loveseat in the living room, and the gorgeous piano he had loved to play and sing to. Tears flooded my eyes. So much love was in this house. Everything he had done to make this place home for me washed over me. Outside were all of the tools I needed to make this farm run. I felt all of his love flood over me. Instead of mourning him, though, I felt inspired. I felt strong. I felt like anything was possible. I felt hope like I hadn't in months. I knew everything would be alright.

I wiped my eyes and picked up the shotgun. I walked up the stairs quietly, keeping my ears and eyes open for the bobcat, hoping it was truly dead, but wary that it wasn't. I reached the top step and got my gun in position. I turned to the right and saw the cat in the same spot I left him. I lowered my gun and walked back to the linen closet. I sat the gun down and opened the closet door. I pulled out the first aid kit, again feeling a surge of thankfulness to my good husband that had provided what I needed. He was a stickler for being prepared and had bought many first aid kits for the farm. There were several more, each strategically placed: one in the barn, one in the shop, one in the truck and another in my Jeep. He had made a way to care for me long after he was gone. I picked up my gun and turned to go down the stairs. Silence still filled the air, but I knew I'd be okay.
Continue to Part 5

part 3

2010-03-09T07:53:00.000-08:00

The house was too quiet. I listened harder and tried to figure out what was missing. Then I recognized it: there was no noise of the refrigerator hum. I tried to flip on a light switch: nothing. Great. The power was out.

I turned and hung up my drenched jacket on the coat rack. This coat rack had been a prize that Jack had found at a consignment auction a few years back. It was a brass beauty. It was the same size as any old coat rack, but the shape of it was a tree, and the hooks were its branches. The sculpting of it was amazing. The bark on the trunk looked absolutely real, with its rough looking textures and the gorgeous shading. It was also practical too, which was what allowed it to come home with us that day. Jack was the one with the eye for beauty, but it had to pass my practicality test to be brought onto the farm. There were too many beautiful things that simply had no place out here. If it couldn't be cleaned or didn't have a true purpose, it would need to find a different home. The fact was, Jack had had wonderful taste, and the house was a shrine to him.

I tried to shake off his memory. I knew it was of no use, but I had work to do to make this house seem homey rather than a tomb. Most days I felt as dead inside as he really was.

Okay, first thing to do is take off these pretty clothes and put on some work clothes. There was some serious work to do! Up the stairs I went to my bedroom. I noticed the chill in the air and stopped to feel the wood stove for warmth: barely warm. I'd have to get it going again, rather than just throwing another log on the fire. Oh! Did I have to say things in such a way as to keep remembering him? That stupid song he sometimes sang came back to mind:

Put another log on the fire.
Cook me up some bacon and some beans.
And go out to the car and change the tire.
Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans.
Come on, baby, you can fill my pipe,
And then go fetch my slippers.
And boil me up another pot of tea.
Then put another log on the fire, babe,
And come and tell me why you're leaving me.

A smile crossed my lips, and then a pang hit my heart. Tears started forming. I shook my head. Not now, there simply isn't time to mourn right now.

I looked up and out the window to see what I was up against. Looking toward the shop I saw black clouds gathering quickly. I needed to head out and get some wood before the downpour started.

I pick up the pair of jeans I'd dropped on the floor the night before and tossed them on the bed. The bed. Another auction find. This one from an estate auction over in Redmond. The owner had been a widow for 50 years before she sold the old homestead and moved in with her son. For fifty years she lived the way I was trying to now. How did she manage? How did she pull herself up by her bootstraps and move on? I couldn't understand it, but it was something I was going to have to learn.

I took off my good clothes and carefully hung them up to dry. Jeans and a tee shirt with a flannel shirt over it was a good choice for today. Looking around the room I knew that after the wood was gathered the house would have to be tidied. I'd let it go for the past month since the funeral, and it desperately needed some TLC.

Leaving the room I mechanically flipped the light switch off. It was a habit I'd been trying to form: turning off the lights as I left the room... but the dimness stayed just the way it had been. I'd forgotten about the power.

At the back door I stopped and grabbed my rain coat and hoodie. Both would be necessary today. My final snatch off the shelf was a pair of leather work gloves. Then I left the house.

Around the house to the wood shed I went. I opened the doors wide, and saw only four - six to eight inch in diameter cedar logs. No hardwood was available except for straggling bark and broken up cast offs that were only good for tinder. In the corner lay old Ben, the black lab looking pup. He looked up from his slumber only with his eyes and graciously wagged his tail sleepily. It was hard to believe that he came from Jewel's line. Old Lassie, his momma had met Max, the dog on the next farm a few years ago. Judging from the pups she kept having, out of all of the dogs in this area, she liked Max best. I reached up and grabbed the bow saw. I wasn't yet comfortable enough to use the chain saw. I'd have to practice with it this weekend so that I could fill up the shed, but I didn't want to learn today with the wet and mess out there. I closed the doors, remembering not to latch them so that old Ben could get out after his nap.

Across the lawn I walked with purpose. I wanted to get this done and over. Sitting in front of a wood fire might be a romantic thing to do, but all the rest of the work that went along with it was just mucky and messy. As soon as I had the thought I knew that I needed to change my way of thinking. Old timers always said that heating with wood warms you twice: once when chopping and gathering the wood, and then once when you heated with it. I knew the logic, I just wasn't quite there for the optimism of it yet.

Jewel looked at me from the porch. Today she would wait until I called her. While she was a wonderful friend and would come out into the rain with me if I asked, she wasn't going to offer. I hesitated. I didn't want to make her get wet and miserable, but I also didn't want to go into the woods by myself. Even at thirty years old, the dark and the strange, unfamiliar noises of the woods still bothered me. "Come on girl!" I called and patted my leg. Down the sidewalk she trotted, showing her unfailing loyalty. I waited for her and then reached down and gave her a rub, "Good girl," I cooed. This was my baby and also my best friend. I might feed her and brush her, but she was the one who really took care of me by giving me her love and support; I wouldn't know what to do without her.

I turned and crossed the bridge that connected the driveway with the sidewalk. The usually calm, bubbly brook was slowly rising. I wasn't worried too much though, because this creek rarely spilled over. It was just a much smaller branch of the one I had had to cross earlier that morning.

I turned and followed the dirt road toward the rest of the property. This was a portion we rarely used for anything other than a view. It was a gorgeous area: woods up and to the right and then more straight ahead. I stopped at the fork in the road deciding which to use. Looking at both I decided to go to the woods further down the road. I had been gathering from the nearer one a lot this past month, and the easy to get to branches on the deadfall trees were nearly gone. About all that was left up there were the trunks of a few twenty to fifty foot dead trees lying on the ground. I'd have to take a chainsaw to the rest of it and load it in the back of the truck. That would have to be done later, though, after I got up my courage and after the ground dried up so I wouldn't get mired down in the mud.

I turned and patted my leg; Jewel followed. We walked in the open field in silence. All of the birds were tucked away in their nests trying to stay dry. No animals were out today, and the day was as silent out here as it had been in the house. A little shiver ran down my back. My imagination was much to wild for my own good. I tried to keep my thoughts turned away from the fact that everything sounded as dead as a tomb. I tried not to think about death. And tombs. And Pharaohs that have themselves, their earthly treasures, some of their animals and sometimes even a favorite servant killed and mummified and encased in his tomb for use in his afterlife. Would he have his wife killed and mummified too, I wondered, so he wouldn't have to be alone in the afterlife? Inside of that tomb, would it feel very much like this does, except more enclosed? Even though I forbade myself to think such thoughts, they volunteered themselves readily. Again I shivered as I started my trudge up the hill. continue to part 4

part 2

2010-03-05T12:05:00.000-08:00

I drove down those back country roads the same as I did every weekday. Typically I'd be noticing the beautiful greenery surrounding me. That is why we'd chose to live here in the South: its beauty is unbelievable. But for the past month, nothing had been typical.

We'd picked up and moved here from the bare desert West about three years ago. Work had gone awry, and there was little holding us there. Through job searches Jack had found good work as a manager in a factory, and I knew I could always find work in a bank. After his job was secured, we'd started looking for our dream house in the country.

There were many to choose from, and most a whole lot cheaper than the one we ended up purchasing, but ours was exactly what we were looking for. It was situated back from the main road quite a ways and was very private. It had a good well, a spring, and a cistern. Coming from the West, we understood the need for a good water source and a backup or two. There were several stocked ponds for fishing, a field for corn, one for hay, and a good sized pasture for animals. The remainder of the land was made up in woods, comprised of cedar and hardwoods. Since we would be heating exclusively with wood, trees were of upmost importance. The outbuildings, including an animal barn, chicken coop, and a shop, were in excellent repair. Everything seemed absolutely perfect.

We tried desperately to have children. Both of us wanted a full house. We were met every month with disappointment. After a couple of years, we turned to a fertility specialist who ran a battery of tests on both of us. That is how we found Jack's problem. Unfortunately, we had ignored the early symptoms, thinking that they were just the byproducts of being overwhelmed with trying to get pregnant. By the time the doctor found the problem and referred us to an oncologist, we were too late. Jack fought a good fight, but it simply wasn't enough.

So there I was. Stuck with a great farm and a great job with great people in a great place, and hating every minute of it.

Something on the road up ahead didn't look quite right. I slowed down to a crawl as I neared. A stream of water ran across the road. It looked only a couple inches deep, but I knew that it was deceptive. When the waters receded, a cross would be visible on the south side of the road; some other motorist hadn't been as familiar with the hills and vales of this road as I was and had tried to cross it unsuccessfully some years back.

I backed up and turned around. I'd go back a different way and see if the road was higher there. Slowing down to make the turn I was again faced with a stream of water covering that way too. I'd have to just go back home and hope I could get across my creek. There was no other way to get through.

Retracing my route from earlier, I made it home safely. The creek was a little high, but I knew I could cross just fine as long as I didn't hesitate in the middle. Once I was safely through I took my time ambling down the long driveway. I could see the creek's bed behind the fruit trees. The creek down here was a lot higher than back at the crossing, since a few other creeks emptied into it too. Buds were on the dogwoods up in the woods now; the Redbuds would be next.

My property looked deserted. I knew that the goats and sheep were under shelter in the barn, the chickens in the coop, and the dogs were scattered here and there trying to stay dry. Only trusty Jewel, the black and white Border Collie, lay on the front porch. She was my favorite of the three. She was the momma of them all, and grandmother to puppies still being born on the farm. She was older and had outgrown the jumpiness of puppy-hood and had grown in a stable, loyal, wonderful dog.

She watched me park the Jeep and get out. She stood up and walked to the edge of the porch, curious as to why I was already home. I patted her on the head, unlocked the front door, and went inside. continue to part 3

Unnamed as of yet

2010-03-05T07:40:00.000-08:00

It was drizzling rain as I walked out of my house. Everything was drenched and seemed waterlogged. I walked down the sidewalk holding fast to my umbrella and trying to avoid the puddles. I was on my way to work and didn't want to look disheveled before the day even started.

I loved this farm and all it stood for, but occasionally the naturalness of it got to me, and this was one of those times.

The city, with its well manicured parks, its street cleaners, its well swept concrete everything with all of its order seemed to be utopia. Other times, in my schizophrenic desires, I loved the country for its imperfection, which seemed to be perfection on its own. But for days where I needed to look orderly and fashionable, the drippy country seemed quite a lesser kingdom.

I walked to my SUV and unlocked the doors. There was really no reason to lock them, out here in the middle of nowhere, but it made me feel a little safer, nonetheless.

I climbed in to the driver's seat and put all of my baggage on the floor. This was the bridge between my worlds. A Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited: a beautiful, comfortable vehicle with power everything, leather seats, and a premium sound system mixed with 4 wheel drive and a gutsy engine. It got me where I needed to go and let me look good doing it.

A few years ago I would have just settled for a minivan filled with kids. A clunky old car seat seemed like perfection. A floor carpeted with crumbs from well loved cookies and sandwich crusts wedged between the seats would be heaven. But that life wasn't to be.

When we bought this farm on over a hundred acres with the house full of windows and light, the plan was to fill up all of the bedrooms with babies. But after last year's battle with cancer, the future seemed to hold a very different life than the one we'd planned. Jack's battle with prostate cancer had been a losing one, and after all that surgery and chemo could do, it was simply no use.

So onward and upward. I'd make this life work come hell or high water. And occassionaly the high water kept me a prisoner on my little island hell that once was paradise.

This creek that was acting like a bubbly brook this morning, could by tonight, be a massive torrent threatening anyone's life who dared to pass. I'd have to be careful as I came home in the dark to make sure that its waters were benign. Note to self: be aware of what is around you physically, even though mentally you are in a coma. part 2

Mr. Beaver Comes to Lunch

2010-02-17T07:05:00.000-08:00

It had all the makings of a gorgeous day: outside the sky was blue, the grass was green, the bubbling brook was making soothing gurgly noises, the birds were singing, cicadas were chirping; inside the kids were playing a game nicely together. I couldn't have asked for anything more!

As I was looking out the window I spotted him: a little critter resembling a beaver with a bushy tail came prancing down the lane, over the bridge, and down our sidewalk. So cute was he, in all of his furry cheerfulness.

My mind turned back to such stories of Beatrix Potter's Peter Cottontail, Benjamin Bunny, and all of the rest of the little animal friends from my childhood and my children's present life.

Everything combined together to make "right now" simply perfect.

I called Steve and the children over and we smiled as we watched him make his way toward the house as though coming for a lunch date. So cute. So happy. So perfect.

And then it happened.

Our three dogs that had been off playing somewhere in the fields came tearing over the lawn, each from different directions. One grabbed Mr. Beaver's back left leg, the other his right, while another lunged for his throat. Within seconds, our fairy book story was shattered and we stood watching "National Geographic" instead.

The children screamed. I covered my mouth in horror. Steve's jaw dropped. We simply couldn't believe what we'd seen! Poor Mr. Beaver! Mr. Beaver, who had desired to come to lunch had become lunch instead.

At least I'd been able to save that possum...

R.O.U.S. Part 2

2010-02-03T15:12:00.000-08:00

Time writing: 20 minutes
Time editing: 10 minutes

It was lying on its back, legs straight up in the air, its paws with the claws out ready for the attack. The fur on its body was mottled and ragged. But the single feature that struck the most fear in my heart was its face with its teeth bared in a permanent snarl.

I could feel the blood draining from my face as I looked out on the hideous creature lying on my lawn. It was obvious my dogs had killed him, bless them! But what kind of animal was this? Were there more of these ghoulish creatures nearby? Did I need to worry about my children playing outside?

I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and I turned my head to see Steve coming toward me. He wrapped himself around me from behind, whispering, "Good morning, beautiful," just like he did every morning. Usually his words melted me and warmed me from the inside out, but today they had no affect on the coldness that I felt.

"It looks like it is going to be a beautiful day!" he said, as he surveyed the sky.

"Steve, what kind of animal is that?"

"Where?"

"Right there, lying next to Amber's toy plates."

"Oh..." he got quiet for a long while, then he let out a laugh.

I turned around suddenly, startled by his reaction. I couldn't see what could possibly be funny.

"What?" I snapped, "What is that thing?"

Still smiling he replied, "Remember that 'coon the dogs killed a month ago and kept dragging back to the porch even after I threw it into the fields time and again?"

I nodded. Yes, I knew the one. I had nearly stepped on it coming out of the house a few times. A stinky, old, rotting raccoon.

"Well, about a week ago I got tired of throwing it back into the field, but I didn't want to take time to dig a proper grave, so I threw it in the burn barrel while I was burning our garbage. It looks like its fur got singed and its lips burned off. It does look pretty ugly, doesn't it? It doesn't seem to have bothered the dogs any, though. They must've dragged him out of there, though I'm not sure how they got to him. I'll bury him deep today, so they won't bring him to us again."

I looked back at the 'coon. It looked just like the Rodents of Unusual Size from The Princess Bride's Fire Swamp. Thank heavens I didn't have to worry about that snarly critter's babies coming to bite my own babies.

My mind turned toward another critter: that cute little happy beaver that tried to visit us the other day without much success.... (continue to: Mr. Beaver Comes to Lunch)

Topic: R.O.U.S. Part 1

2010-02-01T07:40:00.000-08:00

Time writing: 20 minutes
Time editing: 10 minutes

The house was chilly upon awakening. That was the down side to living in a renovated, Amish built home with no central heating. I slipped on my bathrobe and slippers and quietly tiptoed downstairs. It was always nice to have a few minutes to myself in the early morning while the children slept. Sidestepping the creaky stair, I inched my way down.

Silence filled my ears. What a glorious sound it was! Glancing out the window I saw that it was going to be a beautifully clear day. No wonder it was so chilly!

Kneeling down, I lifted the lever to the wood stove's door and gently eased it open. Taking the fireplace shovel, I scraped away the ashes from the previous night's fire. Turning around, I found a couple of good cedar logs and laid those down first, then came the fire starters in between them, sticks and twigs next, tinder scattered on top, and finally, a couple more cedar logs carefully laid atop. Standing up and stretching a little, I found the matches on the top shelf. I knelt back down, struck the match, amazed by the heat that one little flame will give off, and lit the fire starter. It would take a few minutes to see if my fire was laid out well enough, so I shut the door. Using the wood stove to help me stand up, I felt the cold, hard soapstone under my hands. This wood stove was my absolute favorite! With its veiny soapstone and shiny brown porcelain exterior, it was just the right combination of practicality and elegance.

Turning, I walked toward the door to look out of its window and survey the morning. Looking out past the shop and barn, I could see the blue sky waiting for the warmth of the sun. The cow was already in the barn, patiently waiting by the gate for Steve to come out and milk her, while the goat and sheep were in the pasture appreciating the field grasses. The dogs and cats were still fast asleep on the front porch, and our black and white Border Collie, Madame, as she frequently did, had a cat sleeping on her back. That dog could sleep through anything! Looking across the lawn I saw that the kids had not obeyed when I told them to put their toys away for the night: a dolly, asleep on the dewy grass was probably damp from her campout on the lawn, a pop-gun laid abandoned on the sidewalk, bikes strewn every which-way, and that's when I saw the scariest critter I'd ever seen lying dead on the grass next to the toy dishes! (continue to: R.O.U.S. Part 2)

Introductions

2010-02-01T07:33:00.000-08:00

This is the first post of this blog. I have started this blog to help me hone my writing skills. Each day I will set a timer and write until the timer dings. In this way, I'm hoping that I can learn just to put down words and get my creative juices flowing. Maybe I'll set a second timer so that I clean up misspellings and edit the grammar too.
That's my goal. Wish me luck!