Check The Vitals

With my $50 guitar in hand, I was just seconds from taking the stage at The Bluebird Cafe.

Finally.

“Lindsay!” The urgency in Cody’s voice woke me in an instant.

A really poorly timed instant.

It was dark in our room. I opened my eyes wide but didn’t even look at the clock.

"Yeah?" I responded.

“K,” was all he whispered, rolling back over on his side.

I drifted back to sleep but The Bluebird didn’t wait for me.

And to think: We would have paid off the farm in an instant if I could have just sung one rendition of Strawberry Wine. I have, after all, been practicing for twenty years (take a moment to let that sink in).

Sleep came easy and it seemed like just seconds before he pulled the stunt again.

“Lindsay!” The urgency in Cody’s voice woke me in an instant.

It was dark in our room. I opened my eyes wide but didn’t even look at the clock.

“Yeah?” I responded.

“K,” was all he whispered, rolling back over on his side.

I’ve been told I’ve become a mouth breather in the last couple weeks. Not a snorer, but rather a mouth breather "louder than a 454 big block"- what ever that means.  And while I’m annoyed and in denial just hearing of this development, I have to trust my sources. Apparently Cody woke up twice last night and didn’t hear me breathing, so he decided to startle me awake to check my vitals. There are easier ways to do things (I suggested gently checking my pulse, holding his hand an inch over my mouth to feel for breath, lying in the quiet dark for five seconds and listening, etc.), but everyone seems to do what they think is right in certain situations, I guess.

While it was a shoddy night of rest, I’m grateful for a husband who doesn’t want to sleep next to a dead person.

This middle-of-the-night fiasco reminded me of someone I haven’t checked on in a while.

Someone who – I’ll admit – doesn’t enter my mind often, but when they do I feel a bit of a sting. They are a shining example of how I let time and distance drive a wedge in communication and I’ve frankly lost touch with them.

I don’t call to check on them. 

I don’t shoot them a text or an email. 

If memory serves me right (45% chance these days) I sent them a hand written note last summer because I felt the lack-of-communication sting, and that was the last of our correspondence.

No hard feelings, no fall out.

But rather, worse: No effort at all.

Which is a shame; they were a good lesson and good person in my life.

An old co-worker.

An industry mentor.

An aging grandparent.

A previous neighbor.

The one who takes you back to that tumultuous time in your life.

An old business partner.
That once-stranger on your old morning commute to the city. 

A teacher, maybe not even the kind who stood at the front of the class. 

A college roommate.

An acquaintance that changed things.

Your parent.

There is someone who could use a vitals check from you.

A hello.

A “I was just thinking of you…”

A sign that they're thought of every so often.

Do you have that person in mind?

Find them.

Write them.

Call them.

Email them.

Text them.

Do something to let them know they’re still significant enough to cross a mind now and then.

Your mind. 

But might I suggest waiting until daylight until you do your vitals check? 
Waiting until everyone is awake and aware of their surroundings just makes for a better morning, for everyone. 

The Little Garden That Could

If the above title sounds familiar, it's because this is the second blog I've done that tells the story of something orange that we've rescued from the trash pile. If you don't know the story of our alcoholic lawn mower, now might be a good time to click here and read that story. 
We were just dating then. 
I should have known. 

Anyway, back to the garden...

I'm not good at giving hard advice.
Go after it now or  wait until it's right: I can usually nail that. 
Left or right at this stop sign: I need time to think.   

I told Cody when we bought the farm that I wanted a garden. He seemed to blow off the idea, seeing as how - since we've met - I've wanted to learn to quilt, paint the old hutch in Momma and Dad's barn, write a book and lose fifteen pounds. He knows my goals are high and my ambition sometimes gets washed away in a flood of obligation. 

But this spring I was serious. 

And we had a really serious conversation (it may have mirrored the Corn Crib conversation) about the garden. 
And how it's an obligation. 
And it needs attention. 
And it needs water.
And tilling up the yard we've worked so darn hard to replant would be a new commitment. 
Why would I want to till it up? ....blah blah blah. 
One by one, I saw a quilt, a hutch, a book, and fifteen pounds roll through my mind. 
UGH. 

But then - he agreed to it. 
With a compromise, of course. 

Rather than till up the yard we'd worked to hard to re-seed, we decided to do "raised beds"...straight out of Pinterest?
Nope. 
Straight outta used Vitaferm mineral tubs. 

We took the empty mineral tubs that had already served their purpose in the pasture quite well and drilled holes in the bottom. 
Then we cleaned a feed floor and filled our "garden" with three parts: dirt/manure/straw. 
Unconventional, but has anything about our marriage been considered the "norm"?

Green beans, lettuce, tomatoes (x4), peppers and zucchini

And then we waited for rain. 

We didn't have to wait very long...

 And that rain did really great things for my fake green thumb:

Week after week, our Vitaferm garden provided.

And then I spotted this guy.

 Can you see the finger-size predator, 

munching on our cherry tomatoes?

We enjoyed this spread often 

this summer, with a side of beef. 

So many tomatoes, you'd think I had a country music album in stores. 

This little garden, built out of tubs in the toss pile and waste that could have fertilized a field, has done so well for us. In fact, besides the the two of us, it's fed my parents, a neighbor, two fat rabbits and an unruly heifer that found it one July afternoon. 

We know now what we did wrong:

Planted the tomato tubs too close together. 

The soil is so fertile, but drains too quickly. 

The lettuce never came back after one cutting - no idea what we did wrong there?

You know that thing in your life that you've wanted to do, take on or accomplish?

::That thing that your heart desires:: 

Whatever captures your mind for more than a fifteen mile stretch on your drive home. 

Whatever you wonder - or wander - about. 

Should you start it? Yes. 

Do it. 

Make a plan. 

Try it out. 

Invest in it. 

Use your five free hours on it. 

Seriously, Do It. 

Try something new. 

You're not going to live forever.

One day you'll look back and wish you would have started sooner. 

I know I did. We took a leap, did things differently and have enjoyed watching this garden grow. And, I'm already stock piling Vitaferm tubs for next spring. But I refuse to rinse them out; I'd hate to mess up a good thing. Doesn't every garden need the Amaferm® advantage?

For real gardening advice, that doesn't involve cattle production, you should check out The Blog Bloom. 

The Compromising Crib

Perspective is everything. 

As we walked the farm that would eventually incur our debt, Cody and I both found things we loved about it, and things that we could do without. In true BowSankey fashion, the things I had to keep were the things Cody wanted gone - and vice versa. 

We passed through every gate, every room and every pasture. On the multiple visits that followed, our list of prospective changes grew - but unfortunately our budget didn't. 

Still, we dreamt on. 

One of the first sincere disagreements we've had while working to make this place our own was over the old corn crib. 

Cody looked at it and saw an eye sore that wasn't going to hold corn anytime soon; we're turning our tillable acres into pasture. 

In the middle of corn country. 

And black soil. 

Yes, we're crazy. 

About cattle. 

I looked at the old crib and saw a story - a history - of this old farmstead and the days that have passed by. 

I appreciated the rays of light that passed through the structure and wondered how many hot days and cold winter nights this wood had seen. 

It certainly served it's purpose.

I wondered who had built it.

It was weathered. 

It was worn. 

It was perfect. 

I believe we had four discussions regarding the future of this old crib. 

Real, serious discussions. 

So serious that when I was away for 1-2 days I had sincere concerns that I would come home to a pile of ashes and and shoddy explanation from Cody about "lightening."

Like any gal who wants something really badly, I racked my brain for creative ways to use that crib. 

It's like justifying that pair of shoes that you adore, but you'll likely never wear. 

They encompass everything you'd like your wardrobe to be.   

10% of you knows they're probably not worth the internal fight. 

Still 90% of you wants them really badly.

So, you charge on. 

The poor floor and warped south side presented its challenges. 

My strategy became not mentioning the crib if it didn't come up in conversation.

Out of site and out of mind?

False. 

It's right in our way and the first thing you see as you pull into the farm. 

Out of conversation and out of mind?

Yeah, I was going for that. 

Sunrises passed quickly and the moon made his appearance earlier every single day as this fall (and winter) we spent our hours at the new Sankey homestead. I think it was right around the time that our entire upstairs looked like this that the idea came to me. 

What if we moved the crib into the house?

No longer an eye sore, but part of our story?

I presented the idea to Cody and as well as pictures of what it may look like.

Thank you Pinterest, you precious little ally. 

Slowly, my patient husband began to ask questions. 

If you know Cody at all, you know that when the wheels are turning, he asks questions. 

Like, a lot of them. 

How?

Where?

When?

And most importantly: Why would this make sense?

I'm fairly certain I prepared myself more for this opportunity than I did for any final at Purdue. 

Priorities. 

I was prepared to answer everything. 

And I didn't know it yet, but Cody was already prepared to make my vision come true.

He had done his research.

In a weekend Cody and I carefully removed every vertical board off of that ancient corn crib frame, careful to not splinter the wood or shatter the boards. 

That was far more difficult than either of us anticipated when we started the project. 

That old corn crib was fragile. 

I told myself that it was proof that it needed us. 

Yep, if you rearrange the letters in "Lindsay Jean" it spells "Justification" --

I cannot believe you just tried that. 

We stacked the old frail crib into a pile and continued on with our lives. Work travel, the North American and other obligations left that stack of wood in our barnyard for a few weeks. Then we moved it into the house to dry out, per direction of our contractor. 

You see, while Cody and I are fantastic at burning things to the ground, we're not so well versed on building them back up. Our contractor shared our vision as soon as we opened our home to him and tried to paint our picture in his mind. 

He didn't laugh at the idea of moving the the corn crib into our house. 

At least, not in front of me?

Smart man.

His craftsmanship partnered well with our vision of making a new home for us that tells a fantastic story.

Every board was cut and fit into the best possible place as part of this Indiana farmstead. 

No longer weathering the rain and wind, the Compromising Corn Crib now adorns our home. 

Perfectly.

New Windows!!

While the landscape of this old farm has changed with the removal of the corn crib, it's not been ridded of the history that we appreciate so much. 

This entire experience of moving the dear old corn crib that I fell in love with into our home has taught me much as we navigate this stage in our marriage. 

It's all about perspective - and compromise. 

We both lived independently long enough to create our own styles and preferences. But happiness lies in learning to appreciate another person's perspective, which could be quite different from yours. The things I love are the same things Cody would like to use as fire starter. The things Cody loves are the things I'd like to see in our next garage sale. 

75% off. 

Communication and compromise are both pertinent. 

Creativity pays. 

Just because something has age on it doesn't necessarily mean it's life is over. Who doesn't like a story? Who doesn't like to reuse or incorporate something that has stood the test of time? 

No one proudly starts their home tour by saying, "And this has a special story. We bought it at Lowe's right after we ate at Bob Evan's two Februaries ago..."

We still aren't done in the remodeling process, which is why the photos reveal very little past the Compromising Corn Crib woodwork. 

And we haven't moved in yet. 

The cows have officially made the place their home, but not us. 

Not. Quite. Yet...

I just can't pull the trigger on packing my hairspray and toothbrush until we have an operational sink. 

And mirror?

And shower?

Every night, we move a little more into this house. 

At this point, I just hope Santa knows where to find us come Christmas. 

Love For The Original

Another year in the books and we celebrate 

another year with our dear, beautiful, Original Jean.

A few years ago we planned a surprise birthday party for my Grandma. My sister  played a big role in the surprise and convinced Grandma to ride to town with her and pick up a pizza, rather than cook. 

When they returned to the farm, of course Grandma immediately noticed the line of pick-up trucks and cars lined down her lane. 

Grandma's first response: "Oh no...hide that pizza!"

The Original Jean isn't one for surprises. Namely the ones that require her to feed the masses or wash her windows. 

Next week we will celebrate The Original Jean's 83rd birthday in rural Ohio. She won't do much of anything special for herself; we're getting together over the weekend for cake and ice cream. 

Rather than plan a surprise party for Grandma, I'd like to surprise her by showering her with cards. I've said it a thousand times before: sending cards or letters is a lost art. It takes less than ten minutes, and the reward of making someone's day is worth it, 100 times over. 

Grandma understands the value in a hand-writeen note, too: 

If you have 5 minutes, I encourage you to sit down, 
grab a pen and a sheet of paper off of your desk 

and send The Original Jean - the namesake for this blog - a happy birthday note, even if you've not had the pleasure of meeting her. 

The Original Jean

3409 Toney-Lybrook Rd. 

Eaton, OH

45320

When she goes to to bed on the night of her 83rd birthday, Grandma may not know who exactly sent all the cards, letters or notes. 

She sure won't remember what each of them said. 

But rest assured, she will never forget how special they made her feel. 

And her granddaughter, too.