A Rhetorical Question

I don't remember most of the day, but I remember the moments leading up to the impact like it was yesterday. 

It had been a particularly rough morning. 
I had screwed up a major detail of an event, only to learn about it during the final run through. 
I left my cell phone at said final run through, across the county from my office. 
I had forgotten, again, to pick up new eye glasses in another small town 15 miles away and my head was feeling it. 
That afternoon I decided to pick up my eyeglasses and go back to the event site and find my phone....in an Answer Plot field. Feeling immense stress and frustration, I called out to God while driving down a state highway:

"God! What else could possibly go wrong today?"

It was a rhetorical question, but I guess maybe God felt obligated to answer to prove a point.

It was only seconds later that I saw the black Jeep come up over the perpendicular hill - quickly. 
The driver never hit the brakes, only me. 
Fannie the Focus, rest her soul, did two full spins, went over on two wheels, nearly flipping, and landed in a ditch within someone's yard. 
I was taken to the hospital because I didn't feel so hot after the ordeal, but walked away completely fine. Not a scratch. 
But with a lesson wrapped around my wrist:
Full name
Age
Date in which I arrived in the ER: 08/08/2012
A reminder I've never forgotten:

When you ask God a question, be prepared for an answer.  

I swore I'd never ask him that question again. 
Sometimes my memory slips.

I have a friend from college that I've kept in touch with since our Purdue days. 
One of those people that deserves the very best and is living boldly in order to find it. 
Every time I meet someone eligible, I size them up by his standards, wondering if I could introduce the two. I have yet succeed. 

Anyhow, he sent me an email a while back saying he'd finally met someone (I heard angels sing at my desk) worth talking about. His words were brief and only somewhat descriptive, using far fewer adjectives than I prefer. I mean....he didn't even mention her color hair. But I do know a bigger detail about her: she is ill. Weekly-treatments, ill. This detail doesn't change his feelings towards her or the anticipation of their future together. This relationship, as it turns out, is an affair of the heart, not the worrying mind. 

Over dinner one night I told Cody about my friend's exciting news and now difficult situation. "Can you believe it? He finally finds someone to capture his attention and now this? Why him? Why her illness, now? How much can one guy take?" 

Cody didn't really answer the question, he only agreed. 

It was a rhetorical question, but I guess maybe God felt obligated to answer to prove a point.

That same friend texted me last week to let me know he was heading west - homebound - last minute. His dad found a lump and they learned that it might not be the "no big deal" as previously thought. I got the text while outside with Cody and read the text aloud. I knew better than to ask God any questions. I didn't care to learn anymore punch-in-the-gut answers.

This friend, however, is handling it all with grace and patience; both things he doesn't seem to have when McDonald's gets his drive-thru order wrong. He has never asked what more God could throw his way, not because he doesn't want to know, but rather because he already knows things could be worse and today he's climbing life's mountains one at a time. 

God sure as an interesting way of answering questions. Sometimes with Yes, sometimes with No, often Not yet or maybe even I have something different in mind. I think He continues to answer this friend with: You're not going to believe this...

This story is not told to discourage you from asking God questions in fear of what He will reveal. I think God loves it when we have those conversations with Him. My thought is that part of living an enriched life is accepting those answers - no matter how pleasant or tough - as part of the journey. Part of your life's story. 

Personally, I wish I was better at this. Sometimes when I ask God if He can show me where I need to be in my life, I have a real concern that He is going to physically move me to where I'm going to do my best work for Him. Without a chance to pack. Or do the dishes in the sink I've put off for two days. So I never ask the question out loud; I whisper it in my head. As I type this, I realize: I'm a real mess. 

Of course, asking, "What more can God possibly throw my way?" may just sound like a challenge and expedite the process...

Have faith in this. 

I'll close with a few words from my strong, optimistic friend, hoping that his experience will encourage you today, no matter how your life's story is unfolding minute by minute, day by day, year by year:

Life is full of uncertainties 

but what we can do is 

focus on living the best life 

that we can today.

Inspiring more than he knows, that friend. 

The Hummingbird

It was an overdue simple and quiet Saturday morning. 
Even the highway in front of our home seemed to have fewer semis, boats, campers or livestock trailers climbing the hill. 
The sun was bright and the air was perfectly cool.
Last Saturday was the first morning in so many that I simply sat outside and enjoyed it. 
I read through two issues of Cowboys & Indians. 
Had three cups of coffee; and as a result got the severe jitters.
Half-heartedly watched heat across different lots; if they went behind the grain bin I was slow to move my chair. 
Thought of how I asked for a new day to start again; and I got it. 
Thought of all of those I know who are lost or hurting. 

For a reason I don't know, there are so many people in my life who feel lost or are hurting. 
For all of those who are lost or hurting. 
Who are waiting for answers.
Who are living with shattered hearts. 
Who have fears and concerns that they don't know how to address. 
Who are lonely, feeling forgotten. 
Who are mourning a loss. 
Who are living a lie.
Who are barely getting by.
Who are tired of trying. 
Who are broken. 

My mind drifted between those hurting and back into the pages of the magazine. 
What can I do for my hurting friends? My story could always be worse. Who designs these ranch houses? They are not from Economy, Indiana. These people did not lower their living room ceiling so the wood panelling would fit. When will I travel west again? 
My heart was on fire for those broken, uncomfortably near and far, and it had nothing to do with the Friday night pizza. 

Nine O Ranch

Over and over I replayed this Eliza Tabor quote in my head:

“Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal; it strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it.”

Suddenly, I heard a loud buzzing. 
A helicopter-over-your-head buzzing. 
A stinging insect-in-your-face buzzing.
A super-fast-relentless buzzing. 
I quickly looked around. It was right in front of me. Feet from my face. Floating on the air. 

A hummingbird. 

Before I truly realized what it was, I jerked in my seat. The tiny bird hung there for seconds, but I had obviously startled it in the same way it had I. The hummingbird was on another flight in no time. 

It flew away and landed in a small group of branches in a tree. But not for long. It was gone again in seconds. Just around enough to make its presence known. Just long enough for me to forget the heart pain.

I looked back to the magazine but thought maybe I shouldn't. A view like that can't be followed up with pages from a book. 

I grabbed my phone and simply searched "hummingbird lesson". I needed more from that little bird than just a brief encounter.

And below is what I found. 
For all of those who are lost or hurting. 
Who are waiting for answers.
Who are living with shattered hearts. 
Who have fears and concerns that they don't know how to address. 
Who are lonely, feeling forgotten. 
Who are mourning a loss. 
Who are living a lie.
Who are barely getting by.
Who are tired of trying. 
Who are broken. 

The Story of the Hummingbird 

Once upon a time, a huge forest was being consumed by a terrible fire. Frightened, all the animals fled their homes and ran out of the forest. As they came to the edge of a stream they stopped to watch the raging wild fire, feeling discouraged and powerless. 

They were all bemoaning the destruction of their homes. Every one of them thought that there was nothing they could do about the fire, except for one little hummingbird.

This particular hummingbird decided he would do something. He swooped into the stream, picked up a few drops of water and went into the forest and put them on the fire. Then he went back to the stream to do it again and again and again. All the other animals watched him in disbelief; some tried to discourage the hummingbird: 

“Don’t bother, it is too much, you are too little, your wings will burn, your beak is too tiny, it’s only a drop, you can’t put out this fire.” 

And as the animals stand around disparaging the little bird’s efforts, the bird noticed how hopeless and forlorn they looked.

Then one of the animals shouted out and challenged the hummingbird in a mocking voice, “What do you think you are doing?”

And the hummingbird, without wasting time or losing a beat, looked back and said, “I am doing the best I can.”

So there is the message for you. 

If you need it. 

Or perhaps I should say: when you need it. 

Remember the Hummingbird. 

Later that morning we loaded cow/calf pairs to move miles away to graze. I told Cody about the hummingbird and we concluded that neither of us had ever seen one on our farm previously in two years. It was the sign. It was needed. I was grateful.

Sunday after church we we went to Orscheln's (it's becoming a habit, after Mexi) and spent 10 minutes reviewing hummingbird feeders for our yard. How do you pick the perfect feeder to attract your new friend when they all look so....bright and plastic? 

It hangs now it our yard. East of the milk house, by the blooms. Away from the rocking chairs but close to the swing. I can see it from our kitchen window. 

Though you may feel so small in these trying times, remember this - 

You're doing the best you can. 

None of today's photos were taken by me, with the exception of our milkhouse. 

New Again

At 6:47 in the evening  I found myself 4,000 steps away from my Fitbit goal. No bueno. 

I did what any crazy Fitbitter would do: Put on some comfortable boots and decided to take a walk. Camera in hand. 

No rest for the weary, I thought to myself. 
Or, those included in a public challenge where other people can see your daily steps...

Spring has finally showed her pretty face around the farm.
New blooms, new green, new life.

While I walked the fence row, I wracked my brain to come up with a blog idea. It had been a long time since I made it to 7:00 on a Tuesday night and just didn't feel anything humorous or inspiring to share. 

Ask, and you shall receive. 

Suddenly, everywhere I looked I was reminded that we're in the midst of Holy Week and just exactly what that means. 

I can't put the gift into words, 

but I can share with you my favorite song that puts this week 

- and His sacrifice - 

somewhat in perspective.

Like spring on the farm, He has made all things new again. 

It is beautiful. I hope you'll listen. 

New Again by Brad Paisley & Sara Evans

You may view it larger by clicking here. 

Video compiled by Blake Bowden. 

Fifty Years Apart

Today is a very special Wednesday.

Two of the most important people in my life

celebrate another year of influence.  

This beautiful blonde, The Original Jean,  turns 85 

And this courageous cowboy, my husband,  turns 35

On March 11, fifty years apart, 

my destiny was shaped in a special way. 

Checking cows last night I wondered about the greatest lesson The Original Jean and Cody have taught me. 

Put grandkids with solid lung capacity in the trunk to avoid admission costs at the Preble County Fair? 

Nope.

Hold on to things for ten years, then see if they really matter?

Nope. 

When I was young - I'm talking like six years ago - Grandma's kitchen table was the safest place. It was only there that I felt comfortable enough to tell her about the changes, disappointments and searching I faced in life. Though she married young, she didn't seem to judge, she just listened. Her advice was never gushy or deep or even Biblical. Her advice always referenced patience and was typically this:

"You don't have to marry the man. 

Just let him take you to dinner."

Yeah, thanks Grandma. Because of that advice I went through about 403 first dates and started a few fires that nearly burned me to the ground. I also ate a lot of really good meals. Hence the fat jeans/skinny jeans drawer in my dresser. 

I also sifted, because of The Original's advice. 

What I believed was real. 

What I selfishly prayed for. 

What I expected. 

All totally wrong, but silently I kept The Original Jean's advice in my back pocket. 

I don't have to marry him, 

just enjoy the company without expectations. 

Really shoddy long-term advice for a gal who grew up playing M.A.S.H.

Anyway, on March 11, 1980 there was a new kid on the block in Kansas. He looked like his Papa Laflin and had a restless spirit like his dad, Chris. 

Papa Laflin and Cody

And despite giving him the wrong phone number, he still treated me to the dinner that The Original Jean encouraged.

For the record, it was the Worst. Food. Ever. 

But the company sure made up for it. 

He is a passionate man. Made of grit and contemplation. 

He generally doesn't say much, asks plenty questions and his mind never shuts off. 

He constantly evaluates, processes and projects. 

I just typically repeat my question because he takes too long to answer. 

Patience. 

If these March 11 babies have taught me anything, it is patience. 

They've taught me that worrying does nothing. 

They've taught me to let go of expectations and see where life fearlessly leads. 

They've taught me that life happens when you put down the map. 

They've taught me to be careful what you pray for. 

They've taught me that yelling louder doesn't make someone understand what you just tried to explain. 

They've taught me that just because they think they did, doesn't necessarily mean someone remembered to latch the gate. 

They've taught me that sometimes it doesn't pay to to buy the cheap stuff. 

They've taught me that "expectations" is "get a life" spelled backwards. 

Just kidding. 

They've also taught me this:

The best things happen when you're not looking. 

So put away the grand plan and let life go where it will. 

I trust you'll learn that 

the best surprises are the ones 

that had nothing to do with all of your worry.

 

Happy Birthday, Grandma & Cody!

Reality: The Best Days

This was the first thing that came to my mind as I left 

Hot Head Burritos last Tuesday after a late, lone lunch:

Actually, that's not true. 
My first thought was, "I didn't taste guac on my burrito. Did I pay for extra that?"
Then I thought about inspiration and how it has an incredible ability to sneak up and reveal it's presence in the most unsuspecting places in life: anytime, anywhere. 

It was almost 2:00, so I didn't have any trouble finding a seat - a whole booth to myself. A man (likely?) in his sixties chose the table just next to my booth minutes later. He laid down the newspaper and pulled his glasses from the top of his head down to his nose. 
"Eat here very much? I love the food. Here or Subway. My two favorite lunch places," he remarked, folding the front page back and straightening the pages. 
Our conversation continued as we talked about local eateries back and forth across the aisle.  He revealed to me that he had been retired for some time, but was a machinist for decades prior to having the fortunate opportunity to retire at 55. Now he spends most of this time visiting with friends around the area, and also spending his summers north of town where he helps on a friend's small farm. I laughed a bit in my head; the way he described his experience on said farm was the same way a child explains the excitement and lessons from summer camp. But for this grown man, I got the feeling that this was exactly how he viewed as his time on the 82-year-old friend's farm. He went on to tell me about summers spent outside of Roundhill, Kentucky on his great Uncle's farm. He spent childhood days there.
The best days, he called them.  

Old Kentucky Farm

A bit taken back by his openness (Why is he telling me this? I just came here to check Facebook and eat my lunch in peace), I was  trying to maneuver my fingers around a overly-stuffed burrito when the man said something that stopped me. I lost half a pound of pico out of my frail tortilla, but I received something more: 

Inspiration.

"Kids these days, they spend their summers in a video game. No idea what's going on around them. No life to speak of. No reality. What is their reality? It's in a TV screen."

I couldn't agree more. Growing up, we weren't allowed to watch cartoons past 6-years-old; instead, we had to go outside and find something to "build character". So you can imagine the exposure - or lack there of - we had to video games. 
They've always intrigued me, in the same way a sleazy talk show does:
I don't want to be any part of it, still I long to understand how people end up in that state, so consumed by something terribly misleading to them. 

Video games do little past fabricate a false sense of reality by giving players a feeling of power and strength that, in reality, doesn't reach past their bedroom door. They allow you to choose your appearance and stature. They create obstacles and enemies that can be annihilated with one swift jolt of the thumb. They sweep you away to a place that doesn't exist; one that takes you far from anything that is real and true. 

Considering everything that our day-to-day lives encompass, video games aren't the only vice that separates us from reality. And kids certainly aren't the only guilty party.
I'm guilty of escaping reality, myself. 

Pinterest: A place where I use imaginary thumbtacks to post recipes I'll never attempt to an imaginary cork board that describes the table setting I will never make out of recycled toilet paper rolls adorning a dinner party I'll never throw because I simply don't live the "dinner party" kind of life. But when I log on, I try to. 

Daytime TV: A place where Americans track love affairs and illegitimate children on shows such as Guiding Light. Strangely, only two different story lines passed across the Guiding Light silver screen from 1952 and 2009, when it went off the air. I wonder why it went off the air? But we grew up with the Spauldings, didn't we? Since then, I haven't met a Reva I trusted. 
Or liked. 
Or any other Reva at all. 

Denial: A place where you willingly go to escape reality because you flat out desire to reject something that is real or true. Maybe because you can't handle it, maybe because you don't want to. The frightful thing about denial is most folks who live in it don't even realize they're a loyal resident.

Upon leaving lunch, I sat in the parking lot and had to ask myself what my reality is. 
Am I living in real time?
What do I fail to acknowledge because I simply don't want to?
What is my vice making me bigger, stronger or worse off than I really am?
What regret is holding me back from the greatest reality I've ever known?
What is my TV screen?

Moving forward, commit to finding your reality. 
And living in it. 
The place that experiences the great and the awful of the here and now. 
The place that accepts things as they are and works to improve them. 
The reality that doesn't require that you ask someone to repeat the question because you were checking the latest status update on an iPad. 
The reality that sees the moment with our own eyes, not a camera phone. 
The reality reminds us that they won't be around forever. 
The reality that quietly, yet profoundly, whispers: 

Reality, as described by my new friend at the burrito joint, is the best days. 

The best days. 

How are you spending yours?

Three Feet of Confidence

I remember standing in the dressing room and being envious of a three year old, wondering how on earth I had gotten to that point in my life.

We (technically I, but it was a team event) were trying on wedding dresses that day when I stopped dead in my boots and realized something was terribly wrong. 
After a long morning of tight and white on me, my impatient niece was ready to give a white dress in her own size a whirl. 
And give it a whirl she did. 

Marlee, then three years bold, spun around to see herself in the mirror. With glowing eyes and striped socks, her smile radiated. 
"Mommy, I look so pretty," she said to my sister as we each adored Marlee's reflection in the mirror. 

Herself, included. 

She was a solid three feet of confidence. Every little bit of her. 
Unwavering. 
Unquestioned.
Unbroken confidence. 

I drove to the Original Jean's house that afternoon thinking about my niece's reaction to seeing herself in the mirror. 

She was mesmerized. 

She was impressed.

She was confident. 

Confidence: At what age do we lose it?


In perfect time, a friend posted this on Facebook yesterday. 
Not yet tainted by outside influences, his confidence made me smile - countries away.
I let his mother know what today's blog was about and asked her if I could use this perfect example. Her response: "Sure!! I can't wait to read it! I was just wondering the answer to that question myself. My other 2 ages 8 & 10 have both lost it. "

Have you ever considered that? At some point, maybe at 7-years-old, maybe at 17, an event happens that beats us down just a little. It may not seem like such a huge event at the time (or maybe it does?), but the impact is great. How do you get that back after it is lost? 

Confidence is certainly something our world lacks but desperately needs. And the vicious trend of decreasing amounts of it does nothing but damage. 
The worst part: 
It starts at home. 
Parents invest their time and energy into demanding jobs, social obligations, intriguing cell phones or personal fulfillment, instead of investing attention and instilling confidence in their children.
So their children find the attention and confirmation they long for elsewhere. 
Anywhere.
The children get into relationships that are totally wrong for them.
They subscribe to activities that are completely bad for them.  
They turn to damning sources like modern day media to learn what or who they should be.
They conform to "normal" (what ever that is) rather than the person God designed them to be. 
Then the gap between the necessity of lessons learned at home and the young adult deepens.
And the confidence to listen to the little voice in their head weakens. 

And just like that, we've lost another person who might have been confident enough to stand up for what they believe in, even if they're standing alone. 

We need more of those. 
Then that child grows up and is loaded with the responsibility of teaching confidence to their children. 
All of the sudden, the poorly taught student has become the teacher. 
Ever taught a lesson you've never learned yourself?

Log onto social media and you're bound to find the greatest form of poor confidence: the selfie. 

I believe that regularly posting photos of yourself is nothing more than an outcry for  confirmation and attention; a confidence booster based on how many "likes" you get from a random sample. 
What's really a bummer is logging on and seeing married women - and even mothers - posting selfies. 
And sometimes...they include their kids. 

I've learned that confidence is far more quiet than insecurities. 

Consider this: The person who must be heard and seen 

is likely the one who relies on others'  validation. 

The confident person rests assuredly on 

their own beliefs, values and goals; 

they need not accreditation from other sources. 

Fathers teach us confidence. 
Mothers teach us compassion. 

The degrading boss. 
The 20 extra pounds. 
The public slip-up. 
The divorce. 
The middle school bully. 
The broken heart. 
The competition.

There are many people who can (and will) suck the confidence right out of you.
And there are few who can put it back. 
Find a way to invest your time into the latter. 
Giving and receiving. 

Confidence is learning to outgrow the confinement of others' expectations. 

Confidence is doing something for yourself for once. 

Confidence is encouraging yourself, and that being enough. 
Confidence is unplugging and doing what is right for you and your family. 
Confidence is grace: having it and extending it. 

Confidence is spinning around in the beautician's chair and absolutely hating your haircut.

But then realizing it's just hair. 

And it grows back. 

Usually. 

It matters not if you're 6' 3" or 4' 2": 

Today, I encourage you to have three feet of confidence. 

Three feet of 

unwavering

unquestionable

unbreakable 

confidence. 

After all, Confidence is Happiness. 

Rainbow Language

One day, I'll tell our kids about the power of rainbow language. 

I spent the morning of April 25, 2013 near Anderson, Indiana taking field photos for use in a promotion set to launch in late summer. It was nice visiting with the local salesman, learning about the work he'd done over winter to prepare the soil for spring planting. Later, I reached my car to head south for the office and checked my phone; I found a message from Cody telling me that the place we had our eyes on fell through. 

The dream of having our own farm to run cows just wasn't in the cards for us - again. 

That familiar knot in my stomach made it's presence known and I started the 55-minute drive back to Richmond. I shut off the radio about thirty minutes into the drive and began praying. I found myself talking (venting) aloud and cautiously observing every farm - large or small - that I passed on the highway. It wasn't long until I came across one that caught my eye. Then another. And a third, and fourth. 

But then there was the 12th or so. With the sun shining down on the young, green grass and a few black cows grazing behind new fence I asked God (kind of rudely?), "God! Why can't anything like that be for sale?" Quite frankly, I was tired of Cody and I striking out in the search for a farm to run cattle. Did we deserve a place to move our cows, weed whack thistles and pick up trash?

I did the mental checklist in my head as I drove by:

Several outbuildings. 

Good fence. 

Big yard. 

Garden.

Rickety farmhouse. 

Modest homestead. 

Feeling sorry for myself, I proceeded to eat an entire Grab Bag size of Cheetos in the miles that followed. I reached the office and began sorting through emails received during a morning away from my desk. My mouse turned orange. What a drag. 

Within the hour Cody called me again. This time he told me that the realtor we'd been working with - a real treat (and if there was a sarcasm font, I'd sure use it there) - just learned of a farm that is likely going to go on the market very quickly. A co-worker of her's just got the call and was going to meet with the owners within the next day. 

"Well, it's worth looking into, I guess," I said, already feeling defeated before we started the process again. "Where is it?" I asked.

"Not sure, but I have the address written down. I'll text it to you," Cody said just before hanging up.

I copied the address out of iMessage and pasted it into Google maps. 

Then, I sat in front of my computer screen and stared blankly. I didn't know if I should puke, cry or go to Square Donuts and buy everything out of the case. 

I didn't do any of those things. 

Instead, I asked God if he was kidding. And wiped the chills from the back of my neck. 

The farm Cody directed me to via text message 
was the exact same farm 
I had just called out to God about 

less than an hour ago. 

When I saw Cody later that evening I told him all about it. He was as taken back as I. We waited out the weekend and looked often (like, really often) for the For Sale sign to go in the yard. It never did. Five days later, after work on Tuesday we met in my kitchen and decided to grow guts. He and I put on clean jeans and headed north. I also put on lipstick and a pair of turquoise earrings. 

We pulled into the farm and shut off the truck. Cody made his way up the sidewalk and I closely followed. I felt like we were about to ask to adopt someone's child right out of the blue. He knocked on the back door. A pretty blonde gal about Momma's age greeted us. 

"Hi ma'am, this is really random, but is your farm for sale?"

She stared at us. Then she put her finger in the air and asked us to hold. She called her husband. "Are you close? There is a couple here asking if the farm is for sale........."

That Tuesday evening they gave us a tour of the farm, completely taken away by the fact that this young couple showed up on their doorstep less than 36 hours after they met with the realtor. The farm hadn't yet been listed. There was no sign in the yard. How in the world did we even know it was for sale?

In the weeks that followed Cody and I visited the farm quite often. We walked the pastures. Got our boots stuck in stray wires. Explored the old barns.  Dreamt about two bathrooms in the old house. And tripped over a lot of cats. 

But on visit number four we found the answer we were looking for...

When I was young my parents discussed - endlessly - the idea of buying the farm that bordered our property line. They prayed for a sign. It wasn't until one day when Momma yelled for Dad to come out to the road that they realized that the place was meant to be their own.

Dad barreled through the door and saw the sign that Momma had discovered. A rainbow over the farm. Immediately, they made the phone call to buy. 

One day our child will marry and move away to create a life of their own. And in a defeated, broken voice they'll ask us how we had the courage - how we knew - to buy our first farm. At first we'll encourage the lottery. 

And then we will reveal that the only thing we knew for sure was the language we learned from our parents. Because on the fourth visit to the farm, Someone made it quite clear the direction we needed to go.  Double time. 

We will tell them that we understood rainbow language. 

This big world can sure be crazy. And during our entire lives we'll each experience languages that influence, teach and guide us. Some confuse, some lead astray and some guide with pin point accuracy. I prefer the ones that arch. 

On April 30 we visited the farm for the first time and tripped over kittens. 

On August 6 we closed on the farm. 
On August 10 we got married. 

On September 11 we were given the keys and the "kittens" from the spring had just had babies of their own. 

On our second date ever, Cody asked me if he could teach me how to play golf. 

On our second month of marriage, he asked me if he could load me into the bucket loader to  reach the high spots on the house. 

That my friends is how poor, happy, people live. 

Even in mom jeans and Meijer tank tops. 

Today the tall-as-house shrubs are gone and we work to make the place our own. I have yet to touch golf clubs but rain or shine, everyday I scope the sky for a rainbow. 

I guess that's the life of a homesteading optimist.

Anyone need a cat?