The "Nothing Box"

Recently, my family and I were watching a comedian talk about the "nothing box".

One day his wife asked him: "So, what are you thinking about?" and he replied: "Nothing". "No, really," she persisted, finding his answer unreasonable, "what are you thinking about?" "Really, nothing," he answered.

He then continued on in his monologue describing the "nothing box", claiming that, for men, it is an absolutely valid place in the mind. They'll be staring off into space when someone will ask what they're thinking, bringing them out of their stuporous state of mental oblivion.

Of course it's only ever women that ask, because other men are already in that vacant "nothing box" and would never think so far out of it as to wonder what another man might be thinking.

At this point in the comedian's routine, my husband burst out in laughter, thinking it was the funniest thing in the world.

"That's so true!" he claimed, to which my youngest son enthusiastically concurred. "We really do just think of nothing sometimes.

I looked at them and just sort of blinked. Something like a "nothing box" wouldn't begin to exist in my world.

I think about everything!

Today, as I was weeding and mulching the garden, my brain never stopped for a nanosecond. I thought about the quality of the mulch and the purposes behind it and when we were going to make more and how long it would take to dry and how long it would keep everything beneath it moist and how my maple saplings appear to actually like their environment drier than the other plants and if it was really wise to have mulch on them at all and if they would dry out too quickly without it... etc...

While this was all going through my head seemingly at once, I noticed several birds singing in the trees and began wondering about why birds have such different songs, how their songs differ from region to region, kind of like people's accents. Why is that? During the tower of Babel, did their languages get confused as well? What if they all sang the same song? Admittedly, that would be a bit boring. How do they know to sing the same song according to their breeds in the first place?

About then I noticed an Oriole in one of the trees over the garden. My mind jumped to another topic. I wonder why Orioles are orange and black? I don't like the color orange, or black for that matter, but on an Oriole they look AMAZING! Why is it so attractive on an Oriole?

While having all these bird thoughts, I'm simultaneously assessing the ripeness of the strawberries in the garden and wondering how many I'll be able to harvest (and eat) while wondering what the unripe white strawberries taste like (like strawberries), how they came up with a real white strawberry variety, all while sorting through which weeds should be pulled and which plants should stay, throwing a cat out of the way, then back to wondering why God made weeds, wondering why they grow so differently from each other, as I look around at my other beds and admire their virtuous crops and then notice some goose poop and wonder if geese really do poop ever 5 minutes as they say... and why would a goose poop that often anyway?

All of these thoughts, and a gazillion others pass through my mind during any random 60-90 seconds of time.

I might look over at my garlic, remember that it's "Pioneer Garlic", and go on thinking about the Pioneers, how they survived on the trail. For instance, how did they feed their oxen and horses? And what did they do while they were walking and walking and walking and had to go to the bathroom? Surely, there weren't just vacant bushes all along the trail? What did they use for toilet paper? How did they find the privacy for such a thing? At about this point, I pause in my weeding to look heavenward and thank God for flushing toilets and two ply, super soft t.p.!

A "Nothing Box" seems like a virtual impossibility to me.

My mind is going all the time... even when I'm trying to sleep. I might wake up wondering if I started the dishwasher, or locked the front door... or if I remembered to say my prayers... or if I fell asleep during them. Whenever I roll over, I'm wondering about something, or musing or thinking... even in my sleep.

Sometimes, I might even wake up and wonder if I'm crazy. My mother used to say: "Crazy people never think that they're crazy."

That comforts me somewhat, that I'm probably not, simply because I'm wondering if I am. :o) Of course, she told me this (multiple times) because I asked her (multiple times) if I was crazy. Of course, I asked her if I was crazy because people used to tell me that I was. Of course, THEY never wondered if THEY were CRAZY... which only goes to show that they were, right? Ha! Take that, crazy people!

Anyway, back on topic. I suppose I can understand a "nothing box" for someone with an I.Q. of, say, 35... but the guys I know are just far too smart to truly have such a thing.

Take Kamaron, for example. I can't imagine him having a "nothing box" space in his brain at all. If he isn't engaged is listening to music while doing his homework, then he is mentally inventing his own real Iron Man suit, or trying to figure out how he could install a retina scanner on his bedroom door or a fingerprint identifier on the bathroom door... or just possibly, the details to how he might take over the world someday... and what he would do with it after he did.

There's just no way that kid could possibly have a "nothing box".

I'm convinced my husband doesn't really have one as well... which brings up the end question. When I ask him what he's thinking, and he says "Nothing," just WHAT is he REALLY thinking about?

I'm guessing that there's plenty there... he just doesn't want me to know what it is? Why is that? Is it something secret? Or just private? Or is he secretly, privately, thinking something he just doesn't want to fess up to?

So, as a disclaimer, this isn't meant to be a man bashing post, I'm just really wondering how there could honestly be something like a "Nothing Box" in any intelligent person's mind.

If you happen to know... please share.

Can I just say?

Can I just say that I hate change!

Well, maybe not all change.

Some of it is fun and cheering.

Some of it is peaceful and comforting.

Some of it is exciting and exhilarating.

However... it's 2am...

I can't sleep...

and this change just sucks!

Can I just say that?

Okay... just sayin'.

School's Out Forever

Do you ever wake up in the morning and just feel bursting with happiness, full of gratitude, to the point that you want to list off every little thing you can think of that is an acknowledged blessing in your life? That's how I feel today.

I felt that way yesterday too, though I didn't notice it when I woke up. Actually, it was about half way through the day, while working outside with my little saplings (I think we're up to 600+ now). It was very warm, but I was mostly in the shade and a gentle wind was keeping things comfortable. The birds were singing in the trees all around me... in fact, there were so many different songs, I couldn't begin to count the varying breeds.

Suddenly, I felt seized upon with joy.

"I'm SO lucky!" I announced to the horses and my garden and any living thing around me that might listen... it's just how I felt.

I have allergies at this time of year, starting with tree season in March and not ending until grass season is over in July. However, thanks to the marvels of modern medicine which control said tree allergies, I can still enjoy the outdoors until about mid-May. I still can't go out from mid-May until the end of June, but in some ways it gives me the perfect reason to stay indoors during that time and write, working on my books... like a natural built in schedule.

I love trees and birds and pastures and clouds in the sky and I constantly feel utterly lucky that I get to live in a place surrounded by these things!

I've lived in a lot of different places and circumstances in my life, conglomerate apartments from inner city metropolises, middle class neighborhoods, high rise condos and ancient country hovels. Some of those places have been full of adventure and excitement, while others were filled with abuse, fear and despair. Just thinking back over some of them is enough to sink my spirit, but for right now I have to admit to myself that, of all the places in the world that I've seen, this one is the most beautiful, the most peaceful and, by far, the most pleasant of them all... I am lucky to be here, to see and feel and to take it all in.

Especially now, when spring is everywhere! The trees and fields are blinding green! Life is good! My husband is gainfully employed in a job that he loves. Too many times over the past 29 years, that hasn't been the case. I'm so happy that he loves his job and that it loves him back! How amazingly lucky it is to find a job you truly love. The sunshine seems just a little bit brighter and those moments between jubilant paydays are a whole lot more pleasant.

I'm thankful beyond belief for air conditioning during the heat of summer, for the electric grid that keeps it running and for my husband's job which pays the bill.

I'm thankful for the new life of Spring... for the baby chicks, the cool nights and mostly temperate days, for the swirly white clouds high in the sky, the blue light of morning, yellow sunshine of day and the crimson and orange glow of sunset touching gold to the tops of the forest foliage.

Amazing!

I'm thankful for running water, hot and cold, for flushing toilets, for toilet paper(!), for showers and washers and dryers and dishwashers and refrigerators and pantries full of food.

I'm thankful for grocery stores and post offices and email and all of those daily conveniences that make our lives so much easier.

I'm thankful for afternoon breezes and thunderstorms, that nature is kind enough to water my farm for me on a regular basis, that we can grow crops to help feed the world and hay for the animals... the horses, and the cows.

I'm thankful that most of our cars are running reliably.

I'm thankful that Clarke, Caro, Sophie and Claire have moved so much closer to home, that Barry is home from his mission and that Savannah only has one more required class until she graduates from college.

I'm thankful for my books. There are 9 of them now, either completed or in some stage of creation or editing. That process of dreaming up stories and putting them on paper has been one of the funnest things I've ever done and I'm happy for the hours of entertainment it still brings.

Today, I'm thankful to be old enough to have garnered wisdom from life, but still young enough to move and live.

I'm thankful that Kamaron has his first job and is learning the virtues of honest, hard labor.

Secretly, I'm also thankful that he hasn't quite finished his final three courses of high school yet. It means that I can still be the "mom", I can still do home school... for those last few precious weeks left. It means that I don't have to completely let go of that happy role which has defined my life for that past 26 years... yet.

I've loved being a mother and feel so lucky to have four such beautiful and amazing kids!

Kids are amazing. I am so Lucky!

Speaking of which, I'm thankful for those little toddlers on Sunday, our nursery children, who smile at me and make my life so happy for 2 hours each week... they rescue me from the fidgety torture of Sunday School and Relief Society. Thank you little guys, for sharing snacks with me, for letting me take my shoes off with you and for sharing all the good times of making crafts and running amok, swinging in blankets and singing songs when I would otherwise be suffering through a bun-numbing 2 hours of classes that I've heard a bazillion times over. Not to say that church is bad, but it's always been hard to sit so still for hours on end... I understand your pain in this and am SO thankful for the diversion you bring.

I'm thankful for the swallows nesting in the barn, flying so gracefully past my windows and eating every flying insect they can find! Go Swallows!

Today, I am just happy - for all of the good things in my life, in my neighborhood and in the world. While I know it isn't pleasant in a lot of places out there... here, right now, it is perfect!

Not to sound cynical, but another thing I'm thankful for is that seminary is Over.

You know that song they used to always play on the radio at the end of the school year: "School's out for Summer!" Each year the speakers would blare it across the courts and the band would sing about "no more teachers, no more lectures". It brought with it, for me at least, a jubilant feeling of Freedom! To my young mind, school was prison and summer was free license to do whatever one wanted, to live without schedule, to have the liberty of prerogative. I was too young and inexperienced to understand that the teachers actually felt the same... perhaps even more. After all, it wasn't the students who were controlling the sound system. Either way, along came that amazing senior year, when the final verses of the song ended with "School's out For-ever!" What a thrill that moment was.

Well, my youngest child just finished his very last year of seminary... which may, or may not, be a happy moment for him. I never heard him complain once about going. In fact, there were many days that he was the one getting me out bed to take him. So, here's to all those mornings of getting up (long before body and mind were rested) of driving any combination of distances, winding through the countryside in snow, rain, ice or fog for 15 or 20 miles, for the kamikaze raccoons or possums we occasionally hit along the way, picking up other children, and for all those thousands of hours waiting for class to end and then repeating the process to get home.

The only thing more exhausting than driving to seminary that I can think of, is having to teach it, which I also did for many years. Can I just say that, while I'm thankful for the moments of learning each of my children has experienced, I'm SO thankful that it is over FOREVER!!! Oh my gosh! I am SO THANKFUL that I can hardly contain it... 12 years of seminary has come to an end... forever.

Nice.

Perhaps, this is the single impetus driving this whole feeling of gratitude lately. For one, I'm getting a full nights sleep for days in a row, rather than pressing through weeks of exhaustion and completely foiled circadian rhythms. Life is amazingly more cheerful when one is fully rested on a regular basis. Being rested means I'm also far more healthy.

Like I said, I'm highly suspecting this has something to do with my recent burst of joy.

Being in this mental place, regardless of it's cause, has just been a really happy thing. I suppose it is a philosophy as old as the ages to acknowledge that when we appreciate the good things in life we're going to be a whole lot happier than if we focus on what is bad or going wrong.

So, just for good measure, today I am grateful for those solid nights of sleep...

...the whole night through...

...making the whole world a happier place!

Go joy!

My favorite child.

So, today I was reading about a favorite child. I've thought about this a lot and have wondered where that saying came from, you know, the one about parents not having favorites.

It's so not true.

I grew up in a lot of different circumstances. At one happy point of my life I had eight siblings... there were nine children in our family, plus two parents. They call them "super families" now a days, and ours was really super! Super fun, super busy, super noisy at the dinner table. It was great! At another point of my life, I was the only child.

I've been the youngest, the oldest and the middle child. I knew I was never the favorite, but somehow it didn't really matter all that much. MY favorite, was being part of that huge family; there was always someone there to love and be loved by and I knew, from my youngest days, that it was exactly what I wanted to give my own children.

Enter 1982, after visiting a doctor to figure out why the whole "baby" thing wasn't working for us, I was told very bluntly (and without much tact, I might add) that I had a one in five million chance of ever having a child. "In short", the doctor told me, "it would take a miracle."

For someone who had lived the previous 25 years in so much hope and longing, it was pretty devastating. However, thankfully, that wasn't the end of the story. After 15 years of intensive treatments, God was kind enough to grant 4 miracles.

Given that, I have a favorite child. In fact, to be completely honest, I have four favorite children. It goes something like this.

In January of 1985, (a full 5 weeks after my due date) Clarke was born and instantly became my favorite child in the history of the whole universe. He was AMAZING and I seriously couldn't get enough of him. I never wanted to put him down, I watched his every breath, it seemed, and marveled at his general "amazingness". I'd been wanting this baby for a very long time and when I finally held him in my arms I thought my soul would explode with happiness. I don't think he ever cried for the first few months. I was always there at the first hint of a whimper. There's nothing really quite like your first child. Everything they do is new and, consequently, enthralling. I wanted to be everything I could for him. My entire universe revolved around his little baby self. As a child, he was the one who continually brought me little wildflower bouquets that he'd made all by himself. Hello... if that doesn't have favorite written all over it, then I don't know what does. As a toddler, Clarke also threw the most amazing tantrums! Ha ha. I never knew a child could be so "stubborn" (as people would say). I soon learned that this supposed "stubborness" was only a toddler style manifestation of persistence and determination - admirable characteristics by any standard. At the time, I wondered why he would need those qualities in his life... Then, this past week, as I watched him graduate from college, at the top of his class... while working full time the whole way through... going to school full time... being a husband and even endlessly getting up with the baby(ies) in the middle of the night so his wife could get enough rest... I thought back to those younger days. All I can say is "WOW"! I'm so proud of him and so thankful for all that determination (even the toddler manifestation stuff). I could never have done what he has already accomplished with his life. He is so smart and good and strong and, truly, still amazing to me... I suspect that he always will be.

In December 1985, when Clarke was a mere 11 mos old, Savannah made her miraculous and quite unexplainable appearance into the world, 3 weeks early. "Irish twins", they call them, two babies born in the same year. She was anxious to get here and start her journey. As I held her in that hospital bed in the wee hours of the morning, just the two of us alone, I could feel this incredible and overpowering love permeating from her little baby self, as though it were a warm and tangible glow. It was the most amazing feeling in the whole world. She seemed completely as a being of generous love. As a child, Savannah seemed to love everyone unconditionally, good or bad, familiar or foreign. She was always there with a sympathetic heart, a hug, and listening ear. During the most difficult years of my life, she was my best friend and the softest, kindest, sweetest person I could ever know. Her capacity to love is unbounded. She is intelligent, feisty, beautiful and strong... as well as my one and only daughter. We share a bond that only a mother and her only daughter can understand and she is my favorite.

In January 1990, after a very rocky twin pregnancy, my little Barry was born and I brought my baby boy safely home. He was the sweetest, cutest little guy! Always smiling, adventurous and, soon, climbing every surface of the house that could be scaled. I loved him so much I thought my heart would explode. Barry is my farmer! He is so special to me in a way that, really, only he will ever understand. As a child, he broke everything he could, but as an adult, he's so great at fixing anything he can. Barry loves the dirt... and it loves him back. When I do his laundry, I have to run the washer through an empty cycle just to get all the residue out of it. :o) As odd as that sounds, coming from him, it is somehow charming. He was such a special gift, a heavenly connection that no one else will really ever understand. He is handsome and tall, amazing and good and, yes, my favorite. I'm so thankful that he decided to be my son, somewhere in the vast heavens of "before". Life would never be the same without him.

In October 1993, my last, adorable and amazing little baby was born... Kamaron. There is something about your last child that can't be replaced. You stand in this uncomfortable place between the beginning and the end of everything that has defined your life for such a long era. You, or at least I, find myself tenaciously clinging to that identity, reluctant to let go of all the happy years, those times when I got to be the integral center of someone's universe. I enjoyed it more than words can explain. That being said, it would be obvious why my last child would be my favorite, but Kamaron is truly amazing in a lot of other ways... starting with before he was even born. I know a lot of people would never believe this, but Kamaron began appearing to people while I was barely pregnant with Savannah. It was interesting and intriguing and very odd. I was threatening to miscarry (an almost universal case with my pregnancies) and he was concerned. He was so amazing. I know I've used that word a lot, but how else do you say it? Awesome, unbelievable, wonderful, marvelous, incredible, astonishing, fascinating, surprising, beautiful... they are all synonyms for the same idea. As a pre-mortal being he was so valiant and good and true, strong and confident, noble and right. As a baby, he snuggled into my shoulder and seemed to just sort of melt into my being. Now that he is nearly all grown and learning how to re-become that person that he was before, I have to look back and just appreciate the kind person that he is. He was my easiest child to raise. He is mellow and gentle and peaceful, full of dreams and ideas for how he will make the world a better and more comfortable place for everyone else in it. He is my wonderful favorite.

I could go on for a very long time about the amazing qualities of my favorite child, all four of them, but the day is only so long and I have to be ready for a flight and a road trip tomorrow... time is short today. I hope they, each, understand all of the facets of why they are my favorite... as they truly are, each and every one of them in their own right.

I have loved being a mother... all 26 years, 3 months, 22 days, and (as of this writing) 14 minutes of it. I'm so thankful that my children chose my home to come to and my life to bless with their awesome selves. I wish there could have been more of them, but maybe God decided to stop with just the most amazing four. I'm thankful for my daughter in law, who is also, truly, amazing and the little granddaughters that make my heart burst with joy.

Life is good... and so very, very amazing!

In Another Life...

I always wanted to grow up and marry a farmer. Ask anyone who has known me since, oh, I don't know, about the age of three and they will tell you it's true.

I came to this knowledge quite early in life.

It happened one day, while traveling down the Imperial Highway, bordered by rows of green "something", lettuce or cabbages perhaps, I'm not sure of the crops since I was scarcely a toddler. I put my hands on the window in wonder and love, caressing the glass, as if it might bring that beautiful scenery closer.

That was it... the moment I knew my personal destiny. Do you ever feel as if some things are just meant to be? I do.

I never did marry the farmer, but God was kind enough to give me one in the form of a son, and he made sure I found the farm of my primordial dreams.

Tonight as I sit quietly alone, I can't help but reflect over the past.

Outside, the tree frogs are chirping placidly in the brook beyond the orchard and the sun in starting to set over a yonder hill. It's time to lock up the hens, pour some milk for the barn cats and take a moment to breathe in the solitude.

Scarlet and lavender hues begin to kiss the previously azure sky, somehow blending the colors together as if on some Divine pallet of wispy cirrus vapor.

All around, the birds are singing avian hymns in the trees, like a choir of tiny angels in a temple paradise. The air is moist and cool, the wind barely discernible against my face, and the grass, having long last emerged from the snow, is newly green with life under my feet.

I step past the pretty Jonquils emerging in the little graveyard, the holy ground holding the remains of a pioneer mother, her infant son and toddler boy, resting not far from the brother, who in years past labored hard in the fields with his scythe and plow. They are all in another place now, hopefully one of peace.

Above me, the limbs on the trees are laden with buds, swollen and round, ready to give birth to their blossoms and leaves.

It is spring, a season of resurrection and hope, of beauty and joy.

It is my home.

You're thirty.... right?

True confessions... I attend Weight Watchers. I've been going for about a month... this time around anyway. I was in the program 5 years ago and lost about 40 lbs. This time, I've been dieting on my own for the past nearly 2 years, but I was losing steam. I just really needed a little extra motivation.

Weight Watchers is great for that. Every week you have to step on the scale and either celebrate your success... or pay the piper for all the fun you had during the week.

Tonight was a celebration!! I stepped on the scale and it kept teetering between a zero and the 9.8 of the next number down. Finally, as it continued settling a little bit more onto the 9.8, my leader told me to hurry and jump off before it changed back to the 0.0 again. I did so and almost jumped for joy at the same time!

I met my goal for the week! 4 amazing lbs!

13 lbs total this month!

AND...

My second gold star!

Not only that, but I surpassed my 5% goal - by a long shot!

It's amazing what a little accountability does for me... well, okay, I have to admit that I rather like the "stars" as well...

... and the cheering and clapping for each person who loses weight and meets a milestone for that week. Normally, this sort of attention wouldn't appeal to me - at all - but in that room full of mostly hefty ladies, it's somehow different. I feel thin.

After I climbed off the scale, my leader informed me that with that last zero, I'd hit a new change level and she needed to re-figure my calorie "Points", because now that I was lighter, my points were going to be a little bit less.

Adrienne (my leader) asked: How tall are you?

5'7", I answered.

"How old are you?" She looked at me trying to size me up. "Thirrrrtttttyyyyy eight????" she guessed. When I laughed out loud she donned her best tone of age superiority (you know the tone... the one people use when they're about to call you "young'un", or some other condescending term which lets you know that they, clearly, see you as an age significantly inferior to theirs), she then said: "You're not in your forties yet, right?"

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!!

And she was SERIOUS!

Thank you "Natural Instincts" hair color!

Thank you, Adrienne!

I love my leader!

Best night ever!

The stone cottage over the creek.

Ah me! I have a fever... but not the hot, uncomfortable kind... I have "building fever". I want to build SOMETHING! In fact, I want to build something specific.

It started the other day when I walked into a lumber store and smelled that wonderful scent of pine. That was the first moment when it hit me.

"I want to build something!" I announced to no one in particular.

A few days later, as the horses were chewing the north pasture down to dangerously non-recoverable levels, I decided to let them out into the back 30. Anyone knows that in order to do that, you have to walk the fence line to make sure that no limbs have come down in a storm, creating an escape route for the beasties.

I walked... and walked... and walked.

My farm is 1/2 a mile long and 1/4 mile wide. It had been raining and I didn't really feel like forging the creek, so I had to walk 1/4 mile down the road, just to start the process. Then I had to walk to the back of the north pasture, inspecting the fence all along (it could use some repairs, but it's okay for now)... I then had to walk 1/4 mile back to the gate separating the north 10 and the back 30. Then another quarter mile further, back to the outer fence line. The tromp was getting close to a mile at this point.

Nearing the end of the northeastern boundary, I paused at "the canyon". It used to be this innocent enough looking pond until a mysterious storm washed away the hillside and created a deep and cavernous canyon... leaving the fence, and a single hedge pole, dangling high above the ex-pond-now-creek.

It's very creepy back there... dangerous feeling. To stand at the top, near the fence, and look down makes my stomach do flip-flops from the height. It's a Looooonnnnngggg way down!

Technically, the horses COULD escape through there. I mean, all they'd have to do would be get into the stream and walk out... but there is also a giant Bobcat who likes to hunt in the surrounding woods. Bobcats also like to "mark" their territory, and while I can't smell anything, the horses would be able to. I'm suspecting that they'll leave that spot alone and graze elsewhere.

Soon, I walk around the "pond" area to check the fences at the back... walk across the back to the windmill, and then mosey on up the hill a little bit. Like I said, we've just had rain and it's all just a bit more squishy than I care to deal with.

Now I am standing at the fence which separates the row crop (corn this year) from the pasture. I'm thinking that I might climb over it, just to save the 1/4 mile hike aaaallllllll the way up and the other 1/4 mile aaaaalllllll the way back, but another glance around at hundreds of poison ivy vines covering every square foot of the wire makes me reconsider.

1 and 3/4 miles into my tromp, I discover a gate in bad shape. This gate was probably built in the 1920's and has been left to rot in neglect at the far southeast corner of the row crop field. Not only that, the rest of the fence for a good twenty feet is also down. However, there is no food in here for acres around...

I rationalize that the horses will (hopefully) not discover it. They don’t tend to get very curious when there's no food involved.

As I start on the way back toward the house… 1/2 a mile yonder - to the west… I glance up at the trees. They are so old and huge. Giant Osage trees frame almost the entire outer boundary of our farm. They aren't the most beautiful trees in the world, but they are very useful. Pioneers used to plant them to mark off their property lines. The wood is exceptionally hard and resistant to rotting, which is great for making fence posts. Also, when cut and split, the firewood sends off beautiful sparks shooting out into the night. It is lovely to watch... mesmerizing...

However, this tree line needs some serious pruning.

I take a deep breath, trying not to feel overwhelmed at the work that needs to be done, and continue on my way. That was when I noticed it. The "Broom Sedge" has taken over the entire lake pasture!

Broom Sedge (some farmers call it "Red Thread") is a course red grass which can take over a pasture that hasn’t been sufficiently fertilized. It’s so course that the pioneers used it to make brooms… and it's difficult to get rid of. I knew I had a "patch" of it out there, but that was the first time I noticed that it had taken over 90% of my hay crop!

"Argh! Stop throwing more work at me!" I yell and shake my fist and the weeds.

Sighing deeply, I continue my task of inspecting along the fence line, trying to ignore the things I can't change right now. To mow the Broom Sedge at this point would only spread its seed further. I'm also not comfortable operating a chain saw alone... or at all... for cleaning up that tree line.

*Sigh*... back to the task at hand.

I finally make it through the field to the back pasture, make my way down the hill and through the equally old and rickety wooden gate. There, I stepped into the Camp site...

The "Camp site" is a beautiful, relatively level, clearing within an otherwise dense grove of trees. A bubbling brook melodically meanders down from the ever flowing springs in and around the lake just up the hill.

It is beautiful...

It is peaceful...

It is divinely lovely!

It fills me with an immediate desire to pitch a tent, build a campfire and swear off modern civilization for the rest of my days. OH SO HEAVENLY!

As I stood in the grove, it happened again... I was seized upon by the lust to build something! At first I thought about a camping cabin, but then I remembered the little stone house I've always wanted.

It would be a completely self-contained retreat. I could go there and find the peace and quiet to work on my books again. It would have a huge stone fireplace and chimney, a porch and windows all the way around. I think I'd even like to give it sky lights so that I can lay there on snowy days and watch the flakes pile up over my head. On rainy days, I could watch the water drops fall down from the sky and splash, splish, splash! On stormy nights, I could watch the lightning flash through the clouds, listening to the thunder rumble on and on and on... On clear nights - in the winter - when there are no leaves - I could watch the moon and the stars.

Of course, I would be lying on my comfy white iron, four poster bed covered in a thick, white satin quilt and feeling quite protected within the embroidered lace curtains drawn all around it, a lacy dust ruffle fluttering near the floor and a nice warm fire burning in that gorgeous gray river rock fireplace. Outside, nothing else can be heard above that bubbling brook, breezes in the trees and birds singing love songs to their mates.

*Sigh…*

Standing in the grove, weighing my lust for building, I also experience an intense desire to be rich. If I were really rich, I could do it. I could hire someone to help with the heavy part and I could get it all done...

For now, however, I can barely scrape together the funds to fertilize the pastures and try to get rid of that broom sedge... and all the other weeds that are threatening to take over the rest of the farm.

Still... it all starts with a dream right? I mean, I designed one cottage before and after 10 years or so, it actually became a reality. Granted, it's only used for storage, but it DID happen. Maybe, it could happen again.

*Sigh...*

Taking another deep breath, I walk down the hill, cross the bridge over Silver Brook, trek up through the back pasture, through the grove in the back yard, past the wood pile, through the garden and finally make it back to the house. I've tromped 2 and 3/4 miles and dreamed visions of possibilities, fought discouragement and overwhelm and flown on the wings of hope.

All is not lost… I can now cross "Exercise" off my list. :o)