Crazy Thankful

Kelley brings down a platter of tomatoes to add to the existing feast and her tractor boy is going 90 miles a minute from birthday sugar spikes. He wants a campfire birthday. A few hot dogs, fresh tomatoes and a cake. He's a long, lean, eight year old who is perfectly described as the local farm boy. His younger brother Kelton is blond and blue-eyed and nothing but fast and furious. He's a typical 2 year old knocking over the highest tower of blocks or going full steam ahead on a bike with no brakes. Sweet Rowyn is sandwiched between the boys. I see her out of the corner of my eye fold her shirt up to form a pocket and without blinking pour the lays right into their perfect place in her shirt and then she walks off munchin'. She wears skirts and work boots and her red hair sets the tone for her sweet and sassy little personality. Her giggle is frequent and unmistaken. It's contagious. 

This is family. They are less than a half mile away and we walk the little dirt road daily. Lilly rides her bike and the freedom shines across her face in the form of exquisite joy. We walk over to say hi, to have a cup of coffee, to sit on the swing, to dine on the porch, to feed pigs, to weed, to can, to gather a bag of produce or just an ingredient for dinner. We have the what's ours is yours and what's yours is mine all at the heart of life here. The lady at the library today asked, "your neighbor let you borrow her library card?" I thought "yeah, I'm good for it. She knows it." Funny. If we have issues, it won't be over a library book. 

Farmer and I sit across from the Potts family. This is not your ordinary 8-year-old birthday party. The main guests are adults and considered family but not by blood. We sit across from the Potts. Eddie and Marty are our landlords and they farm the farm. Eddie is on some sort of ATV, tractor or motorized vehicle every single time we see him. The girls have quickly adjusted to seeing tractors and cows instead of cars and sidewalks. We wake up to green pastures and cows munching on them. It's extrordinary. Marty is a teacher at the high school and is direct and a no frills down to earth lovely lady. Eddie is a weather-checking, hard-working farmer. He is the son of Edwin Potts, the patriarch of the Potts. Mr. Potts Sr. is 90 and easily puts all of us to shame with his 60-80 hour work weeks. His rigged up, shaded lawn mower allows him to cut grass all day. He came by one day last week and had noticed my clean laundry hung about here and there to dry on the fence posts and put up two clotheslines. Now that is putting Farmer to shame since I've been asking for one for weeks. Mr. Potts Sr. and his bride are there at the table celebrating 60 years of marriage. We celebrate them just as much as Micah blowing out the candles. Wow. That's amazing. I hope I can stand when I'm 90, much less mow all the zillion of acres he does and make it look effortless. He says we've added some entertainment to his evening since his house is up on the hill and he can watch the kids run around together in our front yard. 

Thankfully, I did have the opportunity to run one little race in the next neighboring community. My other friend Rebecca (since I only have two here) met me at Harris Teeter and we made it to the start line for the 20k. It was beautiful and breezy and one of the most delightful courses I have ever run. I finished top in my age group and felt right at home when they handed me a cowbell for my achievement. Lilly and Ava rang it enough in the back seat just to the next block to sit down for brunch that I decided my cowbell days were about over. How did they know I'm a bulldog through and through. I went from one cow country to another. 

Rebecca finishes and we celebrate! We make plans for a play date later in the week since Ava is feeling better. What we thought was over isn't over. She is still bent over for long episodes of stomach pain, abdominal cramps and major GI problems. She wants to eat but it hurts to digest. She cries and screams for relief. Same tune as in Haiti. My sister tells me to measure her belly. From the Face Time conversation, she's worried. Ava's belly is so distended that the shorts that were falling off of her yesterday are too tight to keep wearing today. We prayed. We medicated. We prayed again. Her spunky personality drains out of her so fast in those episodes. Two days later her belly measures several inches smaller. It's long days and nights of tears and pain and helpless feelings. 

But by the weekend she's recovered and back to full speed. Farm life in full swing. 

We adjourn from the dinner table and Kelley comes up with an obstacle course for the older ones to keep them busy and active while the rest of us wash dishes and sit on the porch watching the sunset. Kelton has his pants twisted around his ankle trying his best to get the hang of potty training. It's beautiful and leisurely and we dream of the future. 

I do the same sitting on my couch the next morning with Rebecca. It's misty and cool outside and the kids are happy exploring. Her Sam leaves no air for breath between him and his mama. We talk about parenting and school starting and all that goes into the rekindling of old friendships made anew. Rebecca has been in the area for almost four years and is my best asset for resources. What a gift. Two friends. Scott and Blake are a blessing to Farmer as well. And the kids have the other kids. I have not taken friendships for granted at all this go round. 

We sit on the porch after burgers and homemade ice cream and we talk farm and business and real life issues. We talk about church and feelings and freedom to choose what's best for all of us. What pigs will sell for, how many turkeys do we want, etc. Scott talks about work and priorities and how much time a pig feeder will save Kelley. She wears a pretty summer dress the color of sunshine but she is usually covered up in old jeans, work boots and a hat that comes down low enough to shade her eyes. Her mom is the director backstage. The one doing the bathing for the kids and the peeling peaches. The soft spoken and the extremely helpful. Nana ironed our curtains this week and I think pretty much saved our marriage. Farmer wanted them ironed, I didn't care but I was well aware of my ironing skills or the lack thereof. 

We ladies had a night to ourselves last week to get to Ashburn and buy up the entire Home Goods store. It was just the right perusing and purchasing without children that we could have before we all called it a night. The lady checking at the counter couldn't quite figure us out as we had all of our things combined in one cart and we all "practically live together." And yet we're married and have children, etc. I could see how that's all confusing to someone on the outside. 

It made me miss my own mama. She's in the same country but she's far. We talk on her ride in and sometimes her ride out. She hears my happiness through the phone line and I hear her struggles. I love her and I hope she's around forever. 

I talked to a friend today about the struggle of searching for a church. The overanalyzing, anxious weekly roller coaster of finding a church. We're in the thick of it and the discerning leaves us with questions still. I get a phone call that's an answer to prayer and may lead us down a journey of healing in the weeks to come and help us process our latests adjustments while giving us clarity of our presence here. I replay Ava's video before my run and think about how thankful I am. I walk past the hanging on the wall by the front door that mom gave me that reads, "Crazy Thankful." And I think I've never been more thankful than I feel right now. 

Meet Kelton (age 2)

Fried green tomatoes ... from the garden topped with mozzarella

Fresh peaches!

Micah's campfire birthday party!

Meet Rowyn (5)

Happy Birthday Micah!

Watching the sunset from the porch

Stump jump

Meet my latest kitchen thrill .... the spiralizer

Because we've all been dressed in sweatshirts a lot of the summer

Whatever works to cool down (in the not so hot weather).

The Gator

Two silly ballerinas

Crazy thankful she's a fighter

hearts aglow

They walk in behind the freckled strawberry blond one in her size tiny work boots with their shirts curled up, full of ripe tomatoes. "Here ya go, mom." Mine are right there too learning from her and wishing for the work boots. They add fresh tomatoes to the counter full collection and the kitchen shines even more. Those tomatoes are only a small portion of the bounty coming out of her garden.

It's been only a little more than a week on this farm and I feel like I'm home. It took less than 24 hours of landing here before we were 'at home' here. Every other night Kelley and I have collaborated on dinner and we manage to pour the resources together and come up with a farm fresh spread of grilled sweet corn, caprese salad, roasted beets, green beans, farm-raised chicken and more. She's a genius in the kitchen. The week has been full of making pickles and picking corn. There is so much more than a garden here. Kelley has her apron on and she's canning and cooking and picking and pruning. The beautiful flowers are in vases spread out in her house and mine. Everything tastes fresh. I see her as the sun rises bent over planting with her boots tucked into her jeans and her hands in the dirt. It's organic and real and hard work. Scott has his boots on too and his tractor supply hat pulled where the shadow covers his eyes and he's busy studying the cows and rabbits. He holds steady on one or two cows as he contemplates which one will be profitable. Their demeanor is uncovered and patient and steady. The barn is full of childrens' voices and farm equipment. Yesterday's sheep wool and a bucket of weeds.

Micah leads the pack of the little adventurer's crossing the Great Divide between their house and ours. It's a short 10 minute walk and yet a world of freedom for the 7 and unders. They pack backpacks and explore and study and build and imagine together. My Lilly says every day she is feeling so thankful for friends next door. They wake wondering how long until they can play. Three more weeks of summer and the school schedule will alter their days. For now, it's like days they haven't known of friends so close they can play at will and be called in for dinner at sunset. On rainy days their own imaginary world exists in the hay loft that is complete with a homemade stage and theater. Their minds seem to come alive inside those wooden walls. Rowyn, 5, is usually bursting with news or excitement over her latest idea or invention. She's not the bow-wearing type. She's tough and farm-raised. She is sandwiched between boys and chores are a morning default. On the way to VBS last week, the kids were all in the back splitting up chores, discussing who would feed the meat birds, the rabbits, the sheep, pick tomatoes, give the pigs water, feed the chickens, etc. Micah is 7, almost 8, and a natural ring leader who got outnumbered by girls overnight. He is farm saavy and smart, helpful and hospitable. He stays back with Kelton, 2, who is blonder than all of them, quiet and sweet-spirited. Kelley's mom is always chasing him or on the floor doing a puzzle, playing the piano or helping in the kitchen. Nana is a delight to all!

They all come to our house some and I'm buried under boxes and the unpacking is slow.
Friday night we got together with friends and shared fresh produce on the porch. A slow dinner with glasses raised in celebration. We're all together. Kids roaming free on the farm. Splendid. It's honestly what I missed the most from our time in Haiti.

It's too hard to get the kids in bed on time because it's 70 and breezy and way too pleasant to end conversation. Everyone pays a little price the next day. I'm up early at sunrise to hit the road for a run before everyone is awake. It's cool and foggy. It's peaceful with no lights or noise. I meet Rebecca to run and I'm grateful for her, a running partner, an effortless connection over the county roads. We talk about races and routes and parenting and produce.

I run back onto the farm and there's the farm crew butchering chickens. 35 of them. I feel oddly out of place without my butchering get up on and my lack of knowledge of this process. Kelley's participation impresses me and I close my eyes tight so as not to be an eye witness.

Farmer and Scott are kind of two peas in a pod. They think a like and act a like and talk a like. They share an office and are in and out through the day. Their work is going well. Farmer seems to be the happiest I have ever seen him. He is running several mornings a week and there is a new skip in his step. He is recovering from hurts and wounds that went deep. He has poured himself whole heartedly into the visions of this life now and in the days to come. It is so fun to be a part a witness to the transformation in him.

My transformation is probably less elegant and more shock. I was having this secret moment in Harris Teeter where I was bubbly on the inside. A clean and cheeky grocery store. The carts have a little holder for my Starbucks decaf. I perused the aisles with my inner state of glee. My children were at VBS and I was grocery shopping alone. I reached for the pie crust and had trouble deciding between store brand or name brand. An employee saw my distress and recommended I try store brand or money back guarantee. He quickly struck up a conversation and I couldn't conceal it any longer. I was overwhelmingly happy to return to a real grocery store with no children and with so many options that was only 20 minutes from home. (Of course I still need my GPS to get home since I don't know my way around at all.) Thank you Harris Teeter for making my week.

I put the pie crust to use for a tomato tart for Scott's birthday dinner. Which started with burgers and ended with fresh berry galette and ice cream on the front porch. It was a small way to celebrate and give Kelley a night off from cooking. It was easy to let the dishes sit and enjoy the cool evening with content children and close friends. There's really no need to search for a reason to celebrate ... there's fresh food, friends, and freedom here. The cool weather makes it all the more enjoyable. Mr. Potts is 90 years old and mowing our grass. He reminds us all to pick as much sweet corn as we can load into our kitchens.

Of course when the sheep get out of their pasture like the other night, we go from flip flops to boots and set our glasses down all in less than a minute. And then we're friends turned farmers and we're all calling and corralling them. It's an adventure here.

Our refrigerator is extremely loud. Kind of like Magic Bullet crunching ice loud. The other night we are sitting down for dinner and I ask Aves what she is thankful for to which she replies as the refrigerator came on "Thank you, Jesus, for the generator." Some things stick. She always associates electricity as a gift and something that turns off just as easily as it turns on.

The girls walk to the fence and say good morning to the cows. The cows stare at the girls and I imagine that both parties are mutually fascinated.

We are getting use to no house key and a lot of free range. It makes my heart happy to see us all aglow.