Red Neck Snow Day

One of my goat buddies brought me these two orphan babies a few days ago. In fact, it was Christmas eve..eve. They were only a couple hours old when they got here and their arrival created quite a stir on the farm. It's amazing how two tiny little creatures can cause such a ruckus. We were running around, trying to find baby bottles, fetching colostrum from the freezer, cleaning out the dog kennel, and all while trying to get our evening feeding chores done before dark.

They are flourishing now. I was very happy that I had the foresight to save the colostrum that I did. We've already grown attached to them. That happens when you are up at 2 am heating up milk and wiping little butts. Now that they're on their feet pretty good, we've had to allow them some leg-stretching sessions. These would typically take place outside and we have had them outside a lot... that is, until today. 

This is what it looks like outside my backdoor right now. Yikes. So, our leg-stretching activity took place in the kitchen. You heard it. We are officially red necks. I actually like Si Robertson's definition of red neck..."Fun is his middle name. RED-FUN-NECK". So, the following are photos of our fun. Our joyful, red neck fun.

There really is no way to convey how tiny these guys are. But this picture helps a bit. 

That would be a baby goat trying to nurse on my teapot. 

See? So cute!! 

Emma is still not sure what to do with them. Are they puppies? Are the chew toys? 

They've created a lot of head tilting curiosity. And, I LOVE head tilting doggies. 

Just wanted to share what we've been doing this Christmas day. Watching it snow, playing with babies, baking goodies, and refusing to come out of our PJ's. 

Merry Christmas to all my sweet friends out there from our snowy farm. 

it happens at night...

Somewhere in the distance, I hear a faint whimper. My sleepy eyes flutter and mind comes to consciousness.

It is her. The one we call Emma.

I slowly sit up and look in the direction of the sound. Her stately bulldog frame silhouetted against the moonlit window is an intimidating site. She sits and waits.

She manipulates.

For a moment I consider lying back down but I know it will be in vain. What is it that she wants? Did she hear something outside that beckons her? Does she really need to go to the bathroom? Did I forget to fill the water bowl? Did her ball roll under the couch again?

She waits.

I half-heartedly fling the covers back and dangle my feet off the bed. In the darkness I know the old one is there. She, a heartbeat at my feet for 12 years now, is never really far away. And, at night, she keeps vigil on my side of the bed where I've tossed pillows to the floor. My bare feet feel her soft fur and I step carefully to one side of her resting place.

I stand to my feet and turn to where she stands.

The shadow by the window, that intensely sinister looking profile, lures me towards her.

She makes her move.

Through listless eyes and faint mind, I watch her approach. While body is still half sleeping, heart is awakened. For, as my outstretched hand reaches to greet her, that menacing shadow melts into a puddle of wiggles and delight that I've come to her aid. We share a moment of greeting and then make our way to the door.

I open the door and send her out into the moonlight.

Making my way back to the bed, I wonder how long it will be before I am entreated to rise again and allow her back into the house. The sleeping lumberjack in my bed never moves. I quietly admire his brawny bare shoulder in the soft light and doze back off.

The call from the window is clear. She learned when she was a puppy that her claws on the screen make the loudest noise in which to arouse us humans. Again, I carefully place my feet on the carpet as not to step on Sophie and make my way to the door.

Another joyous salutation takes place as if we'd not seen each other for weeks. She makes her way past me to her resting place on the couch and I head back to my bed and my burly sleeping farmer.

While Emma sleeps soundly after her outside adventure, I lay awake wondering if I paid the home owners policy.

As Lovely As a Tree

Only God knows how long this oak has resided in this spot. He knew the moment life sprang from a tiny acorn and roots began to grow. He remembers the very first spring when it pushed it's way through the rocky soil and into the sunlight and rain. From the moment it was a tiny sapling struggling to grow a dozen or so leaves, to the time it became mighty and shaded the ground beneath it. Every leaf that has ever grown green and lush and then fallen to the earth is counted and known. Each Autumn that it's fruit has fed squirrels and deer and birds from it's branches, the creator has record. Every bird that has nested in its great arms; God knows. 

For the past 12 years, I've gazed upon this tree daily. It occupies a prominent space in the field behind my house so my eyes are simply met by this creation every day, sometimes with reverence, sometimes with random monotony. I remember the day I took this picture. We were praying for rain during a very hot summer and storm clouds were building in the north creating an amazing spectacle of light and shade. I stood with my camera in hand, heart in my throat, trying to capture the moment...astonished at the light and the power of God and nature. 

2 summers ago, my family gathered beneath it's branches to bury and mourn our beloved family pet, Eddie. The summer breeze blew through it's boughs and sang a solemn tune as we wept. Reverently it watched on as we placed him in the earth, and stood by for the days that followed to keep watch over the place where he laid. I placed wind-chimes in one of it's limbs to bring joy and peace to this space. Over the years that I've watched it drop it's leaves and grow them back again, I've grown quite fond of it. Then I remember to thank God for allowing me the capacity to love a tree. 

We knew it was languishing a couple years ago. The poor trunk had become so old that it was beginning to decay near the earth. It would let go of a branch now and then when a storm blew through. Last years drought was more than it could bear and it decided to simply cease living. I was a little hopeful that it might come back this spring and try one more year, but it has remained bare. 

The scripture from Isaiah 55:12 rings through my soul often...

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. 

So now I daily gaze upon the remnants of what was once living and grand and think of life and it's fleeting vapor. For as long as this mighty oak has lived, 100 years, 200 years?...it was still here today and gone tomorrow. I wonder how many changes it has seen. If it was here when the fields were orchards and strawberry fields? Has it seen the tilling of soil with ox and plow? Did another family, a century ago, gather beneath it to pray? Were songs sung here and picnics eaten? Was it planted by man or did a jay bird misplace an acorn? I'm anxious to cut it down and count it's rings to know the length of it's life on earth.

 It will be cut down and used for firewood, and even that won't be it's last gift. For firewood becomes ashes, and ashes feed the earth. What a brilliant plan of our Master and Creator. These are the lessons learned from God. 

Let me be as selfless as a tree. To be blessed by my Creator as I stand firm in my faith so much so that it feeds and shelters those who would seek refuge beneath it. 

I think that I shall never see;

a poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day

and lifts it's leafy arms to pray,

A tree that may in summer wear

a nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree

    

                                                Joyce Kilmer

Puppies

I'm going to try very hard not to speak ill of those among us who are irresponsible and cruel. Those people who can see no other solution to a problem than to pawn it off on somebody else. Those who's hearts are unaffected as they toss helpless puppies out of their vehicle and drive away. I get that times are tough. I understand that it takes money to feed a dog and take them to the vet and treat them for fleas. But to abandon a puppy? To hope someone else will drive by and pick them up? To think they'll just survive on their own??...that I don't understand.

Yesterday when I was heading home, I saw two little fluff balls running down the road. I immediately knew the story. I've seen it many times. The thing that breaks my heart more than anything is that those babies were, more than likely, running after the jerk that left them behind. This is why I love dogs. They are loyal to even the nastiest of us humans.

I stopped the car and got out, talked to them for a second and they, apprehensively and very wiggly, allowed me to pick them up. We rode home without incident as I reassured them that it was going to be ok. I wondered if I was lying to them but kept on telling them, "it's ok".

By the time we got home, I'd already assessed how completely covered in fleas they were. I recruited Taylor and we immediately began the bathing process. It must have taken us an hour of scrubbing and combing and a good half a bottle of tea-tree oil shampoo to remove the fleas. I'd never seen so many fleas in my life. Then we blow-dried them, treated them with Frontline and removed the remaining ticks. Taylor folded back one ear and had a conniption when she revealed a huge mass of ticks. It was a grueling process but we removed every last one.

They were very patient and even seemed to enjoy the whole operation. I can imagine that it would feel pretty awesome to have all those blood-suckers removed.

We then let Emma in on the action and she greeted them warmly and licked them thoroughly. They seemed to like that too.

They spent the night with Faith on the porch, barked at the goats and kitties, and had a big breakfast this morning. They seem just a little skittish but follow me wherever I go. I'm sure it would only take a little encouragement for them to move right into being a very lovely companion. They seem extremely smart and are so precious and sweet.

If you know anybody that would be kind enough to take them in, please let me know. I'm going to be contacting some rescues and shelters for help in placing them. You can find me on Facebook or email me @ barrettfarm@gmail.com

Thank you for any and all help.

20 years

Nobody wanted me to marry that man. "Go to college! You're still so young. Go and be free. Your going to tie yourself down and regret it later."

We thought that my dad was going to have to be institutionalized. He hated the whole idea. He refused to spend any money on renting a tux (or anything else) and swore he would walk me down the isle in his overalls.

My mom patiently helped me plan the wedding. We shopped for flowers and material for bridesmaids dresses. We called everybody, begging and borrowing for decorations. I wore my cousins wedding dress, another cousin performed the ceremony and yet another cousin was my photographer. The venue was free, the singing was a-cappella, the coordinator was my great-aunt Ollie Bell, and the whole thing was nuts. But, the groom was Rodney Barrett and that was all my eyes could see.

There have been few things in my life that I've been that sure of. I wanted to be with him and nothing could convince me otherwise. We both felt that way from the moment we laid eyes on each other. I can still take myself back to that day and feel it all over again. Seeing him from across the room, our eyes locking and... I was done for. My knees literally went weak. And if eyes locking made me go weak, you can imagine what happened the first time he kissed me (which was about 3 hours later).

We talked so many times after the wedding about how we should have just run away together and saved ourself the grief of all the drama and money. But, weddings are more for the family than for the couple...a concept I've never understood. I've given my children permission to elope.

Today, we celebrate 20 years of marriage. Although, I felt married to him from the beginning. God formed some beautiful master plan and, I'm sure, has enjoyed the show since the two of us have been married. Rodney and I were talking the other night and decided that even the fact that we landed on the planet in the same generation, within years of each other, and then to have somehow ended up in the same room at the same time and fell in love that forcefully, that it all had to be masterfully planned. 20 years is only a drop in the bucket of time, a tiny speck in God's tapestry. 20 years to us is quite a long time and, in the same breath, it has gone by like a vapor.

So, after 20 years of babies, houses, farm, dogs, cats, laughter, tears, fights, make-ups, work, bill-paying, more crying, more laughing, more bills, where-are-my-socks?, blessings, struggling, living with, living without, toddlers, school, sports, teenagers, discipline, and even and little counseling, we are coming around to a place in our life where Jenni and Rodney can be Jenni and Rodney again. We are whisking ourselves away tonight for the first time since our honeymoon. We will attend the big fireworks show and hopefully make a few of our own. And, I hope I get at least 20 more years with that man.

Happy late Birthday, Emma

I was out hanging clothes on the line a little while ago and I could hear the wind-chimes that hang in Eddie's tree. There is a sweetness about those chimes in the field. It doesn't make me sad, it causes me to pause and remember my blessings. As I was reminiscing about that boy and the happiness he brought to our home for the brief time he was with us, it occurred to me that I had overlooked Emma's birthday.

Emma turned a year old on June 8th. I can't believe she didn't remind me. Probably because she knew I was going to put that silly hat on her head and take her picture.

When I made the hat for Eddie, I planned on taking his picture in it yearly. Then, when he died, I had no idea what to do with it. I just knew it would be impossible for me to throw it in the trash. So, it's been sitting in the same drawer that the other birthday stuff resides. The banners and streamers, the glitter and glue, the crepe paper and raffia.

Once in a while when I have to pull something out of that crazy-disordered drawer, I touch the hat and let my heart hurt for a minute and then smile and remember how silly he was and how he was so patient with me while I put stuff on his head and laughed at him, then took his picture and posted it on facebook. Oh the shame of it all.

It doesn't seem so long ago.

Emma on the other hand...

She is not quite as tolerant of my shenanigans.

As a matter of fact, I think she may be plotting some sort of revenge. Off the top of my head, I'm thinking the massacre of some poor stuffed animal and probably a good digging in the flower pots.

She reminds us of Eddie once in a while because she is a boxer through to her core...but she is 100% Emma, and that's a good thing.

Happy Birthday Emma...2 weeks late.

Scariest thing ever

Let me preface this particular blog by saying I fully support the 2nd amendment. My husband is a very responsible gun owner and has taught our son and daughter gun-safety and done it well. We are hunters. We are law-abiding citizens. We have many firearms in our home both rifles and hand guns. It is our right to have them and to use them. Until today, I had no idea of the incredible responsibility that comes with owning a gun.

I will also tell you before I begin this story by saying... nobody died today.

When Kyle was 5 years old, he was playing down at the pond at my parents house. He called me over to watch him walk out onto the old rickety bridge that spans from shore to the "island" on the pond. "look what I can do" he exclaimed. I told him sternly to NEVER do that unless an adult was with him. I'd almost lost him a couple times to drowning because the boy sinks like a rock when he is in water. Anyway, I went back in Mom's house where we were preparing dinner and working on plans for the new church building. About an hour went by and my dad asked, "has anybody seen Kyle?" Then it dawned on my that I hadn't seen him come through the house or heard him outside for a while, so I went to find him. I called, and called, and called and nothing. Mom came out and started to call. Kyle! Kyle! Nothing. Dad came out and began to look.

We started panicking.

I felt my stomach turn over as I thought about him standing on the bridge. My knees became so weak I could barely move. I began walking towards the pond absolutely sure that he would be face down in the water. Rodney pulled up and saw us running around calling for Kyle. He shouted at Dad to go check the house one more time. I was still jelly-leggedly making my way towards the pond, praying to Jesus with all my might.

Please God, please God PLEASE GOD.

Before I made it all the way to the water's edge, Dad yelled from the house, "I found him!"

He had crawled into the dog house in the garage and was sleeping with Dexter, Mom and Dad's old Weimaraner. It took me hours to quit shaking.

Until today, that was absolutely the most frightened I've ever been in my life.

I was sitting at my desk and was on the phone when it happened.

A gunshot was fired in the house.

Kyle was the only person in the house with me and I immediately jumped up screaming.

KYLE! KYLE! KYLE!

It was the only words that were coming from my mouth. There was no immediate response and I knew I was about to witness the most horrible thing a mother can experience. My heart is aching and tears are welling up just writing this.

When he emerged from our bedroom, white as a sheet and frantically asking if I was ok, I embraced him so tightly and wept like a baby thanking Jesus over and over.

After about 5 minutes of clutching each other in panic and thanksgiving, I started to ask what in heavens name he was doing.

He said the gun "just went off". Why in the world he was messing with it in the first place is beyond me but he learned a valuable lesson without the cost of life. He was shaken to the point of physical sickness. My tummy ain't too happy either.

Here are the forensics.

The gun that was fired is the revolver which is always located in Rodney's closet in our bedroom.

When the gun went off it was facing the closet wall. Here is the first bullet hole.

Rodney's only "good" hat.

Bullet hole number 2 went right through the hat rack.

...and then through the wall behind the hat rack.

It came out of the closet wall in the bedroom.

Then it went across the bedroom, through the wall on the opposite side.

it then came out the living room wall and ricocheted off the ceiling.

and finally came to rest right above the front door. It is lodged in the header above the door.

This is the scary part.

I don't know a whole lot about trajectory and angles but this was a crazy close call. It is still not real to me yet.

Rodney came home not long after it happened and went over the events with Kyle. The story ended up being that he pulled the hammer back, it slipped and the gun fired. A long gun-safety lecture commenced while Kyle sat with tears streaming down his face, hands shaking and still pale-faced.

I don't know why this happened. You would think that a 17-year-old wouldn't have to be monitored like a toddler. My emotions are ranging from confusion, to heartache, to anger, to thankfulness. The name Jesus keeps coming from my lips. Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus! I'm sure I'll be processing this one for a while.