One Old Goat

Farm and mud and getting nothing done.

2012-01-29T18:16:00.003-05:00

Another beautiful day! So......I went out to (first) clean out the kidding pen, then to hang up clothes (in the trees), and to work on the covering on the well. What really happened is that I got the clothes hung, started to look at the pump only to find that the entire top had cracked and broken so.........I'll be lugging 5 gallon buckets until my husband either takes the pump in and replaces it (it was a new pump and shouldn't have cracked) or until I get the old pump that a friend had given me up and running. Since I work from dark to dark, I won't get to it until Saturday. I did make a fair amount of headway cleaning out the kidding pen but holy moly!!!! the hay packs in like peat moss! My back is aching and my shoulders are sore from getting it nearly all cleaned out.

I had every intention of working on a quilt but took a nap instead. So while I got some stuff done, there's still a good bit that I'll be making up next weekend. I'm hoping by then some of the mud has either dried or frozen.

No Complaints.

2012-01-28T19:53:00.002-05:00

I finally got my water pump pumping, the triplets out in the little barn with the other goats, and enjoyed some beautiful sunsets. I refuse to complain about the mud.

Killers are we.

2012-01-22T22:01:00.002-05:00

Every time we condemn someone without knowing all of the facts, every time we make a snap judgment on someone without taking the time to understand them, every time we allow the media to bottlefeed us information - bogus or not - we have the potential to at the very least, hurt another human deeply and at the very most, kill them.

Unless you are a lifelong Penn State fan, you may not understand. I grew up with this guy. I can't say that I idolized him but I most certainly looked up to him. I was lucky - as a very young girl, I developed a healthy respect for the Alabama Crimson Tide and their revered coach, 'Bear' Bryant. In my 10 year old eyes, Bear and JoePa were the ultimate coaches, dads, pillars, leaders.

My heart is sickened. Others whom were trusted to lead my alma mater sent Joe to his death without dignity, without any type of respect. Joe deserved better. We broke his heart.

Two great coaches - this photo and the one above was taken from Facebook.

Friday night sewing

2012-01-21T11:03:00.001-05:00

Craftyvegasmom Friday night sew in

Since I have several quilting projects that are in various stages of doneness and since I haven't been working on anything much lately and because there are a couple new quilts I would like to start, I joined this Friday night sew in. And actually accomplished quite a bit. I can't post what I've done because it is part of a gift to keep someone I love very, very warm but when it is done and has been delivered, I will post a picture.

Trees.

2012-01-16T22:38:00.002-05:00

One of my very early memories of my dad (well, I guess it was in my early teens) was that when he went to work, he always carried a camera.

My dad was/is a forester and he encountered some pretty scenic areas. I also remember overhearing my mother tell my dad that she just hated taking his pictures to be developed because he never took pictures of anything interesting, only trees.

And he took lots of pictures on that little 80mm camera of his.

I understand, dad.

Another runner.

2012-01-14T19:32:00.002-05:00

So chasing her will prepare me for my race. Right? I have a little more than 7 months left to prepare. But still, it feels really good to have my kids enjoy the sport I love so much. And it feels even better that they are even faster!

Happy 50th to me!

2012-01-13T20:54:00.001-05:00

As promised to myself many, many years ago, I will be celebrating my birthday by running a mile for each of my 50 years on this earth: Baker Trail Ultra Challenge

I'm not quite as prepared as I had originally hoped to be at this point but still, this marker is important to me for many reasons and will be even that much more special to have my brother run with me.

Life is good.

Failing.

2012-01-11T20:20:00.000-05:00

Some people excel at things like painting or sculpting or singing or cooking. Some of us are good at more obscure things. Me.....I'm pretty good at failing. I've had a lot of experience with it. And, I can say, I am proud of it. I've learned so much.

I've failed at so many things: running, computers, accounting, quilting, singing, playing the piano, baking bread (failed at this and continue to do so on a regular basis). I've failed at marriages, at being a parent, at being a daughter, at being a good friend, at being a good farmer. Like I said, I'm pretty good at failing.

Failing generally doesn't feel good but boy......the stories that come of failed attempts - not to mention the experience and the self-knowledge that failing inspires. Failing usually entails a lot of kicking one's self in the butt because we think we didn't see something or didn't do something well enough. But the good thing is, once we get through the kicking-ourself-in-the-butt stage and rightfully feeling pretty down about it, some really amazing things can happen!

Thinking back on past failures, I know that if I hadn't made some monumental goofs, I would never have returned to school let alone gone on to graduate school. I would never have moved away, never would have dared to start running let alone enter races, never gone on to make even more catastrophic decisions that would lead to more failures. And more successes. Having flopped at so many things has made me an expert at getting up, dusting myself off, and trying again.

I think to live a life without failing once in a while even in huge, huge ways, would be the ultimate failure. Life is an adventure and a good adventure is often scary and dangerous.

One Old Goat has now stepped off her soapbox.

Sometimes things suck.

2012-01-05T20:59:00.001-05:00

Sometimes things happen over which we have no control. Painful things. Especially heartbreaking when you are watching from the sidelines. Sometimes things that appear to be dark and scary and bigger than us turn out to actually have silver linings.

If you look very hard, you will see a bluebird in the bush.

Sometimes we just need to have faith in God. In family. In friends. In strangers. Sometimes we really do just need to reach out and although it may not feel like it and it's scary to do, there is someone there to grab your hand.

Yang. Yin.

2012-01-03T18:21:00.001-05:00

Life and Death. Happiness and Sorrow. Yin and Yang. This morning we welcomed three new little lives to One Old Goat farm and said goodbye to one very, very old life.

My morning kicked off with the birth of three beautiful little bucklings - sons of my doe, Leslie. She wasn't due until tomorrow and she showed no signs of imminent birth so I didn't put her into her kidding stall aka nice, warm, cozy spot in the basement. When I went in to let the goats out this morning, I could tell that she was licking something. I thought maybe it was one of the chickens who like to hangout in the goathouse. But when Leslie didn't run out, I knew that it must be a baby. And it was. Brand, spanking new! A beautiful dark brown baby goat!

Today was one of the coldest mornings in the past several months so I immediately moved mama and baby to the kidding stall. I ran upstairs to get some water and when I returned, Leslie was giving birth to another kid - this time a white baby with tan spots. Then shortly after I left for work, another white baby was born. All three are bucklings and all three are absolutely beautiful.

But as those lives came into the world, we lost our very first horse, Snowball. He was so old. He was old when we got him but I like to think he had a good life with us here. His little buddy Clover, stood by him over night until he passed around noon today. I knew yesterday that Snowball was leaving me and once again, I began to question myself as a farmer. Every time I lose an animal, I feel as if I failed them. My kids took it much better than I did. But they are used to farm animals dying on occasion. Not me, I only ever remember one dog dying when I was a kid. I'm not used to this. I like to think of One Old Goat farm as a haven for animals. A place where they are kept warm, sheltered, and well-fed. A place where they are loved.

So while I am beyond thrilled with the birth of my babies, my heart breaks for the loss of the first horse I ever had. I hope that Snowball is strong and happy again and is galloping through Heaven with his mane flowing.

Inspiration.

2011-12-29T21:33:00.002-05:00

Today my grandson and I visited a quilting friend from our church. From beginning to end, it was a wonderful adventure and much, much different from yesterday.

Setting out and walking down the little road we stopped first at our church so that my grandson could tell everyone thank you for the gifts he received for Christmas. We then continued on our way through the lightly falling snow, down the hill, past the neighbor's dog, past the cows and standing aside while at least two cars passed us. My friend lives on top of one of the little hills within the valley and despite the snow, the view of the neighboring farms on the hills across the valley was gorgeous!

We spent about an hour with my friend who showed me her sewing room and sewing machine while the little guy was busy coloring pictures for everyone. I must say that it was one of the most enjoyable afternoons I've had a in a long time. My friend showed me several of the quilts she had made over the years and told me stories about each of them. It was like stepping into her life for a bit and after we hugged goodbye, I felt as if I knew her so much better than I did before.

Friends are such gifts - even for a dedicated hermit such as myself. After this afternoon's visit, my inspiration to finish some quilts has been renewed. Partly because as I listened to her stories, I could feel the passion of creating a thing a beauty and I remembered that feeling. Partly because I just know that my friend will expect me to start quilting again. I promised her I would.

And I will. Because she's my friend.

My world.

2011-12-28T18:00:00.000-05:00

Tipper always makes me smile!

In the world on One Old Goat farm, things would be a whole lot different. First of all, I would be able to read the dosage on a bottle of tylenol without the use of a high powered magnifying glass. I would be able to find at least 1 of the three pair of glasses I've misplaced without the use of said glasses. Crackers would be packaged in waxed paper like they used to be and cookies wouldn't be locked up with a hermetic seal impermeable only to a high temperature blowtorch.

In the world of OOG farm, customer and service would be reciprocal. Good customer behavior AND good customer service. Fair customer service. Not kissing-the-butt of a nasty customer simply because we want his/her business. Which goes against most business models but I don't care because it is the world of One Old Goat farm.

In this world, there wouldn't be any shoulds or oughts or mights. I don't want to be told that I should like to cook and clean and all of that crud simply because I am a female. I don't want to be told that I ought to act or think in a certain way because of my age. I want to be who I am, how I feel, what I like until I die. Regardless of public opinion.

I realize that I am a stodgy old coot but I am not quite as stubborn as most people would believe. It has been a relatively cruddy, depressing day and I really wish that my world was like this. Everyday.

Keeping my fingers crossed that tomorrow is a tad bit better.

Feeling pretty.

2011-12-27T16:27:00.001-05:00

Pretty is the last word anyone who knows me would use to describe me. I'm more of a function over fashion type of person. For me, beauty is more of a word that I would use to describe a person's character than their appearance. As far as things go, the word beauty would be a ruggedly made jacket that will last me for years and years and years - becoming more comfortable in many wearings. Beauty could also be used to describe a pitchfork whose tines don't fall off within a few months of purchase or beauty could be a well=built fence.

But last week I really did win a thing of beauty from one of my favorite blogs - Granny Sue's News and Reviews. I won a beautiful tea setting with a tablecloth, placements, salt/pepper shakers, sugar bowl and cream pitcher, and a tea pot. I also won a bag of loose Earl Grey tea and a tea ball. I have some tea brewing right now and as soon as I get this posted, I'm going to sip on tea in my dainty little tea cup and read Jennifer Chiaverini's new book The Union Quilters.

I don't know how I came upon Granny Sue's blog - through a search for a dulcimer festivals perhaps. But if you visit her site, check out the links on the rightside of the site too. Granny Sue is a storyteller and one day, I will listen to her in person. Her blog about storytelling is called Storyteller Granny Sue: Stories from the Mountains and Beyond . I just love browsing through everything on her sites and have to say that her blog - by far - has always been one of my most favorite.

So for a little bit this afternoon, I will be pretty. I shall sit at my window and sip on good tea on my very lovely tea set. Thank you Granny Sue!!!

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-24T22:45:00.001-05:00

Merry Christmas to all from the creatures - large and small - at One Old Goat farm.

Where music goes.

2011-12-21T23:03:00.001-05:00

I have always shied away from science but I'm pretty sure that when beautiful music is released into the universe, it is put in a repository for the angels to enjoy.

Thank you, choruses and bands of Penns Valley Jr./Sr. High School, for letting the angels sing!

Our Future.

2011-12-18T20:20:00.001-05:00

Another Penn State grad in the family! My oldest daughter graduated from Penn State, Behrend College on Friday among 300 and some other graduates.

Ten years ago, we both would have thought this to be unlikely event. Eleven years ago, I sat in the high school guidance counselor's office with her trying to convince her that dropping out of high school with only a half year left to go was not a good idea. Thank goodness she agreed.

Kristen has not only graduated but she has had every reason not to and every time, she made the decision to carry on. A lot has happened during the time since she enlisted in the U.S.Army after 9-11. Mainly, she has grown up.

I think Kristen is destined to do great things. Like her brother, she is gifted in academics however she is a rock star in math and science while Ryan and I lean more toward English. Kristen has an interest in water quality and with her degree in Environmental Science, plans to work in third world countries to try and improve water supply and quality.

In the past ten years, Kristen has become a veteran and a mother - two things of which to be so proud. I would suspect that the next ten years will be equally exciting.

So proud of you Kris!

Happy 5th Birthday!

2011-12-18T08:12:00.001-05:00

To one of the greatest loves of my life!

This Christian Life.

2011-12-14T21:30:00.000-05:00

Is hard. And I fail miserably at it. Every. Single. Day.

I’ve learned a lot - that becoming a Christian – at least for me – is not a single aha moment. I mean it was kind of like an epiphany in that during a random moment at a Bible Study, I realized that what I was looking for had been there all along. And that realization has really given me tremendous direction in my life.

But still– I have nearly fifty years of being me and it's not been good. I am a grouch, can't hold a conversation to save my life, feel more comfortable in the company of animals to that of humans (usually), and when I do try to converse or otherwise fit in, would do much better to sit back and keep silent. As I am sliding from merely being an irritable, socially-inept loner into the more whimsical label of being just an eccentric curmudgeon, I’ve realized that I don’t really want to be like that so much. I'll be silent but with a smile on my face.

I suspect that my gift lies more with what I can do rather than what I can say and that the master plan was never for me to be in any role that puts much attention on me. But you never know. Our pastor said something a few weeks ago that has been on my mind. He said that when we open ourselves to what the Lord wants, something wonderful and unexpected can happen. That sounds really good to me. I’m always up for a challenge and I wait patiently for what my role on earth is meant to be. I just really hope that I know it, when He tells me. I've been told that it could be years before I know.

But I feel as if I am flying blind and am not sure what I am doing. I'm confident that I will figure it out. I'm buying a bible that will help me understand and that includes Cliffnotes of sort that are meant (I think) to help those of us starting from scratch. But I feel as if I can't change me or that I shouldn't change me. I wouldn't know how to begin to morph into a social butterfly - or even just a social caterpillar. But if I'm asked to change, I will.

I was really naive to think that simply by accepting God that the Christian road was wide open and easily navigated. I've found that instead, the Christian life is a journey. It looks as if it is going to be very interesting and very rewarding. I just really wish that there was a map.

But I'll get there.

Dryer broken.

2011-12-13T19:00:00.000-05:00

Our dryer is broken.

Our neighbors love us.

Neighbors.

2011-12-11T18:22:00.001-05:00

You know it is going to be a rocky day when you are awoken (waked, awakened, woken up, whatever....) by hearing a message on your answering machine that begins with, "I think I just saw your horse walking toward Bible Road". Oh yeah. In less than 20 seconds, I had on my muddy overalls, my barn boots, and the ratty sweatshirt that I use when feeding the animals. Within about 3 seconds after that, I had grabbed a lead rope and was headed out the door toward Bible Road. (A lovely sight, I was)

Lucky for me, the neighbor who called me was the same neighbor who had previously helped my husband corral the goats when they were out on the road and whose dogs we had rescued and returned home a couple of times. We may not always remember each other's names but we know each other by our animals. Which is common in our neck of the woods.

After less than a couple minutes, I spotted Buddy the wayward horse grazing outside the fence in the company of some mighty nice looking heifers who belonged to another one of our neighbors. I clipped the leadrope onto Buddy's halter and my husband walked him home.

At church during the sermon, I remembered that the potato casserole was still in the oven so I ran home to turn the oven off. While I was there, I peeked out and sure enough........Buddy and Clover were both out of the fence and were nibbling on the grass. I went back to church and sent my husband and son over home to bring the horses back in. It was clear that the fun and games were about over. Chasing the horses and bringing them home was quickly losing its appeal. All along, I was under the (wrongful) impression that the spot in the fence where they were escaping had been fixed.

So then after church but before our church meal, I went over to the house to bring the casserole over and looked out just in time to see Dolly Llama hop the fence. And even though Dolly Llama has the ability to hop nearly any fence, she only does so when the horses are in the lower pasture. So I ran the casserole to the church and ran back home. Literally. I got in the house to put on my boots just in time to hear our other neighbor say that the horses were over in their yard checking out their garden. Let me tell you: about that point, I was having not-quite-Christian-like thoughts about the fence, the horses, Dolly Llama, my husband, etc.

Suffice it to say, that the horses were successfully put away - Buddy in the barn, Clover in the upper pasture and Dolly Llama in the company of Clover. The spot where they were sneaking over to the unsecure lower pasture was fixed. What could have ended tragically since we live within 1.5 of a main road, ended well - thanks to some really good neighbors who decided not to ignore a large horse strolling down the road. So though we may only know each other by the names of our pets/animals (at least in the early hours), we do know each other. We have each others' back.

I think that many times country neighbors are compared to the more transient city neighbors. Those of us who live in the country and are lucky enough to have others in close proximity may not always know the first names of our neighbors but that doesn't mean we don't know them. It doesn't mean that we don't look out for each other. This morning has proven to me that neighborliness is alive and well. At least in Georges Valley.

Lessons learned as a kid.

2011-12-04T23:06:00.001-05:00

Tonight I am bone-tired. I've got blisters on the palms of my hands. My knuckles are bruised and scraped and I am sure that tomorrow my back will be as stiff as the boards I pounded all day long. Today I built a chicken coop - not just any chicken coop but the Fort Knox of chicken coops. A friend of a friend gave me 3 hens who had just begun laying and since all 20 or so hens of mine have put the egg-laying on hiatus for the winter, I drove over the mountain and through the woods to pick them up Saturday. I didn't want to mix these new chickens (Peter, Paul, and Mary) with my other chickens mainly because I wanted to be able to locate at least a few eggs a day. All of my other chickens free-range and where they lay their eggs depends on the time of year and the weather.

So Saturday's quick slapping-together of a coop was just temporary. In fact, Peter and Paul escaped and roosted with the other chickens in another coop leaving Mary all by herself - and Mary was not very happy about it.

So yesterday after church, I headed out back to make an escape-proof, windproof, sturdy coop. And because I didn't want to reinvent the wheel, I decided that it would a more effective use of my time to fortify and modify the temporary coop.

Now one thing about me, is that not only am I money-poor, I am just plain cheap. Another thing about me is that I was a stellar cabin builder when I was a kid. My best friend and our siblings had cabins all over the woods and the back field in a variety of stages of design. We made treehouses out of wood we found in our dads' scrap piles or wood that we found in the forest. We made cabins hidden in the high grasses of the field regardless of the fact that we would sneeze continuously and wheeze and that our eyes were so red and itchy that we could barely see. We had less sophisticated forts that were simply outlined with fallen timber in the pines in the neighborhood on which a house is now built. In making our cabins, treehouses, and forts, we used whatever we could find and we weren't too proud to scrounge through the dumps that used to be all over the place back then.

So in the spirit of my childhood, I grabbed a screwdriver, a hammer, a handful of nails, a box of deck screws and any decent piece of lumber I could find. I sawed and pounded, nailed and clipped screen and ended up with a chicken coop that could withstand a hurricane! As a finishing touch, I unearthed some old pieces of tin that I believe came from a long ago neighbor's produce stand. And with that, the coop was complete.

Now some eyes may look at my little coop and think what a pile of junk, what an eyesore - in fact, I think that's where my husband was going when he said 'we'd fix it up next weekend'. But when I look at this heavy duty, invasion-proof, escape-proof, warm, dry chicken coop, I only see Peter, Paul, and Mary quietly purring on their nests. I see an absolutely breathtaking array of old, aged wood along with just as old rusted tin. I see a little bit of the history of a long ago Sprucetown and know that my creation will be home for chickens for many, many years to come!

Rusted tin and old wood. Is there anything more beautiful?

Stars in Penns Valley.

2011-12-03T23:16:00.000-05:00

The stars were out in Penns Valley tonight. At least one bright and shining star anyhow! It seems that God was a little disproportionate when he sprinkled stars across the world and more than the fair share landed in our little valley.

There is always something to brag about in the Potters Mills, Spring Mills, Centre Hall, Millheim, etc. area. Books could be written about the caliber of people you can find in this neck of the woods. Oh, but tonight. . .

Tonight one of my daughters and I decided to attend a concert by Autumn Blaze and her orchestra. I doubt that anyone outside central PA has ever heard of this young girl - who is in 11th grade in our school district, who played the lead in the spring musical this past year, who - two summers ago - won the Grange Fair Idol competition. But I bet that is all going to change one day and quite a few people are going to have heard her and of her. For two hours tonight, seemingly the entire valley sat enchanted by a mix of jazz and contemporary music. Autumn was amazing! The orchestra was first class. It was an experience that I know I have never had. The high school parking lot was full! There were ushers in black, luminaries lined the high school hallways, plush rugs lead the waiting patrons to the doors of the auditorium. The entire evening was musically magical.

Autumn sang Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend, Lulu's Back in Town, Pokerface, and I'm not that girl (from Wicked) - a variety of genres and all done so well. Even to my slowly deafened ears.

But the magic wasn't just with her singing and the beautiful mixture of the piano, the bass, the horns......the truly magical part of the whole thing was that this young girl is donating the profits to Penns Valley High School Drama department.

Who says the arts aren't important? I beg to differ.

Thank you, Autumn!

Miss Shaw.

2011-11-28T19:41:00.001-05:00

I have no pictures today. But I've taken a mammoth step and offered my services as a pianist to our church next year. True - I've been playing the piano since I was 5 years old and was able to crawl up on the piano bench in my grandmother's parlor. True - I took piano lessons for years from Miss Georgia Shaw who was not only a great pianist but a wonderful violinist as well. She also taught me to play the church organ and I'm really hoping that some of her teachings come back to me.

I'll never forget Miss Shaw. Two bucks a lesson and she was the kindest, gentlest person I've ever met - then and now. She made me believe that I was never less than wonderful. And I think every kid should believe that about themselves in some area. I'm not so sure whether she taught me nearly as much about the piano as she did about life. She had polio when she was a child which left her bent over nearly into an upside down U. She wasn't married. She obviously loved kids which was why she taught us all how to play the piano. She often told me stories about her life and I don't think I ever remember her saying anything negative about her life or about anyone. She was the happiest, most optimistic person I have ever met. She taught me that stuff happens to people - really bad stuff - and yet we muddle through. We survive to play beautiful, beautiful music. She taught me that I didn't need to be perfect as long as I put my heart into it.

Miss Georgia Shaw taught me that music was the great equalizer but I failed to see at the time what she meant by this. When Miss Shaw played her violin or the magnificent pipe organ for me, she was not a little, bentover person with a hairy chin - she was.........larger than life and in my ears anyway, she was perfection. No violin or organ has ever sounded so sweet to my ears.

So in memory of my piano teacher who believed in me regardless of the missed lessons, of coming in smelling of cigarette smoke, of giggling throughout my lesson, or my obvious lack of practice, I've promised my church that when needed, I would play the piano for them and for her.

So I will be praying - fervently. And I hope that I will receive some other prayers along the way because I'm going to need them. It is one thing to have shaky hands while singing, but while playing the piano - shaky hands are not so good.

So my first song is for you, Miss Shaw. Thank you for your patience in showing me the beauty of music.

Thanks.

2011-11-22T21:59:00.000-05:00

After the 334th consecutive rainy day here at One Old Goat Farm, I found myself running out of different ways of effectively complaining about the mud that I have to slide and trudge through every morning and night. The kind of thick, clay muck that is impossible to scrape off your boots and clings to shoes stronger than any glue known to mankind. Well anyways, after 334 days of this crud and in homage to Thanksgiving Day on Thursday, I decided to switch gears and instead of complain, to count my blessings.I'm thankful for my goats being back on my farm. It is really odd living at One Old Goat Farm and writing as One Old Goat at not having any goats. I am thankful that Hansel, my little wether, is such a friendly guy and no matter my mood, is always right there for me to hug and scratch and love.

I am thankful for my new pitchfork. A seemingly insignificant joy but seriously, if you've ever tried to scrape out cow poo with a pitchfork that the tines kept getting pitched with the poo, you would understand.

I am thankful for Dolly Llama and secretly am very flattered that she seems to prefer me to anyone else. It's like we are kin. Kind of. There is something very calming about being nose-to-nose with an animal of that size and that is just how Dolly likes to communicate with me. I have a big family and not everyone is particularly interested in what is going in my life. But Dolly always notices.

I love the little bunny that visits us - well, visits the chickens every day. He doesn't let me too close to him but just seeing him first thing in the morning always makes me smile and lets me know that the world is good for another day. I'm thankful for the sunny days we did actually have and gave us my husband and kids time to split and stack enough wood to get us through the winter. The fact is, I have more things for to be thankful than I have to complain. I hope to remember this tomorrow when it rains. For the 335th day on One Old Goat Farm.

Holiday Angst.

2011-11-21T19:36:00.001-05:00

I'm feeling irritable. I'm feeling impatient.

I really thought that with my religious epiphany this past summer, I would enter into the Christmas season a little calmer. But today I found myself feeling not so calm. True, it may be all of hullabaloo surrounding my workplace, my Alma mater and the nonstop regurgitating of the same old not-so-new news. It may be the dreary weather. It may be the fact that I've traveled a lot the past few months which I've really enjoyed, but always puts me off kilter. I'm not sure. Maybe I need just a little more good news in my life - I think we all do.

There are so many things to enjoy and love. Way more good things in my life than bad. It really seems rather masochistic to listen to the news. I gave up Walmart because I didn't like the affect it had on me or the affect I believe it has on society as a whole. Why not give up on the news? I really don't think that my world would stop turning if I no longer tuned into the morning news or read the newspaper. At almost 50 years old, I have a fairly good understanding of what my role is as a human in the human race. The 10 commandments have given me that information.

There are some good websites out there if I'm so inclined to see some of the good going on in the world - http://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/.

I subscribe to several online groups that relate to my own quirky interests and I pick up bits and pieces of the world's goings-on through that.

Blogs that I follow also are likely to include a more humanistic view of the world so I won't be totally in the dark. And of course there is my church family.....anything that is worth knowing is discussed at our weekly family meals.

So my gift to myself - which will hopefully affect my family - is to live in my own sheltered little world. That may not work for many people and I respect that. But I want to truly enjoy Christmas and all the days leading up to it in the manner in which I believe it should be enjoyed: without the anxiety and worry and rushing here and there and trying to get more and more and more done.

Although for many, many years I've said that I was a Christian, this is the very first year that I understand why I am Christian. It is hard to explain but this is the very first year that Christ's birth is a true event for me and not just a token day that I am celebrating and I will be celebrating with all of my heart!

And instead of freaking out over things about which I can do nothing, I will rejoice in the true gifts in life.

New York.

2011-11-19T17:37:00.000-05:00

Last week I had the opportunity to go to New York City for the second time of my life. The first visit was only for a day and to chaperon a student council. This past week I left on Sunday and returned early Wednesday morning. The highlight of my trip was that I enjoyed the company of my oldest son.

I haven't spent this kind of one-on-one time with Ryan since before he went to college and a certainly hope that we have the opportunity to spend time together like this again.

New York was nothing like I thought it would be. I expected to have profanity hurled at me at every step. I expected to meet with faceless New Yorkers who would rather trample me than smile at me. I expected to see people dressed as fashionably as models. I expected to be mugged in Central Park.

Surprisingly, what I found was people just like us. People of all sorts, really. I saw people who were dressed to the nines and people who dressed as if they just walked off the farm. I saw people who were in a hurry and people who were tourists.

I found that if I smiled at someone they would smile right back at me. I had more than one experience of someone holding the door for me, allowing me to go through first. I experienced valets who remembered me and greeted me with a smile even though obviously, I wasn't a big tipper.

Yet another stereotype has been crushed for me. I've found so far this year that whether I am in Denver, CO or New York City, NY or State College, PA, people pretty much treat me the same way that I treat them.

But really, I hadn't expected this in New York City. I can honestly say that while I wouldn't want to live there, I would definitely like to return to New York City. I've found that all of my expectations of the people living there were incorrect and that there a friendly, kind folk wherever I travel. But I hadn't expected here which would explain why I waited nearly 50 years to spend more than a few hours in their city.

Crazy New Yorkers!

Been Wondering.

2011-11-09T19:40:00.000-05:00

I, like many others, are overloaded with the events of the past few days. On one hand, I am absolutely floored and disgusted and angry that somone to whom many people looked up could do something so reprehensible to a kid - to many kids. Not to mention that trauma to the kids that were abused but all the kids in the future who will never, ever get to experience an adult who truly cares, who wants to help. What this devil has done is to prevent any parent from ever trusting anyone who professes to 'just want to help' kids. If we trusted this pillar of our University who had such an earnest face and such sincere words and such altruistic intentions, and who rooked us all, how can we possibly ever put our kids in the care of anyone?

And my beloved JoePa. That breaks my heart. I've known of JoePa all of my life. I certainly did not know him personally but I knew of him from the way my parents talked about him, my interactions with his family on committees on which I've served, from the way that the media (on good days, in winning seasons) have portrayed him. Poor judgment and the assumption that superiors within the University would appropriately take care of matters are what has brought around JoePa's end as coach. I think that is incredibly sad.

My parents taught me right from wrong - there is no doubt about that. As a kid the worst possible consequence of careless acts on my part would be to disappoint my parents. But yet, how many times have I made a decision to do something that could potentially harm someone else? Not waiting for a bigger break in traffic before making a turn, not returning a phone call, not volunteering for something, not keeping my word.

It is really sad to think that so much of this horrific mess could easily have been avoided and lives spared if someone along the way had done the right thing. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link and I think that there have been many weak links. There are always weak links.

As a Penn State alumni and a Penn State employee, I will always be proud of my University. Because Penn State is the students, the faculty who teach them, the staff who work hard to provide the best, most excellent service to our students, the ones who don't earn 6 or 7 figure salaries who oftentimes, can barely make ends meet but yet show up to work each day because we believe in the value of education.

Still Standing.

2011-10-31T01:18:00.000-04:00

This has always been my dad's tree. I remember being told this when I was very, very young. This lone pine near the edge of Route 27 looks exactly as it did nearly 50 years ago.

I have taken many pictures of it over the years. It is a comfort to me knowing that it still stands straight and tall despite the storms it has endured.

THEY ARE COMING HOME!

2011-10-21T23:27:00.001-04:00

Our soldiers - our U.S. soldiers - are coming home from Iraq!!! And this makes lower case, non-bolded headlines????? Are you kidding me??? Is this America???

Everyday I see newspaper headlines of pure crud. This week there have been at least two online headlines of a local person getting arrested for their second and third DUIs. They get more coverage than our soldiers (remember them? Our sons, daughters, husbands, wives, mothers, and fathers????) coming home from Iraq?

I wrote yesterday about nightmares of waking up in Wally-world. This is far worse. I've shared facebook posts about my favorite music artists, about fracking in Sharonville, about this and about that. But does no one think it is Facebook worthy that our troops are COMING HOME FROM IRAQ?

Someone please inform me if I have missed something. If this is not a reason to be celebrating. For the past seven years I've lived in fear that my daughter - my baby girl- would be sent back to Iraq.

What am I missing? Our soldiers are returning home to America, the land that I love, God bless it all!

How about a smile? A pat on the back? A thank-God-they-are-coming-home?

Really? Is this MY America??????

Wall-mart.

2011-10-20T21:03:00.001-04:00

I've written about it before.

And I've returned a few times since.

But no more.

Walmart's latest campaign - Save Money. Live Better.

Yeah.

What is sad is that this company targets people like me. And it works.

But in the same voice, the company is targeting people like me while it destroys people like me. The company - Walmart - is an enabler - dangling their slogan of living better. That we need more 'stuff' to live better. To be better. To feel better.

In the meantime, Walmart seemingly is destroying the free market. For human needs anyway. Their guarantee is that no matter the cost they WILL undercut any competitor's price. On anything.

I have nightmares of waking up in a world in which everything is own/operated by Walmart. I am terrified of needing hospital care but having to give-in to substandard care because WalHospital guarantees the lowest price.

I don't have a degree in Economics or Political Science or Business - but I do have degrees relating to humans as well as nearly 50 years experience of being a human. I want to have valid choices. I want to be able to make my own decision of cost vs quality and not being forced to subscribe to that. I don't want more. I want good.

I do believe in free enterprise and that people should have the choice between getting cheap goods for a little bit of money or investing in their country. But it terrifies me that the choice is being made for me. Everytime I buy something from a company that attempts to crush any mom and pop business, I am basically pounding another nail in a small business' coffin.

Walmart has seen the last of me.

Dang! I will do without before I give another cent to that company!

Another Day.

2011-10-16T20:08:00.000-04:00

Sun.

2011-10-15T21:54:00.002-04:00

The sun did appear today at One Old Goat Farm. I was very pleased to see that there were still a wealth of colors to enjoy after the week of gray.

A barn kitty hiding in the morning glories;

Not sure what these berries are but they are a brilliant purple and the stocks are fuscia;

one of our pumpkins that actually has been made into a jack o'lantern'

at last some wind to ring the chimes - I'm pretty sure that I won't be so happy for the winds after a few weeks of it;

Morning Glory grows like kudzu around here;

Leslie the Goat - she really smiles!

Sebastian watching the geese fly south (not really, he is looking north);

The chickens are happy to be able to stroll around without getting wet;

Chestnut the Rooster and his friend helping themselves to feed;

Skanky-kitty enjoying the sunshine;

The beautiful faces of the nasturtium.

Bull!

2011-10-11T21:22:00.005-04:00

I am a relatively laid back person. It takes a lot - A LOT - to get me riled. My family has only witnessed a handful of my truly outrageous meltdowns. Probably the one that my older kids remember is the 'Great Chili Meltdown' that resulted in both kids not only 'enjoying' their chili but asking for more. I was pregnant with my twin daughters at the time.

Today I headed home from work after a very productive day. As usual, I was happy both with my workday and with the prospects of enjoying time with my kids. At 5:13, I called home to find out that the bull, Lunchbox, had escaped. Not only from the barn, but from the pasture. This was not good. My son and daughter were the only ones home. And I had to pick up my other daughter from soccer at the other end of the valley.

I arrived home and Lunchbox was still on the loose. I grabbed a bucket filled with grain which any other day, he would turn cartwheels and rub my feet to have an extra bucket. Not today. Nothing doing. He strutted across the neighbor's yard as if he owned the joint. I repeated lured him over to his pasture and repeatedly he would get as far as the gate and then take off again.

I was hysterical. How in the heck can I manhandle a 1000 pound bull? A stubborn bull. A devil of a bull.

How did I do it? I called (in hysterics) my best buddy. She couldn't understand me and she told me she would call her husband. I calmed down a bit and explained the problem. Within minutes, he called and said that he and his son were on their way down so that I was able to go and pick up my daughter.

I wasn't worried about Lunchbox doing more than eating the neighbor's peach trees because he is basically lazy and uninterested in anything other than eating. But they are really good neighbors who put up with an awful lot from me and my animals and I don't want their trees ruined.

So, while I was gone, my best friend's son and husband came to the rescue. With lassos. And by the time I returned home from picking up my daughter, Lunchbox was safe and sound in the barn. Well secured. Because we are rednecks.

I do want to mention that during this whole ordeal, I did not swear. Not even on the inside. I prayed instead. And let me tell you that prayer is way more productive.

But there is a definite reason why my farm is NOT One Old Cow Farm!!!!!

Trains.

2011-10-09T19:50:00.001-04:00

When I was a vocational rehabilitation counselor, many of the people with whom I worked wanted - as their vocational goal- to have some kind of position on the railroad. I never understood this. Trains were so yesterday, such a long manner of travel, and certainly did not fit into today's world.

But now, I have traveled on a train across our country. Now, I understand.

On a train, you ride through America's backyard. Unless you are traveling through an old town that was built around train travel, you don't get to see the 'presentable face' that is shown to the road when you are driving down the highway. You ride through fields and woods and prairies and mountains. It is amazing.

And yes, it is a long trip. But if the journey is the reason, then a train is the way to go for me. Being lulled to sleep by the chug-a-chug of the tracks, the gentle rocking of the travel, and the not-so-gentle lurching as the train changes tracks is the closest thing to being rocked to sleep as an adult can get.

So no more planes for me. Not being a huge fan of flying - despite having a father who was a pilot - I've found the perfect mode of transportation for me. Already I am planning to take my children to San Francisco on the train next fall - what an awesome way to experience the country!

Just another step on slowing down my life a bit. If you haven't done it, try it. Train travel is an excellent way to become intimate with the country and with your self. And the food isn't bad, either!

I remember.

2011-09-11T00:01:00.000-04:00

I remember 9/11/2001. It was a week after our neighbor died in a tractor accident. It was the day that I took my twin daughters for their first day of pre-school. I remember sitting down at the computer and looking at the aol screen in disbelief wondering how in the heck two planes managed to hit the twin towers. And then it became clear.

And nothing has been the same.

I remember standing in between my kids' (all five of them) beds and feeling such a finality of life. It was as if I had given up on my hopes and dreams for the future. I remember that my oldest son asked about going to church. He had just started high school at the time and we hadn't been attending church for a while. I remember feeling totally and utterly helpless.

I remember - and still hear - all the country songs that were spawned by the events of 9/11 and how so many artists protested because they felt these songs made American look like hicks. I don't agree with that at all.

I do feel that generalizing categories of people is harmful. But it is kind of like protecting my family: I'm not taking any chances. In an ideal world, we would all play nice and we would all get along. I would be the very first to sign up for a world like that. I think it is the kind of world that was meant to be. But realistically, that is not the kind of world in which we live. I will protect my family from anyone. No matter their background, race, hairstyle, football team orientation.......I will protect my family from anyone.

9/11 (after time has passed and I've been able to reflect) has not been a benchmark as to when I decided to fear. Rather it has benchmarked the time at which I've decide who/what/where is important to me. I have decided not to worry about the little stuff and to try a little harder to fix the bigger things for which I have some control.

Although I always have, I've taken a more active role in matters regarding my country, my state, my county, and my school district. I appreciate a little - actually a LOT more - the little things in life.

I think that anything less would be a great disservice to those who have given so much.

And they're off.

2011-09-06T08:04:00.000-04:00

The first day of school: first day of high school for my daughters and first day of junior high school for my son. The summer flew by and that our family calendar that hangs on the door had fallen open to the month of June with the last day of school marked in big letters simply confirms that fact.

The kids were excited to see old friends, to show off new clothes, to experience new classes even though Jordan and Ikey had actually started the school year in August with band and soccer. And despite the fact that Haley really had her heart set on going to a prep school this year, she seemed to be excited as well.

How can it be that they are so eager for time to pass and I only wish that time would stand still? They are racing to accomplish, to do, to go on and I would give anything just to be able to hold back and savor these minutes for a little while.

So on their first day back to school, they will spend the day nervously looking for classrooms and catching up with their old friends. And on their first day at school, I will stay home, can tomatoes, remember my babies, shed a few tears, and think about all for which I have to be thankful.

Happy School Day. Take your time, kids. Enjoy.

Small town.

2011-09-02T23:45:00.001-04:00

We won. It has been a great week in our small town. From 8 days of Grange Fair to tonight's win over a rivaled football team, it has been all good in Penns Valley.

A week of enjoying all sorts of fair fare - the footlong chili cheese dog and pulled pork sandwich and chocolate-dipped cheesecake will keep us til next year's fair.

The kids' first real parade - heavy band uniforms on a sunny day are tradition. Lots of red faces and sweet tea after marching through the campground.

PV's newest percussionist - trying to build up his muscles so that he is able to carry the cymbals (and eventually the bass drum) with ease.

Sprucetown's ark complete with Pastor Jeff as Noah

5 years.

2011-08-24T19:30:00.001-04:00

I know it is just an organization. I know that 'it' could replace me in a second. But I am proud to work and represent Penn State. I've found my niche helping adult students find their place in a world that previously, has been the stomping grounds only of those who recently graduated high school. Penn State certainly has its faults: it is extremely expensive, there is an issue with drinking, its not a good fit for many people. But I love Penn State. I love Penn State enigmas like JoePa, the Nittany Shine, the Blue Band. It is not only that -- I love my co-workers.

I have by sheer, dumb luck, plopped myself into the best possible work environment for myself.

Shaken.

2011-08-23T21:05:00.000-04:00

Literally. Figuratively.

Today I experienced my first-ever earthquake. On the third floor of the office building on which I worked. In central Pennsylvania.

I was out of there in 15 seconds - my body worked automatically: grabbed my phone, grabbed my bag, and ran down the stairs outside.

The rest of the office building residents convened out in the parking lot because we weren't really sure what had happened. There were people laughing and wondering why we were all outside. There were many, many people on their cellphones trying to figure out what exactly was going on. I seemed to be the only person on the verge of a complete and total breakdown. The earth was NOT supposed to move at work - not in MY world!!!

So I ditched everyone. I was terrified. I could not bring myself to walk back up the stairs to the third floor. I went home and don't even remember the drive. I needed to get home and see for my self that my kids and animals were all fine. Which they were. The kids were hanging out in the living room. The goat kids and horses and chickens and bull and Dolly Llama were grazing as if nothing had happened. I got my normal back which is what I needed to do.

I realize what a sheltered life I live. In central Pennsylvania, we don't usually have to worry about hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes......and I like it that way. But today's experience has certainly given me a different type of perspective. I've experienced not-quite-a-hiccup of the earth. And was terrified. How must the people in Haiti or Japan or Richmond have felt?

I am thankful for my peaceful life.

Tough Sell.

2011-08-21T21:39:00.000-04:00

Usually my Sunday afternoons are pretty eventless - usually spent doing easy chores or baking or sewing or napping. I like quiet Sundays because that is my time to think - most often about the morning's sermon.

Today as friends came over to admire my goats, I started thinking about church and people and why some people don't go to church and why I've come to love my church so much. This morning one of the challenges put out by Pastor Jeff is to reach out to others in the community. Which in theory, I am all for - but in reality, am scared to death to approach someone and ask them to come to church.

Some time ago, my fear stemmed from being extremely nervous around strangers, fear of being judged, of being labeled as even weirder than my neighbors already believe that I am. More recently, I would have to say that my fear is more of trying to explain to someone why he or she should come to church.

How do I put into words everything our little church is . . . beyond the reasons of worship which should be enough but often isn't to someone new. It is a tough sell. How do I tell my neighbors about our church family - and how it is not simply family like --but a true family? A place that we all come together for a common belief? A place where we share our joys and sorrows? A place where it is never out of place to ask a question? How do I explain in 5 minutes or less the importance of these people in my heart?

I know it is hard walking into a new place especially an established church. I know that as nice as everyone is, you certainly feel like an outsider - even after many, many years. And if you are a person who lacks a whole lot of social skills, it may take years to feel comfortable.

There are many times that I get to church a bit early and just watch and listen to people around me. And I wonder how it could possibly be that our church is so incredibly fortunate to have the cast of characters that we have. Do all churches have a Barb who gives selflessly of her time for the kids of the church? Barb must spend hours planning various Sunday programs for the kids, for putting together a Sunday school lesson each week that although the kids may not seem to be listening, will remember years and years from now. And a Denny who is always at the church doing anything that needs to be done and who always has a coffee pot on for Sunday morning.

How about a Claude or a Nan who always have smiles for anyone they see? Or a Nancy or a Betty or She-Gene or He-Gene? My Sunday mornings are always brighter when they are there. The best Sundays are when everyone is there. And then there is our Pastor who somehow makes every sermon relevant to my life and to everyone elses. It is amazing how sermons serve as life lessons when you are nearly 50.

Sitting in my pew with the windows wide open, the band the soft hum of the ceiling fan, I listen to the sounds of the church and wonder in how many churches do you hear a dog barking and yipping, a baby laughing, a rooster crowing, and the elders of the church being reprimanded because they are giggly as schoolgirls. I really hope that there are more churches than not who are able to enjoy the sites, sounds, and scents of our country church.

I can't imagine how anyone would not want to be a part of this. But yet how can you explain it? I don't think I can explain it - it can only be experienced. And I think that if everyone knew, there wouldn't be an empty seat in the place.

God smiles down on Sprucetown United Methodist Church.

Goats who stare at . . .

2011-08-20T16:55:00.000-04:00

Hansel, our fence tester;

Today was a great day at One Old Goat farm. So far I've been averaging a quart of goat milk a day - while milking once a day. The fence is up. Everyone has been de-wormed.
It has just been a beautiful day!

Chestnut, the world's fattest rooster, investigating the goat house;

seriously, does this picture make my butt look big?;

Jord, so happy to have goats again at One Old Goat Farm;

Leslie, pondering the new fence;

love in the air - Dolly Llama and Snowball - nose-to-nose;

and finally, unnamed barn kitty!

Shy.

2011-08-17T07:13:00.000-04:00

They still are a little unsure of me. I've been waiting for over a year to hear the music of goats in my backyard. These three are rather quiet. I'm sure that once their fence is complete and they are free to roam on their own, they will be a little more vocal.
In the meantime, I'm just wallowing in their goatiness.

Who couldn't love a face like this? There is a gentleness in farm animals. It is very calming to spend time with them early in the morning long before other humans are awake. Goats are always happy to see you - well, so are the horses and the chickens. Dolly Llama usually is not happy to see anyone but me--and even her love for me is questionable.

The goats are still wondering whether I am friend or foe but I am pretty sure that with enough carrots and apples, I can win them over.

Road trip.

2011-08-14T20:09:00.000-04:00

My goat-mobile is ready for the journey;

Today's trip had the potential for disaster. In the spirit of my brother's and my first cross-country goat run, I took a much shorter trip to southern PA to pick up 3 nubian goats. I've learned a thing or two since I last traveled with goats. First, the goats will fall asleep when the vehicle is moving - so it is very important to make any restroom or coffee stops before picking up the goats. Especially if you are travelling alone. Which I was. Second, it is imperative to have a barrier between the goats and the driver. Goats are notoriously pushy and will sit in the front seat if given a chance.

Hansel;

The goats are nestled in for the trip;

Leslie - my co-driver

I am prepared for my goats this time. I've been given some very good advice by experienced goatherders: goats won't jump the fence if they are happy inside the fence, goats are the farm animal version of the dog, goats don't really eat everything. This latter tidbit I knew since I owned 3 of the pickiest goats on the planet at one time. Picky to the point that they pulled out their favorite bits from their hay, turned up their noses at carrots, lettuce, or anything past its prime.

I've missed having goats - there is something so calming about the bleating of a goat. I have visions of goat cheese, goat's milk fudge, goat milk smoothies. And we will have goat baby at the beginning of January.

It feels really good to have goats back at One Old Goat farm.

The start of something great.

2011-08-12T21:17:00.001-04:00

Tonight was the first performance of the 2011-12 Penns Valley Marching Band season and the first performance of all time for two of my kids. There was a lot of build up to tonight's event - if only in the Brown household. Listening to the kids' concerns and speculations of the night brought back so many good memories of my band days: the white bucks (they have black), the careful donning of the uniform for the first time (they have crisp, new uniforms this year), the nervousness in performing in front of so many people -- I can remember being absolutely sure that mine was the only instrument that people could hear, and if (gasp) I screwed up . . . .

My kids' nervousness shows in different ways. My son will tell me straight out that he has butterflies in his belly. My daughter will not let on that she is nervous at all. But I can tell. She gets a little louder, a little gigglier. There was a lot of laughter tonight as the kids waited for the parade to begin. But the instant the drum major gave the command for attention, every musician snapped into place.

I think this is amazing. I've written before about the changes that have occurred recently within our band department. The musical leadership in our school district is amazing. Under their guidance, these kids - many of them new to the program - brought it together with only one practice a week over the summer. They were sharp and sounded great.

If anyone ever questions the value of a teacher, they need to spend some time observing some of these programs of the arts. I'd be willing to bet that if not all, nearly all of these kids will contribute greatness to this world - above what they've already given us tonight. But yet funding for school programs continues to be cut, teachers are given less and less freedom to teach creatively, and everyone suffers.

But for a half hour tonight, pure magic played at Medlar ballpark.

Diversity.

2011-08-11T21:39:00.001-04:00

Do you think he knows he's different?

Do you think they notice?

Does it matter?

49 years.

2011-08-09T00:02:00.001-04:00

Today is my birthday. Happy Birthday to me! I am so incredibly lucky to have lived this long despite my relative ignorance about most things. I was gifted with many things - but common sense is not one of them.

This is what I've had to learn along the way:

That the really best things in my life truly have not been things. They have been the experiences with the people who are in my life. I’ve learned that no matter how old I get, I still need (and want!) my mom and dad. I’ve learned that you never really outgrow sibling rivalry. I’ve learned that you may have to risk being labeled as crazy, odd, and eccentric to be able to fully live out your dreams. And I’ve learned not to care if others think of me as crazy, odd, and eccentric. I’ve learned that suppressing your dreams can have dire consequences.

I've learned that all families are dysfunctional - and the degree of dysfunctionality of each family is relative to that family's perception of the neighbors. But no one is normal.

I’ve learned that time spent with my kids, family and animals is way more important (and enjoyable) than cleaning my house and that no one will die from a messy house. There have been longitudinal studies done (by me) on this topic, and it has been proven to be true.

I’ve learned that you can love your career and give 110% of yourself at work without sacrificing your family.

I’ve learned that my life does not fit into 15 minute increments and that clocks are the work of the devil.

I’ve learned that no matter how grown up I’ve gotten, I still want my big brother to think I’m cool and that no matter how big he gets, I will always look out for my little brother.

I’ve realized that all I’ve ever really needed other than my family, has been faith. And after years and years of searching, I have come to realize that God has been with me all along. Since I was very young, I’ve been looking for the answers to two questions: what is that spirit I’ve always felt with me and who, exactly, is the Holy Ghost as in the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. At bible study, my pastor answered that question and I nearly fell off my chair. It was such a simple question with such a simple answer.

Which brings me to my next realization that if I want to know something, I should just ask. How bizarre that I could have saved myself so much anguish, so much time researching, if I had only swallowed my pride and just asked.

I've learned that success is not measured in money, that babies grow up quicker than you can blink your eye, that good dogs don't last forever. I've learned the importance of letting people know I love them and to tell that cashier, server, anyone, when a job is well done. Or when you appreciate the good service, the eye contact, or the smile. And then return the smile.

I’ve learned that I really, really want another 49 years to re-do everything that I have screwed up, forgotten, ignored over the past 49 years.

I'll try harder to get it right this time.

Word.

2011-07-25T22:28:00.000-04:00

I'm not much for promises. Far too many have been broken.

This one, I believe:

Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world. Amen. Matthew 28:20

The Day the Music Died.

2011-07-14T17:07:00.002-04:00

So that may be overly dramatic. But that is exactly how I feel right now. My daughter and son are coming home from church camp and I have to tell them that they are losing their beloved band director. He has taken a job in a neighboring town. A big gain for him, a big loss for the kids. What's the big deal, you may ask. It is a big deal. From my perspective at least. And from the perspective of many other parents. To me, Penns Valleys' Mr. L is reminiscent of Titusville's marching band director, Mr. A, from way back in the 70's. A true director, a lover of music, a role model for kids.

This is both of my kids' first year in marching band. And I suppose, since we are newbies at the game, it doesn't really matter who leads the band. But Mr. L is legendary. I and my kids, knew of Mr. L early on. He was the guy who always had a smile, always made a kid feel as if s/he had the potential of Louis Armstrong, always made a fledgling feel as if marching band was the place to be when one entered high school. That's what I've heard anyway. From my few interactions, I believe it is true.

And losing Mr. L has brought up some other concerns about the value that is placed on the music department. It is no secret that the arts are often the first areas to be cut. Even before sports. But to paraphrase a line from one of my favorite films, Mr. Holland's Opus, ''if we get rid of the Arts, what will the kids have to write about" or something like that.

I'm sad. And by the volume of emails being sent back and forth, I know that I am not the only parent feeling this way. We felt safe with Mr. L and now, right before the start of the marching band season, we are unsure of what is going to happen. We have some excellent music teachers in our district and I really hope that one of them is given the opportunity (if they so desire) to step into place. But if not, I hope that the district is allowed to hire a qualified person from outside.

We need our band, our directors, our choruses, our sports - they are every bit as important as reading, writing, arithmetic, and world languages. School is not just about being able to perform proficiently on a standardized test. Schools are where we build character, develop new hobbies, test new interests. Marching band has been given a bad rap in many schools, but the Penns Valley marching band has seemed to me a band in which its members have pride.

I hope there is another director out there who can join the ranks of the Mr. Ls and the Mr. As of the schools. Someone who believes in the kids - the ones who enthusiastically jump into a new interest as well as the ones who are a little more reticent about playing an instrument. He or she has some pretty big shoes to fill. But it can be done.

Birthday Boy.

2011-07-06T19:56:00.000-04:00

This is my guy (well, one of them)- Sebastian. It is birthday. He is seven years old and in canine years, he is the same age as me. He is my pal, my running buddy, my protector. I remember when we first met. He is the pup of my brother's yellow Labrador Retriever, Punxatawney Phil. My youngest daughter and I drove to Pleasantville one Saturday morning to pick our pup. My brother offered him to me since he supplied the doggy stud for breeding.

It was love at first sight.

I've always had dogs and have grown up with dogs. My family had a succession of Spring Spaniels, wired-haired terriers, and labs. Regardless, in preparation for my pup's arrival, I read everything I could find on the proper way to raise and train Labrador Retrievers.

For his first year, I carried Sebastian up and down all the stairs to allow his hips to develop strongly. I knew that labs were suseptible to hip dysplasia and I wanted Sebastian to be strong and healthly for a very long time.

The first few nights were spent rubbing Sebastian's back so that he could sleep through the night.......which he did......which I did not. After about 3 sleepless nights, I put Sebastian in his kennel to sleep.

I'm lucky. Sebastian is an intuitive dog - naturally well-mannered. I'm not a good dog trainer. I lack consistency, harshness, and the ability to follow through. I am so fortunate that Sebastian is a laidback soul. If he was a human, he would wear tie-dyed shirts and have peace sign hung on a cord around his neck. He would probably be a vegetarian. He looks as if he should be wearing a beret and smoking dope.

Sebastian's dad was a world class duck dog - well, a county class duck dog. He was really really good and lived to hunt ducks. Sebastian is afraid of ducks. And chickens. Not so sure about rabbits.

Sebastian is my good big dog and would be my favorite running buddy if he didn't stop to pee on every rock on the path. Sebastian is the best, the most tolerant, the gentlest friend I could have.

So Happy 7th Birthday Sebastian, and more to come.

Trouble.

2011-07-05T21:27:00.000-04:00

This is the face of a devil. This dog has nearly burned my kitchen. Has eaten most everything valuable to me. Has climbed up on my piano. Has taken me on many merry chases through the woods. Has filled the house with the rotten stench of dog stinkers.

But I love him.

Welcome Summer!

2011-06-21T18:17:00.000-04:00

So glad to be able to welcome summer in a summery way!
I am so glad that I had this week to welcome Summer with my grandson and with my youngest three kids - this has been a new opportunity for me. It may very well become a tradition. As usual, spending time with a four-year-old takes me to that level. Much fun was had picking sweet green peas, feeding the animals, swimming, singing . . . just being alive. I think that I just may be the luckiest person in the world!

Who could possibly resist this face?

Hello to summer - away from the traffic and the sounds of the world;

Only the sounds of other children enjoying the coolness of the water;

Siblings getting along - gathered in their shared love of their nephew;

and is this face of Uncle Ryan? I believe it is.

Dad.

2011-06-19T20:28:00.000-04:00

I love my dad. Simple as that. It has always been that way although I must admit, my love for my dad has changed a bit over the years. When I was very young, my dad seemed very mystical to me. He was a spirit who came in the night leaving all sorts of gifts for my brothers and me: a beret from Bermuda, a rug from Indonesia. He was a Major in the Air Force and during this time, he flitted in and out of our lives on a breeze.

When I was a teenager ( the nightmare of all teenagers), my dad was a statue. A rock. And I thank God everyday that he didn't smash my head against that rock for all of the stupid, stupid stunts I pulled. My dad, during this time, was dealing with his own challenges and sometimes that caused a rift between us.

When I was a young parent, my dad was. . . well, my dad. And my kids' grandpa. My dad blossomed into this guy who didn't mind having his toenails painted or having make up applied or playing with Barbie dolls. All of my kids have loved him from the moment they met him.

When I was a older parent, my dad was my standard of living. To me, he has been the forest - as strong as an oak tree, as reliable as the sap of a maple. To this day, my dad is all things natural and woodsy and strong. I think my dad has become more mellow through the years. It breaks my heart to hear him tell me that he is sorry that he doesn't talk much. Because that is so wrong. He talks very little but he tells me a lot. He doesn't understand that I get him. I don't talk much either but that doesn't take away from the time we spend together.

My dad. He is, hands-down, the best kind of dad. I see him in my son's chin, my daughter's nose. I see him in the way my oldest son deals with bad news and in the way my oldest daughter deals with good news. I see my dad in the hollyhocks growing along my fence and in the mighty oaks that are thriving behind my house.

I see my dad in everything. And I love him. And I thank God everyday that I have him with me still.

Smiles.

2011-06-18T16:44:00.000-04:00

My grandson with a fist full of peas feeding them to his new friends, Max and scraggly kitty;

this smile makes my heart sing;

and this little wow-wow face. A great day at One Old Goat Farm!

Progress.

2011-06-11T21:43:00.000-04:00

The good news is that the deck is secured, the skidloader has been removed. The sofa is still there which is probably a good thing because it makes it more likely that it will be taken to the transfer station immediately.

Other good news is that Dolly Llama and new horse, Buddy, have become pals as is evidenced by their nuzzling and sharing of secrets.

Buddy enjoyed his stroll through the field this afternoon although his newfound llama llove missed him terribly and stood by the fence looking very forlorn until he returned.

But Dolly llama wasn't the only animal pouting this afternoon. Bunny-chaser Sebastian and Firestarter Casper stared out the window watching Buddy and Haley ride away. Neither Sebastian or Casper felt particularly sad that Buddy left the farm for a bit but they were both quite miffed that they couldn't follow along.

But other than two disgruntled dogs and a lonely llama, things were good here at One Old Goat farm. Nothing fell, nothing broke, nothing burned, no fights, no tears: quite the opposite. Today was full of smiles and laughter and much happiness. The outlook for tomorrow is the same.

Is we redneck? Or is we hick?

2011-06-10T21:23:00.000-04:00

Yes, that is a skidloader holding up our deck. And yes, that is a sofa setting on the deck. And yes, that is a hot tub (someone's project from last summer)partially hidden behind the deck.

Sometimes I really dread the phonecalls I receive at work. This time last year, the call was that our boxer, Casper, had nearly burned down the kitchen. This year, it was that the deck had collapsed. I am a very good spouse because not once did I mention that the old sofa - the one into which that fire-starting dog had dug a hole the size of a bowling ball - was way too heavy to be set on this part of the deck. Not once during the day did I mention how many years I've reminded someone that we really needed to add supports to that portion of the deck. Because I am a very tolerant person. And I won't complain to anyone as long as the deck is fixed by the end of the weekend.

Play nice.

2011-06-03T21:22:00.001-04:00

Play nice. I remember my mom saying this to me and my little brother. Just play nice. My mom is easily one of the nicest people I know. I am sure she would disagree. Seriously though, my mom is the nicest person you could meet and if you don't already know her, you should try to meet her. She is the one who has taught me that is better to be nice, that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Don't get me wrong - she knows how to express an opinion better than anyone I know but still, she is nice to people. And that is something that is sorely lacking in the society I've encountered throughout the years.

I wish the world would listen to my mom. She knows what she is talking about. Or, rather, what she is smiling about. I remember when I was young, we would drive to Erie to visit my aunt. And my mom would wave. To everyone. I don't know why but embarrassing as it was to a teenage, I thought that was a pretty nice thing to do. When we are out, she smiles at everyone. Sometimes a chuckle to go with that smile. Especially at little kids. I love that. Now honestly sometimes, a remark mumbled under her breath makes me laugh even more, but my mom always has a smile for little kids.

So today on campus, at the grocery store, on the road, I got to thinking that there are a whole lot of people who need to spend some time with my mom. The crabbier that people seem to be, the friendlier I become. Which makes me think (since I am so much like my mom) that that is the purpose behind her own friendliness.

This afternoon - in the frame of about a half hour - I think that there may just be a happier bank teller, a happier cashier at the grocery store, and maybe one or two happier people behind the wheel. I was thinking of my mom as I left the office at lunchtime and I decided to share a little of her today.

So I hope you enjoy her. Thanks mom! I love you!!!!

Remembering.

2011-05-30T20:45:00.000-04:00

Yesterday at church, the sermon was about the birth of Memorial Day. It was an excellent sermon (as most of Pastor Jeff's sermons are). It really made me think. Despite having several veterans from several different wars in my immediate family, to me Memorial Day has largely stood for the beginning of summer. Once Memorial Day had passed, school would soon be over and the hot days of summer would begin. I remember putting flowers on the grave sites of relatives and attending Memorial Day services but really, the day has also served as simply the starting point for summer.

For the first year since I moved here, there was no service held at the little cemetery across the road from us. As far as I remember, the local American Legion stopped at most of the little cemeterys in the area to honor the veterans. I really missed that today and I wonder what I can do to ensure that they come back next year. Because even though the event only lasted for five minutes, tops. It was special. And many years, my kids and I were the only people attending and it was a great way for us to remember who we have to thank for our many freedoms.

And we have so many freedoms for which to be thankful. We are so lucky to be able to worship any way we please. We are lucky to be able to own the land on which we reside. We are lucky to be able to express our opinion concerning all things. We have the right to disagree or to agree or to be apathetic. We have the right to all of things because we have had people like our veterans willing to sacrifice their lives to fight for our freedom.

I really do think of all I have. And the choices I have the luxury of making everyday. And I am humbled - not only be those who did make the ultimate sacrifice - but by those who signed up for the job knowing full well that the cost may very likely be their lives. They've done this for me and my family. And they don't even know us.

So thank you to Kristen and all of the soldiers in her unit, thanks to my dad and my uncle, thanks to all of those kids I read about every day in the newspaper who have either left for their duty or who have been injured or died while serving our country.

Happy Birthday!

2011-05-29T20:28:00.001-04:00

Buddy

This past weekend we celebrated 3 birthdays. I can't believe my kids are 28, 24, 14, 14, and 12 (it was the 14 year olds and 12 year old birthdays we celebrated this weekend). One thing I've learned from having a gap of 10 years between kids is to not wish the time away. I can remember when my oldest were young - wishing for the days I would be able to sleep more than 4 hours at a stretch, longing for the time when I didn't have to change diapers, act as a chauffeur, deal with a mountain of laundry every day of the week.

Jordan enjoying her Nookbook

Now. . . I know those days will come. And I'm not looking forward to it. At all. Sure, I'm tired after working all day and then having to run kids here and there. But what will I do when there is no soccer practice or band concerts or 4H meetings? This year was my son's very last elementary school music concert and I could barely control the tears streaming down my face the entire time.

Ikey - just being Ikey;

Sometimes I would rather kick back and read a book than drive the kids one more place. But I know that there will soon be a day that they will be driving themselves. I have nightmares about that day.

There have been times when I haven't listened attentively when one of my children was recounting the details of a dream. And I know that 5 years from now, I would sell my soul to get those types of discussion back.

Haley riding her new horse, Buddy;

I'm lucky. My kids will cuddle with me. They still enjoy 'mom-time' and a trip to get an ice cream cone is still considered a special treat (or at least they let me believe it is). I don't want these days to end. But yet every May 27th and 28th (and October14 and December 27th), we celebrate the progression of another year. It is nothing to celebrate. I need a few more days or months or years to thoroughly and completely enjoy my kids. I want my kids - all of my kids - to stay where they are right now. I don't want my oldest son to move to the opposite side of the country, don't want my daughter and grandson to move six more hours away, don't want my kids to drive. I want things to stay the same. But they can't and they won't. So I will enjoy what is now and not wish for tomorrow. Because tomorrow will come whether I am ready or not. And I am not.

Home - where I want them all to stay.

Sun. Day.

2011-05-22T21:24:00.000-04:00

Two days without rain. One day actually with sun - today was a bit dreary but no rain so who's complaining? Everyone was out today - visiting neighbors, going to church, working in the garden, mowing the lawn......there was no excuse to be stuck in the house.

Even the bunny who apparently is star-struck by all things chicken came over to check out the hens today.

As always he was a little bit timid, hanging out by the woodpile, peering from a comfortably close distance - so close but yet so far.

He eventually got up the nerve to get a little closer. So close, in fact, he was actually in the chicken yard! He sniffed around but when he realized the chickens weren't quite as enamered with him as he with they . . . . . off he hopped!!

Other animals on One Old Goat farm came out to play and to see what the commotion was all about. After all, it has been weeks since that big yellow ball was up in the sky and since wetness has not fallen from the sky.

The season's kittens were checking out the hullabaloo. These kittens are new enough to us that although they are very, very curious, they hiss if a human gets too close.

All of the animals seemed to be kicking out the cobwebs of winter. All of the farm - animals and humans both - have been suffering from an unusually bad case of cabin fever.

It was so nice to get outside, to smell the trees and the flowers, to listen to the horses whinny, the cow moos, the chickens cluck, and Dolly Llama....well, whatever it is Dolly Llama does.

Lunchbox is very happy that his pen is finally drying up;

At One Old Goat Farm, improvision and creativity are a necessity;

And even though most of the day was spent inside, even Fat Max agreed to go inside if it meant a snack;

And so did Sebastian,

And also Casper, the boxer, who is recuperating from a nasty ear infection.

Uncertainty.

2011-05-20T18:39:00.001-04:00

A group of people where I work will lose their jobs on Monday. Until now, these things only happened in other places. A major University has always been safe. I thought. As I sit at my desk, I listen to the conversations around me. It makes me sad. I’m listening to people say goodbye to the lives that they’ve had for years.

I can’t blame the organization – things are what they are. As we change technology, technology changes the way we live. As a result, the needs of a business may change to the point that people are no longer needed.

But isn’t it an oxymoron to use technology to provide the personal touch? To be a personal touch, shouldn’t a person be the thing doing the touching?

As someone who tends to hide from the rest of the world on a regular basis, technology has been a way for me to step out of my self-imposed isolation and to communicate with others within my comfort zone. And part of my attraction to using technology in communication is that for the most part, I don’t need to see another human face. I can get my point across much more effectively by the written word than by spoken word. Behind a computer screen, I can be anyone.

But a good portion of the rest of the world is not like me, thank goodness. And although I can certainly understand the reasoning of an organization for closing a department and ending jobs when there is no demand, it still hurts. I wish my co-workers the very best. And Godspeed in securing another position.

Rain Dance.

2011-05-18T21:21:00.001-04:00

We told him NOT to do it! We told him to STOP!

But he kept on,

Dancing and dancing and dancing his little boy rain dance,

He was a whirling dervish,

And with his mission accomplished, his job was done and he went home.

Thank you, little boy, for the rain!!!!

Goodbye.

2011-05-11T21:21:00.000-04:00

The world's best dog died today. My pal Bear. My most favorite running buddy. He was a great dog - the kind of dog who only comes along once in a lifetime.

I have some really great dogs now but Bear was something different. From day one, it was clear he was special. He was the best combination of retriever and Chow chow. He had the disposition of a lab and the black tongue of a Chowchow. He never missed an opportunity to grab a snack or a belly rub. He tried desparately to run with me every chance he got. Leaving the house for a run with another dog was the worst kind of betrayal.

Bear loved most everyone but he hated other dogs venturing into his yard. He was incredibly gentle but I just knew that he would lay down his life for me. I remember one of our runs where he bolted after a groundhog - clearly protecting me. The groundhog never had a chance.

I'll miss Bear terribly. And he leaves behind some other very, very good dogs.

I love you Bear.

Penn State: Not just blue and white!

2011-04-28T22:31:00.000-04:00

Today was a beautiful day for a noontime run and although the sky over Penn State was indeed blue and white, the University boasted a veritable rainbow of colors.

Yellow forsythia;

Not necessarily colorful but I thought it interesting that birds had built a nest in the wheelwell of this SUV parked in the Penn Stater parking lot;

The myriad of color in this planter in front of the Technology Center nearly took my breath away;

Trees in bloom near the farmhouse;

Apple blossoms in the cow pastures;

One of my favorite plants from my childhood, Creeping Myrtle - also called the Flower of Death or vinca minor. I remember this growing on the banks of the front driveway - the beautiful scent is unmistakable;

The happy face of a pansy planted behind the Penn Stater Conference Center;

Another glimpse of the cheery Viola tricolor hortensis;

Can't think of the name of this flower also growing behind the conference center but it made a nice companion with the Pansy;

Springtime even makes a weed struggling to survive in the seal of a manhole look festive!

Kids these days

2011-04-27T21:26:00.001-04:00

I had the opportunity last night to attend the Annual High School Jazz Festival. Nothing brings me to tears like experiencing the passion someone has for something s/he does.

Last night I had the opportunity to hear passion in the form of music. Listening to the music through the ears of a parent, I heard perfection. It never ceases to astound me that these kids can produce such music.

I know many of the musicians in the band and I know that their abilities run the gamut and it is amazing to me that these kids who, bobbing their heads deep in concentration so to be able to jump into the tune at just the right time, are the same kids that 6 or 7 years ago I watched at soccer practice trying to figure out just which way to kick the ball.

Their talents are endless! They are well-rounded in such a way that I would never have considered when I was their age. It is true that a good number of the Penns Valley Jazz band know how to wrangle a calf and have done it and received awards for doing so. I’ve witnessed the shooting prowess of at least one trumpeter and saxophone player at a recent shooting competition. I know that a certain member (someone very near and dear to me) recently received the eighth grade award for excellence in math. One of the kids in the band is someone to whom I’ve listened since he was about kneehigh and played his guitar and sang for the residents of a local nursing facility. I’ve seen these kids on the soccer field, at elementary school concerts, at Boy Scouts, in Church, all over the place. These kids seem to excel at everything they do and they want to do so much! I know there is a lot to be said about letting kids have time to be kids. And I think I’ve been successful at that with my own kids. But I also know that they are building some very strong skills that they will use for the rest of their lives.

Music will help them deal with stress, show leadership, demonstrate initiative but most importantly, music will give them a path – has given them the path – to touch other humans at a level that other modes of communication cannot possibly replicate. They’ve crossed that safe line and made the choice to not simply enjoy music passively. They are grabbing life and with these skills, will change the world. If this is what the world is coming to, I hope to remain a part of it for a very long time.

GoodWill.

2011-04-19T20:24:00.000-04:00

I've got to put a plug in for the place to shop. Seriously.

Goodwill - the ultimate consignment shop! It benefits you and me and a whole slew of other people who, otherwise, would not have a chance at learning necessary skills for employment. It is the only place to go for those fashion-unconscious types like me! From a consumer approach, it just makes sense. I am so not a trendy dresser - give me the 70s and 80s styles - and you can certainly find it at any Goodwill. Retro prom dresses? Goodwill has them! Clothes for work! Go to Goodwill!

I'm cheap. I'll admit it. So Goodwill works for me when clothes have worn out or I need something special for church. Even my 13 year old twin daughters and many of their friends look forward to our treks to Goodwill. My one daughter almost completely refuses to purchase new clothing because she sees the value of recycling the material things we use. Even my mother who is shopping's grand dame has seen the light of Goodwill! Just tonight she was talking about the beautiful blazer she found at her local Goodwill.

From the perspective a former VR counselor, I see value in the employment arena that Goodwill has to offer. Goodwill is wellknown for giving people with different disabilities the opportunity to learn basic work skills such as stocking, operating the cash register, and general customer service. Goodwill gives people the chance that many business do not.

The phenomenon known as Goodwill is catching on! BonTon department stores in northwestern PA have given out coupons to use when donating clothing or other goods to Goodwill. I have never gone to our local Goodwill when there has not been a line at the checkout.

I am totally against materialistic society but I say if you are hellbent on spending all of your hard-earned cash on stuff you don't really need, do it at Goodwill where you (and many other humans) get the biggest bang for your buck!

Mud and wind

2011-04-17T15:25:00.001-04:00

Spring is here. It is apparent by the amount of mud and wind we have. One would think that with the wind that blows through here every day, the mud would dry up. Not so. Because along with all of the wind, we have had a ton of rain. Every day. Every single day. I'm sure that at some point during the summer (when I am complaining about the heat and humidity), I will think back fondly on all of this rain. But now? Not so much.

The first of the asparagus

My hops that I planted last spring

Of course without the rain, I wouldn't be able to experience the excitement of the first glimpse of asparagus poking up through the ground.

Or my hops energetically reaching for the sky. Or the beautiful forsythia that I believe has been on the property forever. Or at least more than 15 years. Or my tulips on the verge of blooming.

But seriously, the wind? What does it contribute? But to dry my clothes and initiate the proliferation of seeds around and knock the gutters off the house. I am so thankful though, to only have to complain about the minor inconvenience of the wind that blows winter into the valley in October and back out again in April.

God bless all of those who are experiencing the after effects of the recent storms in South and Southeast.

Rope.

2011-04-12T22:05:00.000-04:00

Sometimes we need a rope thrown to us when we need to pull ourselves out of a hole. My preferred rope is a silk rope with loop holes making it a bit easier to hang on to. Sometimes the rope can do double duty and be used to hang ourselves. But I am only speaking metaphorically. Perhaps.

My rope - these days - is made out of warm soil and tomato seedlings. It is made out of chocolate chip cookies and homemade patchouli soap and even homemade crackers. My rope is made out of friends - many of whom I've never met - who are there to comfort or for comfort; to bounce ideas off or to make laugh or make me laugh.

Being a mother is the toughest job there is. I know that there are lots of rewards in being a mother - but the rewards are not the things that hurt, break my heart, or make me cry right now. It doesn't matter if your daughter is 2 or 12 or 13! or 28 - she still has the ability to say just the thing to crush you. And I would be willing to bet that there is at least one person reading this who says that raising 48 year old daughters can be just as brutal.

So for today I am grabbing ropes in any form that I can. And hoping that tomorrow I can tie this rope up into a pretty bow and forget about today.

Fresh.

2011-04-10T20:53:00.000-04:00

I am hoping that this is the bee balm poking up through the dirt;

Today, life is grand. It didn't snow today - didn't rain either. Nothing fell from the sky. I spent the day in the throes of garden preparation. There is so much to do and so little time - especially for someone like me who is inattentive and incredibly prone to being sidetracked by trivial things. Such as figuring out how to start my son's 4-wheeler which I don't need, have never really needed, to ride.

Potatoes nestled in a nice mixture of seasoned straw and horse manure;

Peas planted;

I have so many hopes and dreams for my garden this year. For the fourth (or is it the fifth) year running, I will try to grow an overabundance of potatoes. So many that I can possibly sell them - definitely enough to get us through the winter. I want a bumper crop of tomatoes - all the colorful, tasteful heirloom varieties that I love to grow. I want peppers - lots and lots of green and red peppers to make my hot pepper tomato sauce that no one but me loves. But fortunately I love hot pepper tomato sauce enough to make up for that.

I want peas - so many peas that my kids' fingers turn green from snapping them. Or is it beans they snap? Whatever, I want enough to be able to can so many jars that they last us throughout winter.

the soft, loamy earth;

The visit from spring today was just what I needed. I think it is what a lot of people needed. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be a bit sore and stiff tomorrow when I wake up but it will be that kind of stiffness that comes from a full days work.

a quick dash inside to nuzzle the most beautiful little dog in the world because the most beautiful big dog in the world was spending the afternoon outside with me;

Dolly Llama - a little miffed at all the attention the other animals receive; and

This year when my grandson comes to visit, we will grow a 3-sisters garden: corn, beans, and squash - the perfect mesh of inter-reliance. The corn shades the squash and provides a climbing area for the beans, the beans climbs through the squash and up the corn and provides nutrients, the squash shades the soil and keeps in cool and moist.

It is easy to dream in the spring when everything is new and fresh. Happy, happy Spring!

One of the hens who are currently giving me nearly 2 dozen eggs a day.

Girls n' Guns

2011-04-09T22:03:00.003-04:00

This weekend marked the state competition in BB gun shooting. I am amazingly proud of my two kids who were part of the competition that encompassed an activity that although protected by the Bill of Rights, is largely shunned by a population of a different mindset.

Sure. Guns are scary. When people use guns for the wrong reasons or use them incorrectly they are tools that can be used for very deadly purposes. Kind of like the alcohol we are forbidden to drink until we are the legal age of 21. Equally deadly but controlled until a certain age. And no classes or clubs that teach the responsible use of alcohol.

And then there are the two ton (more or less) weapons of mass destruction that nearly anyone can receive a license to use on their 16th birthday. . . cars.

My kids know how to use guns. They've learned from their father, from the coach at their BB Gun competitions (trust me, they've done more paperwork for this BB gun season that I had in some of my graduate courses), and through absorption from the culture of their lives. Like cars, catapults (which they've made for science projects), bicycles, skateboards, etc, etc, etc, guns can be deadly. You will never see one of my kids grab a gun by its barrel or point a gun irresponsibly. They know better. They know a gun is not something to be played with.

And the success! I can't ignore their successes in their mastery of the sport. My daughter seems to be a bit more passionate about shooting than my son. At least for now. For my daughter, it has been 7 months of practice and studying to be at the same starting level as others in the club. She and her brother practice shooting most every day. In the hallway outside their bedroom (the setup and the use of special indoor targets makes this area a safe and appropriate practice zone). One of the interesting side effects of spending so much time with the sport is that when they choose to play video games, they have no interest in any gun related games. Having been a part of the bb gun team, they understand the very real consequences of the misuse of guns whether unintentional or intentional.

I'm always proud of all of my kids. But this weekend I was especially proud of my gun-toting, redneck daughter and son. And proud to be a redneck myself.

Having it all.

2011-04-07T20:21:00.000-04:00

I suppose I should be devastated but I am not. I feel surprisingly free. Losing everything is amazingly freeing. Liberating. I suspect that I will continue to feel this way-even after the shock has worn off.

I've always thought - from back when I truly did have an excess of money - that money was a surefire way to happiness. Since then, I learned that the opposite is true. For me.

I know that for some folks, money is really important. Some people really find joy in new clothes, nicely decorated homes, big cars, and all of that. That is fine and there is nothing wrong with that. It is just our differences as humans. Some of us funny humans find surviving without money to be a challenge. With a goal to conquer.

For me, total self-sufficiency is a blessing and for what I strive. I have my family, I have my animals, and I have my home. And I would die to save any of them. I said I've lost everything and that is so not true. I've only lost money. But there will be money again, I am sure. A pity, I guess. I think that I could pull off the total self-sufficiency thing. From my eggs (not mine, the chickens'),my garden, potential profits from my cheese and soapmaking - I think I could feed my family and bring in enough money for taxes.

In two years, if we have no more setbacks and quite frankly, I don't think we could stand many more winters such as this, we should have everything paid off. Totally debt-free. Obligations to no one. And then, the next goal is to be off-grid. Invisible to all. Although at that point, the concern is whether or not I am perceived as that crazy old lady without any electricity. And all the cats. And dogs. And goats. And horses. And the llama.

Sometimes catastrophe is not a bad thing - it is just the impetus that pushes us to the things we've always wanted but maybe were too afraid to pursue. This is the case for me.

Shenanigans in Sprucetown

2011-04-03T21:36:00.000-04:00

I've long suspected that there are carryings-on at Sprucetown once everyone has left the Church.

Pictures prove it:

Caught in action;

But trying to get away!

The proposal;

She accepts!

And off they hop, happily ever after!

Spring again at One Old Goat farm

2011-04-03T21:11:00.002-04:00

The chickens spent the day digging through the straw,

There was a lot of activity at One Old Goat Farm. Humans and animals alike were thoroughly enjoying the warmer weather and the sunshine.

Snowball and his master spent some quality time together,

BFFs Dolly Llama and Clover shared secrets,

Big Red Rooster shouted to the world "Spring is here",

and then promptly stalked off to find a worm,

Sebastien strolled the grounds looking for anything new that may have popped up since last year,

Not every creature on One Old Goat farm was feeling the love today,

Ugly chicken is actually quite beautiful. In her ugliness.

It was a day well spent cleaning, scratching, raking, and

resting.

Shenanigans at Sprucetown Church

2011-03-26T21:41:00.001-04:00

Caught in action!

I've long suspected that there are carryings-on at Sprucetown once everyone has left the Church. Pictures prove it:

But trying to get away!

The proposal!

She accepts!

And off they go, hoppily ever after!!!

No Goat

2011-03-05T19:30:00.000-05:00

One Old Goat farm shall remain goatless.

Spring Thaw

2011-02-18T22:51:00.000-05:00

Spring thaw. I wish. But it was a great day to remind myself that Spring is only a month away.

The chickens were happy not to have to stand one-footed in the snow and ice.

Snowball is absolutely filthy after rolling in the mud.

The three dogs running up the hill smelling all the smells that have been hidden under snow for months!

Tipper will be much happier when the snow is completely gone.

The creek is twice its normal size from the melting snow.

Old

2011-02-15T19:07:00.000-05:00

Old is a very subjective word. When I was 10, anyone in high school was old. When I was in high school, anyone over 20 was old. Back then, old was something we looked forward to, that we strived to be. Old enough to drive, old enough to vote, old enough to drink. Somewhere along the line I’ve noticed that the theme has gone from old enough to too old. Old, all of a sudden, has become an excuse. An excuse to not dance, an excuse to not run, an excuse to not sing, not skip, not jump, not this, not that. No wonder ‘getting old’ is thought of as something to be avoided.

But seriously, we are all getting old-er. Is getting older at the age of 60 any different than getting older at the age of 6? I’m not in extraordinarily good shape. But I try to use my body in the manner in which it was meant to be used. I lift things, I walk wherever I can walk, I run for exercise, I rest when I’m tired, I do the things I need to do. Not for any heroic reasons, but because I have to. Being old doesn’t cut it with the horses or Dolly Llama or the cow or the dogs. I can’t holler out to the animals to get their own darn food because I’m too old.

I do know that I am lucky to have made to nearly the half-point of my life relatively unscathed. And yes, I totally plan on living at least until I am 98. And that is a young estimate. I will accept the normal, real aging of my body – but I sure hope that karma bites me on the foot if I ever, ever needlessly use old as an excuse not to do something simply because I don’t feel like doing it.

Gone

2011-02-13T19:35:00.001-05:00

I know as a parent, I've made too many mistakes to possibly count. And many of which I would be ashamed to list. I think all parents make mistakes: we care too much, we care too little about the wrong things, we jump in when we should have stood back and then stood back when maybe we should have jumped in. I'm sure that at one time or another, we've all been ashamed of our families or ashamed of where we've come from. I believe that is part of growing up.

I know-looking back-that when I was a very young, single mother, I focused on the wrong things. I was selfish. I desperately wanted to finish college so that my own parents would be proud of me. So that I would be a good role model to my son and daughter. There was a time when certain choices most likely would have taken me in an entirely different direction. Perhaps, had I made a different choice, I would have a beautiful home, a new car, nice clothes: the kind of life a child would be proud to show off to friends. Instead, I didn't choose the college-educated husband, the guy who was a scientist. I chose a person who I felt was truly good. A kindred spirit. A little rough around the edges, but a good, good person.

I guess you don't only lose people in death. You lose people by choice as well. Sometimes people decide that for whatever reason, you just don't fit into their lives any more. And it hurts just the same.

My view of the world

2011-02-11T20:38:00.000-05:00

How many times have I made snap judgments of a person and then found myself totally wrong. I tend to do that –and am absolutely horrified that I do this. It is one of the many areas in which I most want to improve. I wonder how many people I have unknowingly hurt just because of this nasty, nasty habit. How many times have I decided in a second that I don’t like someone because they failed to make eye contact, because they didn’t smile, or because of some other transgression.

I think of myself and how I am likely to be seen by others. On a day filled with meetings and I am dressed to impress, someone may look at me and see me for the professional that I am. At home, someone may see me lugging buckets of feed and water wearing my dirty old coveralls and see me for the Lola Granola that I am. Outside, someone may see me in my running shoes running through woods and see me for the runner that I am. Or maybe they see me in old jeans, an old T-shirt, hair in a ponytail and see me as the slob that I am. That we all are. We all are many different things. And it is all alright.

Snap judgments are spirit killers. I do it all the time. I’m sure people drive by my house and see only the stuff in the backyard: old lawnmowers, tires for planting potatoes, firewood strewn about all over. It is easy to take one look and chalk me up as someone who doesn’t care instead of someone – no doubt organizationally challenged--who has so many other passions in life, that straightening up the backyard is low on my list of priorities and the state of my yard belies the other areas of life in which I donate my time and energy for the good of others.

Hastily judging other on only one facet is a mistake that I make time and time again. Looking at one’s outward appearance and assuming I know their whole story is a bad habit that I have consciously been trying to break. It hurts when it happens to me and I am abhorred that I do the very same thing to someone else.

Over the past several years, I’ve consciously tried to reserve judgment on people. Short, tall, heavy, thin, neat, messy – we all have something to give. Share a cup of tea with me and I’ll bring you a loaf of the best bread you’ve ever eaten. After all, we are all just humans trying to make sense of our time here.

One Old Goat's new goat

2011-02-06T20:06:00.000-05:00

Meet Cedric. Nigerian Dwarf. Purchased locally. Hopefully he will be joined by a Toggenberg/Nigerian Dwarf Doe.

A farm named One Old Goat Farm needs a goat. Really.

The hardest thing.

2011-02-03T20:50:00.000-05:00

The worst feeling of all is not a divorce, not a broken heart, not a broken limb. It is watching your children hurt and not being able to help them. At all.

My oldest two kids' grandfather is dying of congestive heart failure. He is the dad of my first husband and one of the kindest, gentlest souls I've known. My daughter is simply broken-hearted and there is nothing I can do about it. There is nothing I can say. No 'it will be okay' because it won't. No 'please don't cry, please don't worry' because there is every reason to cry and to worry. She is 150 miles away in the snowbelt and I can't hug her. I can't assure her that her grandfather is not scared and not hurting...... because I've not experienced death, I just don't know. My son is hurting, I know - but he's not made of the same material from which his sister is made. He is like his dad - and no one will ever know how much he hurts. And I'm not so sure how Ryan would take a hug from his mom right now.

Life sucks sometimes. Death sucks even worse. Maybe if I hadn't shielded them all from every little thing when they were little. Maybe if I had taken them to funerals. But really, does death ever get any easier? I know it is a part of life - just like birth is a part of life. I had the benefit of growing up and spending time near a funeral home. Visiting my grandmother when I was a kid and who lived right across the street from the funeral home that my grandfather founded, I spent a lot of time playing around death. Probably way more than my parents know. I'm comfortable with the thought of death. But I don't like the part of losing people I love even for a while.

For many years I avoided being in contact with old people. I was so afraid of losing them. I remember distinctly trying not to befriend someone from my first church because I afraid they were going to die and I just couldn't handle it. This was years and years ago. Since then, I've lost several people very close to me - my own grandfather, my aunt, and a couple of uncles. Crazy as it sounds, they are still with me. Well, my aunt is with me - I haven't seen my grandfather or either my uncles for quite a while.

I know there is more after we leave this world. This is more than just wishful thinking. All of my struggles with my faith have brought me here. But my daughter is struggling to figure out where she is spiritually and I'm not so sure of where my son stands at all. I wish there was something that I could say that would ease the pain a bit. I know their grandfather is not going to be in this world much longer and that it is going to hurt like nothing they can imagine. I know that they are thinking 'what/who is next?'. Their lives are going to change in ways they just can't fathom. But grandpa will be with them. I know this.

You've had a good run, Don. Now you just get to hang with the turkeys. And with Max. And with Tasha. The dogs of Heaven will rejoice.

Frozen.

2011-02-02T21:01:00.000-05:00

A look from afar at the beginning of Seven Mountains

One Old Goat Farm is frozen solid. We woke up this morning to a frosty glaze over our portion of the world. Although the wind picked up later in the day, the sun came out and really made the ice sparkle. Here are just some pictures from my neck of the woods.

Nature's icy ornaments

Some chickens who were just too chicken to venture outside.

Dolly Llama says, cold? What cold?

Clover doesn't care as long as she has some hay to munch.

Some of the chickens brave enough to have a picnic.

My icy car that I was very happy not to have needed to drive.

Signs

2011-01-31T21:47:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite poems I found in Runner’s World about 15 years ago:

"There are clubs you can't belong to, neighborhoods you can't live in, schools you can't get into, but the roads are always open." - Nike

In my runs around my home and around my work, I find that is not necessarily always the case. I very rarely run in town or in heavily populated places. I run in the most desolate, least traveled places I can find with my favorite runs being along the creeks and in the woods near my home. Lately I’ve begun to notice all of the many, many signs: Keep out, No Trespassing, Posted, No Parking . . . . signs for everything. Many of these signs are in the middle of nowhere. I’m sure there are good reasons for them. And to be quite honest, I’m not so sure that there aren’t signs posted at the edge of ‘my’ property.

But how can we keep the beauty of a forest to ourselves? How can we keep people out? It just seems wrong to me. I don't think this is what the Creator had in mind. We don’t own this land – there is no way that we can! The forests from which we try to repel people have been here long before we bought it and will be here long after we pass on. We only have this earth on lease.

Honestly it is heartbreaking to see a breathtaking span of snow-spattered pines marred with a garish orange sign screaming Keep Out! And why? There have always been people who have ignored the law, who have no regard for the preservation of beauty, and really, those signs mean nothing to them. I can’t imagine that someone who would break the law and hunt out of season or destroy property would be deterred by signs.

I am sure there are legal reasons to post signs. And some signs are not as offensive as others. But is it any wonder that society has grown more and more isolated and disconnected from each other? When we blindly scream to unseen intruders to Stay Out – what opportunities do we miss to share the beauty of nature? Our greed in keeping it all to ourselves is deplorable. What good is beauty if it can’t be shared?

I say that instead of warning people to Keep Out, Stay Away, No Trespassing, that we instead proclaim to Welcome, Come In, and Share the beauty of this land that is only ours for such a short while.

One more day

2011-01-30T15:56:00.000-05:00

I love to take my long runs on Sundays right after church. This gives me time to ponder over the morning's sermon. As a kid, in our fire and brimstone Baptist church and later, in our very nice Methodist church, I remember next to nothing about the sermons. In our Baptist church, I was scared to death by our minister who, in the pulpit, seemed to do nothing but scream and point at me. In the Methodist church of my youth, the only part of the church I remembered was the beautiful stained glass window of Christ kneeling at a rock in the Garden of Eden. I remember watching all of the 40ish men dozing off - wondering if my dad would snore.

Things have changed these days. I listen to our pastor. And today's sermon was about being blessed (Matthew 5) and whether we've earned another day. That got me thinking. I believe that I am a decent human. I try to be nice. I try to be helpful. I volunteer for many, many good causes. But do I really deserve another day? I guess that depends on who you ask.

I'm guessing that my animals hope I wake for tomorrow since I feed them and all. The two dogs who are mine would most definitely miss me if I wasn't around tomorrow. But do I deserve tomorrow? I'm not so sure about that.

What have I done today? I showed up at church, I ran for an hour and a half, I made pepperoni bread, I talked to my daughter, I played the piano. Does this get me a free pass for another day? Hmmmmmm. What about what I didn't do today. . . .

I didn't swear at the dogs too much. I didn't intentionally hurt someone. I didn't lie, cheat, or steal. I didn't kill anyone or anything. I didn't yell at the kids. Yet.

I'm thinking that I don't like that question all that much: Do I deserve one more day. Because I'm not so sure that I do. There wasn't anything momentous that happened today. Someone else's life hasn't been changed because of something I've done. How do we/I earn our/my keep?

Maybe tomorrow I will have the opportunity to do one or more things that will qualify me for somemore time here on earth. Maybe the opporunities will present themselves that I can do so many good things that they can be put into a sort of 'good deed' bank to use on days like today where I am at the status quo.

I'm hoping that I do get at least one more tomorrow.

Family Dinner

2011-01-25T21:26:00.000-05:00

One of my many childhood memories that I've made a conscious effort in my own family to continue was our family dinner. I don't remember ever not having a dinner together as family. It was a way to stay connected with each other and to just be with each other in body, if not in spirit.

My family dinners these days are almost always just my kids and me. Those dinners run the gamut from quiet, sulky affairs to tawdry, raucous feasts. Our dinner conversations many times would make most cultured people blush. But not us. We talk about everything that is on our minds. Things that happened with the kids at school including not only the fact that Haley has a part in this years musical but who has earned the lead in the past and how old they were when they were cast as the lead and all sorts of other stuff. We talk about upcoming happenings at schools, when soccer and 4-H start, when rehearsals are being held, all of these things. I also share things about my work day and many times, the negative effects of a cruddy day at work are quickly wiped away by our family dinner. We offer each other our opinions (often unwanted) and we offer each other support.

But most of all, we laugh. We do a lot of reminiscing and some of our stories we've retold a hundred times! Things that at the time would not have been considered worth remembering but now that they are in our past, we love to remember - things like how the sliding board at the Centre Hall daycare smelled like pee, how Ikey used to call Jordan 'guy', how during an exceptionally wild game of Cranium, I was required to twirl like a ballerina - at the beach - at sunset. And I know we've all heard about a thousand times how Ikey dropped his phone in a puddle of mud at Grange Fair. We remember all sorts of things. We do a lot of dreaming during dinner too. The latest dream is of having a real farm with a real barn and some flat land to actually ride horses without worrying about falling down the hill into the creek. We discuss the pros and cons of getting goats again and how to best make, and is it really possible to have, a goat-proof fence.

And I like this. I think the kids do too. We sit together, fix our plates together, thank God for our meal together, and then eat together. Years and years ago, my mom made a real effort to have the family eat together and I loved it so much that I've done the same thing. I highly suspect that my kids will carry on the tradition. It is so much cheaper than therapy.

Watah

2011-01-24T21:35:00.002-05:00

So the overriding theme for my weekend has been water. When things happen at One Old Goat farm, they don't happen a little at a time. They happen all at once - in a very big way. Usually catastrophes are chronic around here with one following another and another and another until, well, until we get it all fixed. Or I go mad. Or both.

We live precariously with modern appliances here. Which is fine with me - my ultimate goal is to be totally off grid - invisible to all - or at least as much as possible. I want to know that I will be fine if everything crashes and we are left with no electricity or gas. Everyone has their own hobbies. Mine is figuring out ways to be totally self-sustaining and to teach the kids that if push comes to shove, they can provide the necessities without all things to which we have become accustomed.

All that is fine but I haven't yet figured out how to deal abruptly being without water. Sunday morning I noticed that the water didn't seem very warm. It was rather tepid, in fact. Thank goodness I showered before I left for church. Later that afternoon, I realized that we had no hot water. So I checked to see if the circuit breaker kicked. It hadn't. I wouldn't have been too concerned - the kids were relatively clean and could easily go a day without a shower. But I had just returned from an 8 mile run and was sweaty and stinky. Sunday afternoons during football playoffs are not a good time for things to break. The only thing that could get my husband away from in front of the television would be if the cats ran out of food (trust me - the cats can be unrelenting). So I resigned myself that we would all do our best getting clean with a big pot of warm water.

This morning we still had water albeit cold water. It was still running even though it was about 9 degrees below zero. When I came home from work though, I found my kids waiting for me in a stifling hot house. It seems that the water pipes did freeze and they were heating the house up to unthaw. The pipes thawed and soon we had running water again. Some of the water was running so well, that it wouldn't stop running! I got that fixed and hopefully by tomorrow morning, we will be able to take a shower that doesn't freeze our hair and make our body parts turn blue.

But in that two hour period that I had to run down to the cellar to turn on the main water valve every time we needed water - to wash, to fill the tea kettle, to flush the toilet, I realized how much water we used. When I think of the countries that don't have access to clean water, it really kind of makes me sick to think that not only do I not hesitate to turn on water whenever I want-not need-it, there are a lot of times that I waste it.

I wonder how those people who don't have the same access to water - fresh or otherwise--make it through the day. And could I ever be so self-sufficient that I had would not have to worry about my water supply even in the worst case scenario. If I were a braver person, I would leave the water turned off at the main valve for a week or so just to drive home the fact not only to me, but to the rest of the family on how much water we use.

But I'm not that brave and I don't thank God nearly enough that I am privileged to have clean water at the turn of a knob. In my quest for self-sustainability, I'm hoping to at least rig up a way that I can store rainwater and use it throughout the summer to water my gardens and the animals.

It's a start.

Snow

2011-01-22T18:47:00.000-05:00

At a glance, this looks like a beach. It's not - it is Mount Nittany on one of the few sunny days we've had recently.

The girls walking through the snowy woods to visit a friend.
The fruits of my labor (and the cause of my tired back);

My hope for spring.

Good Uncles

2011-01-21T21:18:00.002-05:00

My kids have some very good uncles. I know this because I had some very good uncles and I can compare. My oldest brother recently had minor orthopedic surgery on his knee. My youngest son, who has never known anyone who has had any type of surgery, was extremely concerned. And wrote his oldest uncle a letter asking him many, many questions about the use of crutches, the pain of the surgery, and . . . the possibility of duck hunting. My middle daughter also was part of the letter writing and added her own thoughts - also referring to the possibility of duck hunting. They also slipped a $1 bill into the envelope before sealing it. I don't think they ever expected an answer because seriously who, these days, actually writes letters?

My big brother did. If he only knew how much that meant to these kids! They were absolutely thrilled to receive a handwritten letter in the mail! My son read that letter to me at least three times! He was amazed that his big uncle had written to him and had mentioned duck hunting! I hope he knows that his nephew and niece have the memory of an elephant! They will never forget that hunting ducks was mentioned.

My little brother doesn't write letters. But he is a very good uncle. My kids love him! As my little brother, I remember many more stories about him than I can recall of my big brother(who I viewed as a legend). I regularly tell my kids stories about Rob when he was growing up and I'm sure many of those stories are those he would rather I kept to myself!

As aunts and uncles, I think sometimes we overlook the power and influence we have over our nieces and nephews. We can show kindness - or not. We are role models, we are extensions of the family, and we all have some very huge shoes to fill. I know that I will never be the aunt that my Aunt Carol was but I'm hoping as years go by I get better at it. I'm lucky to have some great nieces and nephews and I don't tell them often enough how much I love them!

The truth is, that some people just have crappy families. That is not the case with me. I was lucky to be gifted with the best brothers that God could have given, the best parents that God could have given. My brothers could have chosen to be invisible uncles, but instead, choose to carry on the tradition of my Uncle Joe, and to be a very good uncle.

Customer um . . . service?

2011-01-20T20:13:00.000-05:00

Since when does the term 'customer service' give people free reign to abuse, degrade, humiliate, demoralize, and psychologically destroy another human being? And why is it that in the name of the almighty dollar, are the recipients of this behavior unable to defend themselves?

I've seen horrific verbal abuse directed toward a cashier who was simply acting according to store policy. No doubt, if the customer would complain to the corporate store - the cashier would be found at fault. For not providing good customer service.

Since when is it our right to take out our anger caused by our boss, our spouse, the weather, our mood on some poor human who is only trying to support him/herself by working at the only miserable job to be found. We treat customer service representatives like crud but then lament the fact that all of our jobs are quickly becoming computerized.

Money can buy anything. Employers are more than willing, eager even, to sacrify good employees simply because they don't want to lose the business of some angry consumer who simply gets off on making life miserable for anyone they meet. Who feels that he is entitled to unparalleled service beyond the constraints of company rules. Where does this end? When all of the workers who genuinely are working because they love what they do, driven by the need to help others,have all been driven over the edge to the brink of depression simply because they are not supported by their employers and are treated like an easily replaced commodity?

Which we are, I know. Easily replaced. But in comparison, how productive is an unhappy employee - one who is browbeaten into submission and operates in fear of the next oversight. Or the next customer who happens to be having a fight with his spouse in comparison to an employee who strives to do his best simply because it is the right thing to do. And yes, it is unfortunate that sometimes we won't be able to sell our product because we aren't all things to all people. But do we need to be?

These are just more reasons that I love my little farm with my chickens, my horses, the Dolly Llama, Lunchbox, and all of the dogs. Straightforward that group is. If they don't like the type of service they receive they let me know. Without a doubt. They may kick, growl, bite me or even run after me and peck me. But we are clear on our expectations of each other. It is a relationship that works and benefits each of us and by being mutually respectful, we know that we can expect nothing but the best of each other.

A Very Rude Awakening

2011-01-20T20:04:00.000-05:00

My morning had already started off on a wrong note - two kids sick, one staying home from school - when I heard a car horn blaring in front of my house. Not just a toot, but a full-on hold-down-the-horn blaring. I thought for sure that the house was on fire or some other tragedy. No. The damn cow was out. Again.

Dreaming Dreams

2011-01-16T20:05:00.000-05:00

I wonder sometimes if a little unrealistic dreaming may just not be a bad thing. Especially when it is mid-winter and despite the beautiful weather, everyone is suffering from a bit of cabin fever. And especially when our car is still out of commission and we haven't been exactly mobile. My kids and I easily get swept away in our dreams: our future trip to Switzerland with a friend of mine, our camping trip this year to (hopefully) the nature reserve on Assateague Island, and most recently, a home in New England.

This mythical, mystical home in Maine has brought about some lively debate this evening. The kids have argued bedroom size, number of computers, number of bathrooms, showers, televisions, fences for dogs, and anything else they could argue. It is kind of funny hearing them argue about something that is, right now, just a dream. And to be honest, after awhile it became rather irritating. But along with all of the bickering and quarreling about the material things they would like to see in their home, something else - a new twist on this all - popped up, the fact that my kids understand that there are many, many children who are in such a place that they can't even dream about these things. From my vantage point on the couch, I overheard some comments from my kids that confirmed my belief that I've raised some very compassionate children.

Now I know that the likelihood of us packing up and moving to a beautiful home in Maine is next to impossible, but when you are 13 and 11 years old, anything is possible. And to be truthful, it is hard for this 48 year old to believe anything but the same thing! But still.....it was really nice to hear my son say that if we did move, he would like to find 12 kids who have had a crappy childhood (his words), and invite them to spend some time with us.

This tells me a couple of things. First of all, my 11 year old son has developed compassion - a trait I believe that is absent in many, many people I've run into over the past year or so. I'm so pleased that he is able to recognize and empathize with others. Second, this tells me that he feels that his childhood has been pretty good - good enough that he wants others to experience the same thing. What a boost to my self-esteem! And all these years I've thought I've been the meanest mother ever........maybe I've done something right!

And really, how bad can a dream be if it generates feelings of love and goodwill toward other humans?

Snow, finally!!

2011-01-09T21:49:00.002-05:00

Finally we have some snow here at One Old Goat farm! Needless-to-say, some members of the family were a little more thrilled than others.

The weather doesn't seem to bother the bravest of the chickens. Not one bit!

And this rooster runs through the snow as if it were summer!

But some of the chickens are, well, chicken! They would rather hang in the house and just gaze out at the wintry beauty. I'm not sure what they do in their cozy little chicken houses. I do know that laying eggs is not one of the activities. Last winter the girls surprised me by producing nearly as many eggs during the winter as they did in the spring. This year, they took a week sabbatical but happily, are laying once again.

The chihuahuas had a blast in the snow. For about 5 minutes until they were cold and ready to run back into the warm house and look for a warm blanket to curl up in.

The rest of the dogs were left inside to sit and wistfully look out on the snowy fun.

Everyone has a gift

2011-01-09T16:01:00.000-05:00

Today in our church, we were treated to the most wonderful experience. Chiz Rider came and played his trumpets for us. I wasn't expecting what I received this morning. Last month when his impending visit was announced, it sounded like a good time. Some nice music to perk up the second grey Sunday of the new year.

I had no idea.

Music--good music--sometimes brings me to tears. But this was something far beyond simply good music. Tears were streaming down my face moments into his concert. There wasn't another sound in the church expect for this man's horn. This guy was blowing his gift out into the heavens for all to hear and enjoy. I don't know that I can even describe how I felt listening to him. Sometimes people do things really, really well--but their talent is just one part of them. Chiz was this talent. I can't explain it, but he was his trumpet for those 45 minutes or so that he played for us. He was the music. Oh, what a gift!

Ever since mid last year when our pastor mentioned in one of our services about everyone having a gift, I've been a little bit tormented about the fact that I have no determinable gift. Everyone I know has a gift: my mom can take anything and make it positive, she never forgets anything, and she keeps her word more than anyone I've ever known. My dad is the most laidback person I know and I get my love of nature from him. My kids have more gifts than I can possibly name. And so on--they all have gifts.

But maybe one's gift isn't necessarily a talent? Maybe being gifted doesn't mean being able to sing or make something or cook or paint well. Couldn't it be possible that one's gift is simply being able to enjoy from the level of one's soul, the gift of others? And if that is possible, perhaps I've found my gift. Because today my soul was shaken by the music of a man playing a horn.

Red letter day at One Old Goat Farm

2011-01-07T20:45:00.000-05:00

I knew it was going to be a decent day when at 1:00 am, the bull was still in his pen. At 3:00 am, the bull was still in his pen. And at 4:30 am, the bull was still in his pen.

However I've learned alot in the past week about bulls. They pout just like dogs when they are scolded. After yet another morning being rudely awakened by an escaped calf (and I use the term 'calf' very loosely - he's pretty darn big), I had had enough. Off to TSC my husband went to purchase yet another boatload of posts, insulators, and electrical tape. Frankly, I would have sold my left arm to electrify this animal! We strung up enough electrical cord to light up the sky like the northern lights.

I felt kind of bad the first two times that Lunchbox got zapped. Because he pouted. Just like a kid. He stood in the middle of his pen and refused to look at me. I felt bad for a second until I remembered the near heart-attack I had when I heard a horn blaring in front of my house at 6:00 in the morning. Or when I heard someone pounding on my door at 5:00 in the morning. And then, I didn't feel bad at all. But he still he pouted. And sought revenge. And when a bull seeks revenge . . .

he eats things! But all in all, it was destined to be a fine day here at One Old Goat farm. With the bull in his pen and the water pump working, it was all good.

Looking down

2011-01-05T20:50:00.001-05:00

When I am out and about, I like to observe my surroundings. Alot. To the point that I tend to notice silly, trivial things that others may not. One thing that has always surprised me is the number of people who walk around looking down. Seriously - eyes to the ground! I find it very difficult these days to actually make eye contact with people - especially people who appear to be around my age. And if I can't make eye contact, how can I smile or say hello?

I first noticed this phenomenon (or is it phenomena?) a few years ago when I worked on a large college campus. On several afternoon runs around the University, I made an effort to make eye contact and smile at everyone whose path I crossed. On this extensive research, I noticed that the college aged students were more likely to meet my gaze and return my smile. Others, adults, seem to make every effort not to make eye contact.

I wonder about this. What is it with my generation? Is this true across the country? the world? It doesn't seem to matter if I am on campus or in my own small town. I think it quite odd - are people afraid to see what is ahead or who they will meet if they look? Are we afraid we are going to fall or maybe misplace our feet? Crazy!

And it is not just people on foot who avoid eye contact. Today I was at a crossroad and the woman to my left pulled up about the same time. I was going to wave her to go ahead but she never looked my way, not a glance. How many good gestures are missed by people simply not acknowledging one another? How many friendships do we miss out on because we just don't care to look at each other?

Aside from the obvious benefit of not getting in cracked in the head by low hanging branches, looking up allows me to easily identify friends as well as enemies. Looking up allows me to witness the beauty of the world. Maybe that is why I often prefer animals to people.

A gray day

2011-01-04T19:10:00.000-05:00

I usually like the week after New Years. It is low pressure - or at least it feels that way because all the hyperactivity of the Christmas season has passed. There are no parties, no concerts, no shopping and I can live off of the holiday leftovers.

But this year for some reason, something doesn't feel right. There's been no snow. In fact, it has been relatively warm--enough to the point that I am able to actually go outside and work. Part of the reason I like the week after New Years is because there are no expectations. It is too cold to go outside and sometimes we even get snowed in from work. These are supposed to the beautiful snowy white days that we dream about. Or at least I do. I like to have at least a few weeks during which the yard actually looks nice. It's as if everyone is in a gray funk.

I want to see snow again. I want to see my chickens stand on one foot again. I want to make a snow angel.

I want to not feel as if I am getting old and that my Christmases may never been the same again. The kids are growing up and some of the magic is leaving because of it. I think Centre County would be a little more upbeat if some snow fell.

Even the geese are confused!

Whenever I think I want some more goats . . .

2011-01-03T21:01:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking that I want more goats. At least I was thinking about it until I reread this post from June 2009:

I'm a veteran of life: I've survived divorces, a huge family in a small house, countless mini emergencies, and yet this weekend something occurred that brought me as close to the edge as I've ever been.

Bucky got loose.

Now let me just say that Bucky was just being Bucky. There was no malicious intent on his part, no hidden agenda to drive me crazy so that he could reign supreme over the entire One Old Goat farm - none of that. But let's just say that at two separate times this weekend, I was brought to bawling uncontrollably in my backyard with a lasso in one hand and a bucket of sweetfeed in the other. I was prime entertainment for the Georges Valley neighbors. I am thankful, however, that the neighbors who were watching from their lawnmowers had very LOUD lawnmowers. It drowned out the stream of profanities coming out of my mouth.

Bucky has a taste for my neighbor's trees - those 100 feet tall, fast growing trees that are very, very leafy about now. When Bucky gets out of his pen, he bypasses all of my yummy maples and cottonwoods and heads for the neighbor's trees. Usually I just fill up a bucket with sweetfeed and he follows me back into his pen. Now we fixed his pen: it is impossible for me to get into or out of. But Bucky as found a way. I swear he has sprouted wings because I cannot see any spot where he has crawled under or over. I just don't know. So Saturday he got out. We just noticed seconds before leaving for my daughter's soccer game. And of course my husband wasn't home. And of course I had the neighbor's kids with me. And of course Bucky had great fun waiting for me to get within inches of him before darting off over the horse fence. Around and around me, all four of the kids, the dogs, and the chickens (who didn't know what the hell was going on) running through the horse pen. I think it was on lap 8 that I finally broke down in tears. At that point, everything comes to a standstill (except for Bucky who is walking slowly towards me). EVERYONE is staring at me: the kids, dogs, horses were chewing on their hay looking at me, Dolly was inches away shiffing my hair. The two boys - my son and his friend - offered ideas (which included knives and catapults) and the girls were stunned by my hysterics. So I shifted gears and we all left for the soccer game (hoping that Bucky would run away). He didn't. But my husband was able to lure Bucky into the pen.

Next day. My parents were visiting and we were having a party for the kids' birthday. My parents arrived and Bucky escaped. Again. And headed straight for the neighbor's trees. I felt myself crumbling. I found my rope and casually strolled toward Bucky as he was busily munching on leaves. He took off as the rope was poised above his head. This time I broke down after only 1 lap through the horse pen. Crying uncontrollably that I could not deal with this *%*!# goat again. In front of my father! I've never let this kindof word slip in front of my dad. Mom, yes. But not my dad.

He knew I was upset.

So my dearest daughter, mother of my grandson, great lasso-er of goats, came to the rescue and within minutes, had Bucky roped and tied in the barn. I love that girl.

So what am I going to do? For now, Bucky is on leash with plenty of access to outside and shelter, food and drink. My mother called me last night and said that my brother had offered to 'take care of' Bucky. But unless he is going to be eaten, he's not going to be killed. I've tried selling Bucky and giving him away. I've worked on his fence until my arms and legs bled. He's getting out somewhere but I don't know where.

Everyone told me not to get a goat. I didn't listen. So now I hate Bucky for him being what he is. Although now, a day later, I can't say that I really hate him. Bucky is a goat-a male goat. And he is acting like one. I guess I should love him because he is really, really, REALLY good at being a goat.