Late yesterday evening I started “phase two” of my stall creation, and le me tell ya, it had not gotten any cooler. But, I want you to know that London is not the only place with a torch these days…we have one too. Only ours does not have to be kindled in Greece during a celebration performed by eleven Vestal Virgins. We use a goat and a dog… and acetylene and oxygen.

Only, the oxygen bottle doesn’t have a label anymore because

Willow peeled it off. Anyway, I began phase two by rolling the official ‘Jaques Torch’ down to the barn. After the flame was kindled,

I cut out a section of the tin to make the stall accessible from the goat yard…

which Willow and Rose immediately tried out. By that time,

I had had ‘all I could stands and I couldn’t stands no more’. Stay tuned for Phase 2B.

This morning I decided that I would create another stall for the goats, especially since Jasmine is not so sure of being in the same one with Willow and Rose. First I decided to build a gate that matched the one on the other stall. This meant that I would have to go to town and buy lumber…which I did.

I loaded and unloaded the lumber one piece at time to avoid straining myself.

Then, I started the process of measuring, cutting and assembling.

It wasn’t until I was almost done, that it occurred to me that that gate was going to weigh almost the total amount of that stack of lumber. And, I had to carry the thing to the barn…which I did with the help of my eighty four year old mother-in-law.

After about a twenty minute wrestling match,

which I won, the gate is now installed.

Looks pretty good, don’t you think? Now for phase two.

Jasmine has been here for a week now, and that kid is still as wild as the wind. At first she ran with Willow and Rose, but I was unable to touch her. So, I put her in a pen next to the chickens so that we can sit and talk and learn to trust each other.

When I go in

she gets between the fence and the big galvanized tub that I use for a worm bed.

Then she peeks out at me. Sometimes, when she’s back there, she’ll let me pet her. When I catch her, she’ll sit on my lap a bit… if I hold her close. Otherwise, she will jump down and move away. She is Rose all over again, only on a smaller scale. But that’s alright because, even though she still won’t sit on my lap, I have now gained Rose’s trust

and she loves to have her hair done

and be scratched.

When Rose first came here, Willow was really jealous. She didn’t want Rose anywhere near me. But that’s pretty much a done deal. They’ve become pretty good friends,

but occasionally, they do still butt heads.

Now Rose is jealous of Jasmine, but hopefully by the end of the month that will be straightened out.

Bless her heart, Willow still thinks she’s a dog. So,

we’re working on ‘shake’. I guess the next thing will be ‘sit’ or ‘roll over’. How do ya think that’s gonna work for me? Oh well, like sands through the hour glass, so are the days of my life.

I believe that one reason I experienced such freedom in Alaska, is that I refused to be a slave to my phone…that is, after it followed me into Daniel’s Lake and I had to buy a new one. In this fascinating, modern world in which we live, few people go anywhere without a phone…even to the bathroom, the movies and church. I refer to this as being ‘tethered to a doodad’.

A doodad is defined as an un-nameable gadget of some sort, possibly highly technical; a gadget or device; an often small article whose common name is unknown or forgotten.

Now my iphone is a highly technical gadget, but, I don’t have any trouble remembering what it’s called. Discerning its location is what stresses me out. That wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t think I had to be tethered to the thing.

Most of my life, I not only wasn’t, but could never have been so attached to a phone…especially since it was attached to the wall. I remember when phones quit being directly wired to the power source, and you could buy long cords so you could carry the thing from room to room. You could even get a long curly cord that you could stretch so much that, before long, it became a twisted knot… and then you had yourself a sit-down job. But, when it rang, you knew where it was…or, at least, you could follow the cord.

I actually miss those days. But what I need to settle is, just- how- much.

This morning the boys came over for a couple of hours. Since their parents have banned them from electronic games for a week, our best option for the least amount of mess making was to go outside…in the heat. They suggested that we go on a hike. The last time we did this, Denton declared himself the leader. He knew that this time it would be Hudson’s turn, but tried to convince us that I should be the leader. If he couldn’t do it, he certainly didn’t want Hudson to do it either. Hudson said, “No, I’m the leader. Mammy, you be the photographer.” And so it was.

The first thing that Hudson wanted us to do was go toward the creek and find some walking sticks,

which is just what we did. As we headed north, we stopped to examine a pile of muscadines

that had made a quick trip through a raccoon. Then we were off to bigger and better things,

surrendering the lead to the guineas, who thought they were being chased. Imagine that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the back side of the pond, Porter and the boys took a few minutes to stir in the duckweed before heading up the hill to “Pawpaw Rock”.

Pawpaw Rock is the boulder which sits beside the final resting place for Joel’s daddy’s ashes.

Usually when we go up there, we build straw houses, which they suggested we do.

But, Denton plopped himself down on the rock and said, “Alright, ya’ll get some straw and start building.”

Hudson fell for it at first…then Denton said,

“I’m the leader, and leaders don’t do anything”…at which point he took on an eerie resemblance to my daddy. I reminded him that he was not the leader. Suddenly Hudson came to his senses, hopped on to the rock, crossed his legs and said,

“I am the leader, this is my kingly throne, and I- am- not- doing- anything.”

When I was a little girl my Momma, Mamaw Simmons and I used to go shopping every Saturday. It always involved buying groceries, but first we usually went downtown to Wellan’s or J.C. Penny or Weiss & Goldring or Sears.

They would shop and I would play in the clothes racks. Then, while they were in the grocery store, I would get to go next door to Whittle’s Toy Store, which was a wonderful, magical place for a kid to be. On the way home, I usually dug through the grocery bags to find something to make a sandwich with, which would get me through the nine mile stretch to the house. This went on until I was old enough to stay by myself, because by that time, I despised shopping. As a matter of fact I would only go if I needed a new pair of shoes, or had to go to the fabric store to pick out material for a new dress; the latter of which pretty much came under the category of torture.

I have friends who love shopping. And, they’re good at it. I would dare say that they have elevated it to art form.

For me, shopping has always pretty much been ‘of the devil’. That is, until last year, when I discovered a new kind of shopping. I took up welding…and you do that in a shop. Like my friends, I intend to elevate it to an art form. And, the beauty of it is that you don’t do it to spend money. As a matter of fact, you might even make some. So if you ever come looking for me,

you’ll probably find me shopping.

Several months ago I took an old fourteen foot gate, cut it down to twelve feet and welded it back together. Yesterday, I finally decided to hang the thing…by myself. We’ve recently built a new shop, and in all the electrical swapping around, the power is temporarily disconnected from the barn. Do you know what that means? Exactly! I could not use the big electric drill, and since I had the “gate hanging anointing”, I decided to use my daddy’s old portable drill.

Remember this thing? It worked really well, and I hung the gate.

There was just one problem.

The things that the gate hung on had to be screwed into a 2 x 4 (part of the frame for my chicken pen) that was nailed to a pole. When the hanger went through the 2×4 to the pole, it pried the 2×4 loose at the top – which meant that I was going to have to take the gate off, unscrew the hanger, reattach the 2×4, and drill the hole deeper.

At that point, I was dangling on the edge of being over- heated and had developed a case of anal glaucoma (I just couldn’t see my rear end working one more minute as hot as it was). After all, tomorrow would be another day, right?

So this morning, I collected my daddy’s portable drill and went down to make another lap with the gate. I took it off the hangers, took the top hanger out, nailed the 2×4 back to the pole, and drilled the hole deeper. Everything was going like clockwork until

the bit broke off in the pole. So… I pried the 2×4 away from the pole, pulled out the bit, reattached the 2×4 and screwed the hanger back in. All I had left to do was hang the gate, which had been a real task the day before. Because the gate is so long, it is not easy for one person to manipulate. Besides that, it had been run over and wasn’t exactly straight. But, because I was determined to complete this mission alone, I turned that gate every which way but loose. I raised one end up on stone,

and sprayed Liquid Wrench . Then I realized that if this task was going to be completed in any reasonable amount of time, I would have to do the unthinkable. That’s right, I called for help,

and they came. In about a minute and a half,

the mission was accomplished.

I wanted to attach some wire to the gate to keep critters from slipping between the pipes, so we went to Tractor Supply. I found wire in the width that I needed, but it came in 100 foot rolls that cost sixty bucks. I only needed 12 feet. When Joel said, “Well, aren’t you going to get it?” I replied, “No. I think I’ll just get a new gate.” Sometimes… you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don’t.

I’ve been home for a week, and no matter how many times I click my heels together and say, “There’s no place like Alaska in the summertime”, I still find myself in near triple digit temperatures with 95% humidity. But…there’s also no place like home…home, home on the farm. You probably know what’s coming, so I’m going to go ahead and give it to you. Here goes. Me me me me meeeeee…

Home, home on the farm

where the rabbit drinks lemonade. Where the chickens roam free

and I’m sure they’ll agree, that it’s ninety degrees in the shade.

Home, home on the farm

where the cats

all have it made. Where the dog catches mice,

or she did once or twice. And it’s ninety degrees in the shade.

Home, home on the farm

where the guineas are all on parade. And bless her sweet heart,

the goat rides a cart, cause it’s ninety degrees in the shade.

Home, home on the farm

where the grandkids bathe in the yard.

They do it at night and it might not seem ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-ght

But- when- it’s- ninety, it’s called ‘avant-garde’. (You can’t tell me you didn’t sing that.)

Yesterday, my friend Kim and I went to Joe and Nidette’s farm to get some chickens and a goat…

like I needed a few more mouths to feed, right? Well, never mind that. After visiting a bit and looking at Joe’s new purchases, which included

a tricycle and

an iron that used to be heated with coal,

we went to the barn

to catch the six young Silver Laced Bantoms that they were giving me. With that done,

we went to where the goats were penned up to collect little Jasmine. This is her with her mother.

Of course we had to catch her first.

But that wasn’t too hard. Then…

‘we loaded up the truck and we moved to Be- ver- ly.’
If I didn’t know better… I would swear that Elly May Clampett was my birth mother .

You are beautiful beyond description

Too marvelous for words

Too wonderful for comprehension

Like nothing ever seen or heard

And I stand, I stand in awe of You

I stand, I stand in awe of You

Holy God to whom all praise is due

I stand in awe of You.

“I Stand in Awe of You” by Hillsong United