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

 

I can’t be concerned about the logistics

of how God works things out,

or the trouble He goes to to bring me to a place free of distractions

so I can soak in His healing love.

It doesn’t matter that what I signed up for was not what I did,

nor can I dwell on the wonder of how I can travel 4,365 miles from home

and be at home…and part of a family.

It does no good to try to figure out how, in a Methodist church in Nikiski, Alaska –

on the fourth anniversary of my mother’s death – we would sing

the only song that was sung at her funeral.

There is no way that I could calculate the probability that clouds would roll in

when we started chopping down that cow parsnip,

and the sun would come out just as we finished.

No, I can’t be concerned about the logistics

of how God works things out.

I can only accept the miracle.

Thursday morning when Shawn and I were about to leave for the church, I felt that I was supposed to ask Sharon (who by now had become Mom) if she had anyone who mowed her yard. She said that she usually mowed it and that it was on her list, but she hadn’t had time. I told her that we would try to help her with that and then got into the car.

We reported to Salmon Frenzy Headquarters to find a sanctuary full of people singing worship songs together. We found seats and joined in. After the singing there were introductions and some housekeeping items were discussed. Then it was time to break into groups for orientation. Since we didn’t come with a group, we followed one of the staff members and asked him where he wanted us to serve. He told us that this was the largest group that they had had, and asked us if we knew anyone in the community who might need work done. Our thoughts immediately went to “the Grouch” down at the B&B and we said, “Yes!”

We went to Home Depot, bought some gloves and called to inform Mom that she was our home mission project.

We pulled weeds,

cleaned up tree trunks and

mowed.

At this point it is important that you know the following information: Our first morning we asked Mom about this plant.

She told us that it was called cow parsnip. Then she said

,

“You need to be careful of this plant, because if the juice from it gets on you while you are in the sun, you will have third degree burns on your skin.” That was comforting, since that stuff was all over the place.

Now…there is a quote that says that the will of God will never take you to where the grace of God will not protect you. That’s good, because bless her heart, Mom wanted her cow parsnip whacked down…all two acres of it. So,

Shawn cranked up the motorized weed whacker on wheels, and I found a manual one for those hard to get places, and we went to work.

We even learned how to keep the weed whacker working…

with a little help from our friend.

We piled up limbs and

hauled off limbs and

cleaned up underneath trees. We even dug a trench and buried a cable.

After six days,

this looked like

this.

Now, I’m not going to lie to you, it was a lot of hard work. But…

WE HAD A FABULOUS TIME!

When we got back from our canoe trip and put on dry clothes, we headed to the First Baptist Church in Kenai which had been transformed into ‘Salmon Frenzy Headquarters’. Since we had come to Alaska to take part in Salmon Frenzy, we needed to know when to report for duty. We were told to be back there at 10:00 the next morning. That meant that we had that whole day to get to know the area.

After buying a few shirts, we were on our way. We located Safeway, Home Depot and of course, Walmart, which we happened to visit three times that same day. The last time was for me to get a case for the new phone that I bought at the AT&T store in Soldotna…the old one was in my pocket when I fell in the lake.

In our comings and goings, we stopped to watch some dip-netters.

We had seen people transporting dip- nets on the tops of their vehicles,

but until we got up close and personal, we didn’t realize just how big those things were.

Salmon Frenzy is a service ministry to those who camp on the beaches and dip-net their year’s supply of salmon. I’m glad that we stopped by this place to watch….because…we never made it to Salmon Frenzy.

 

The next morning as I began to look around, I noticed that the B&B contained some very nice art work. Hanging above the mantle is this painting of Charles Brower who is known as “King of the Arctic”. You can read his story in a book titled Fifty Years Below Zero.

Finally, after realizing that Charles and the Grouchy Old Woman shared the same last name, I asked Sharon if they were related. Guess what? The King of the Arctic was her husband’s grandfather.

After breakfast, we did a little tag team wrestling with Minx,

who seemed tickled to death that we were up. Then we decided to walk down to the lake (in our pajamas)

and read our devotional together. We took the oars with us so that we could do a little canoeing. When we slid the canoe into the water I waltzed on into it like I had good sense; a fact which we all know is a figment of my imagination. Before I knew it, I found myself

in cold water…which was a nice change from the temperature of water that I usually find myself in. We didn’t have to tell Sharon what happened. She found out from the tattle-tale guests who were just about to leave.

Refusing to let that little episode have any effect on our mission,

we paddled out into the water in search of the loons that had been calling to us all morning…knowing in our hearts that we were probably the only two loons on the lake.