Tag: animals

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COVID Confusion?

I opened my eyes and looked at the clock. Sunday morning and it is seven-fifteen. The alarm should have gone off. I jumped (or rolled) out of bed and quickly donned my clothes. Although we are now watching church on-line during the COVID era, Sunday is special.

Judd remained in bed. That should have been my first clue.

Hurrying to the kitchen, I turned on the coffee pot, grabbed some Panera bagels from the freezer (we always have some kind of sweet rolls on Sunday), and made my way to the garage to begin my daily chores: feed the cats, fill the grain canisters, and make my way to the barnyard.

It could not have been a more beautiful morning! My heart was full of joy, and I softly sang: “Good morning, Lord, it’s great to see the sun again . . . “

The chickens and ducks, happy to be released from the pen, ran quickly to their bowls of grain.

Since Donkey and Goat were visiting the Troyer’s front pasture, I made my way across the gravel road to drop them a little grain and say “good morning.”

On my way back to the house, I stopped to check for the Sunday paper. The box was empty.

That should have been my second clue.

Grace Baptist’s curch service was scheduled for 8:00, so after grabbing a cup of coffee and a bagel, I began trying to check in to Facebook for the service. I was having a difficult time getting it to come up.

That should have been my third clue.

When Judd emerged from the bedroom, he noticed breakfast on the table and questioned, “So we have bagels this morning?”

“Well, yeees,” I replied as I continued looking frantically for the church service, “at least I am.” Judd went out to the front porch to enjoy his coffee and bagel.

Fourth clue that I was missing.

I gave up. Frustrated from searching and not finding a live service by now, I figured that there must be a glitch in technology.

 

Fifth clue?

Looking out the kitchen window, I noticed the Troyers were still home. They had started going back to church once it had opened, but with the virus currently in pandemic mode, we older folks were not going.

Maybe someone in the Troyer family was sick and they decided to stay home. So, I called Sara to find out.

“Why didn’t you go to church this morning?” I wondered aloud as she answered the phone.

“Go to church? Why would I go to church this morning?” She sounded very puzzled.

“Well, isn’t it Sunday?” By now I was beginning to feel a little bewildered myself.

“Mom, it is Wednesday.”

Okay, this is not easy to admit, but I had lost my sense of time. Is this what being in a sort-of house arrest does to you? Was I “tetched” by COVID?

For several days after that, as Judd and I lay in bed in the morning, I would say jokingly, “Is it Sunday morning, yet?”

BUT, what if no one had corrected me? Since I thought I was living in Sunday, should anyone correct me? Wasn’t what I imagined or felt important?

Or was it better to be brought back to some sense of reality?

I prefer reality, and if it takes someone living in a rational world to reflect that reality to me, please, for the sake of my sense and soul, and regardless of what our culture says today, please tell me Truth.

 

 

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PRAYER MEETING with the COWS

I skipped down the path to the old barn where Daddy was doing the evening milking chores. I loved that whole scene: the soft glow from the old ceiling lights, the lowing of cattle, the scent of fresh milk, and the very essence of what farming with animals is all about.

Born in Center County, Pennsylvania, I was four years old when my family bought a dairy farm in New York State.  On that farm, my life was magical. Fields to roam, barns to explore, and the tightly structured life of a dairy farm all fit together into a cocoon of beauty and pleasure for me.

 And then there were the animals: chickens, ducks, horses, cats, and a new puppy. And, of course, the main characters, the dairy cows.

Nothing is more beguiling to me than the gentle, expressive eyes of a cow. We somehow communicated when those gentle cow eyes gazed into mine.

At four, I discovered how to get a barn full of those beautiful eyes to focus on my little inconspicuous frame. 

I had invented a plan. After the ladies had been milked and were still in their stanchions nibbling on hay I would wait patiently for Daddy and our hired man to leave. I wanted to be the only human in the milking barn.

As soon as the barn was empty of other humans, I became the person in charge.

Grabbing an old scoop from an open feed sack by the back steps, I filled it with the sweet grain that was like candy to the cows. Walking up and down the aisle in front of those huge questioning eyes, I shook the familiar scoop of grain and handed out little samples of grain in each of their feeding troughs

Soon all those beautiful eyes were carefully watching me. I had captured a grand audience.

What next? According to my limited experience, this would be easy: when bodies are gathered together informally as this was, we could have a prayer meeting!

But, I needed a sermon.

Digging into my repertoire of learned homilies I came up with what I thought would be appropriate:

“Ladies, Jesus loves you and He died for your sins,” I explained in my loud preacherly voice. A row of innocent eyes peered back.

“Okay,” seeing no response I went on to the next agenda, “are there any prayer requests?” Again, no response. 

The day my little prayer meetings ended was the day I had an unwelcome intruder. I think we had just started the prayer time when, from somewhere in the middle of the barn came a loud, “Moo.”

Startled, my eyes opened wide. “Who said that?” I shouted accusingly looking down the line of unbowed heads.

From the shadows, my daddy stepped forward, chuckling.

Oh, the embarrassment! These little meetings had been a secret between me and the cows. Now the secret was out.

I was done.

Of course, my little escapade became a family story for years.

Seventy-some years later, I fondly remember my little “prayer meetings” with the cows. I still talk to animals as though they understand me.

But since then, my biblical education has grown beyond that of a four-year-old.

No, my cows did not/could not know this Jesus or the Truth my little four-year-old heart wanted them to know. But they knew me, and according to the charge from the Garden, I was/am the one standing in the gap.  

I long for that day when the Second Adam will return to set things right again, and when the creation (cows included) will no longer be under the curse brought by the First Adam.

I will save my salvation messages for the people for whom Christ died until one day the Curse under which this fallen world limps along will be broken.  

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A Divided House

I have two chickens and two cats. The chickens hang together; not surprisingly, the cats do not. Whenever I hear hisses and growling from the garage, I know Bob has probably invaded Missy’s space. Or, sometimes, it is after he has intentionally stalked her and jumped out from the bushes as she walked by. Bob is having fun; Missy is never amused.

But, in general, my little farm is quite the “racially” mixed environment. The duck, the goat, the chickens, and the donkey move about the barnyard in a happy little community.

When I go to the barnyard, I will be greeted by the whole community:  one duck,  two chickens, a donkey, and a goat. We usually walk together as I open the gate and join the menagerie. We may go down to the pasture gate, where I check the fences,  or they follow me to the hen house to gather eggs. It pleasures me to  spend this time with them.  I love harmony.

Yesterday, when I opened the door to the nesting box in the chicken coop, I was greeted by another creature who had attempted to join our little community. When I opened the door to the nesting area and peeked in to see if there were eggs in the nest.

What I found was a large black snake snugly coiled in the closest nest. Its tummy was full of eggs, hewas content and had no intention of leaving. For those of you who know my propensity to take in all strays, no, I did not name it and invite it to stay. Finding an aluminum pole on the roof of the little shed, and after a wrestling match with the stick and the visitor, I  dismissed Mr. Snake from the pen. Hanging from the pole before being flung to the wind, his long black length dotted by oval shapes.

Yet, with all of the activity going on, my little menagerie simply watched, not in the least dismayed.

Did they understand the situation? Aren’t animals in general skittish when they see a snake? Did the chickens not realize that snake was consuming their eggs?

Ah, yes, of course. I was there. They trusted me. I was in charge and had handled the situation. They did not blame each other for the snake’s existence in their midst, although it could have been avoided, I suppose, if they had been more astute about protecting their own environment. But that is just my own reading of the situation.

I love peace, community, trust, encouragement. Thriving  on it, I become distraught when the community begins to fall apart because of disharmony.

Sadly, in our Christian community, we have become so divided that we are unable to trust or encourage each other. Although we have a common Caretaker, we act as though we are in control. We appear to think that one side will get rid of the Snake, while the other side is feeding it, depending upon which side is RIGHT.

And, yet, the truth is that we all desire to be right, we all want the snake to be gone. But we can’t agree on where the snake is or how to get rid of it.

Is this not where the Caretaker comes in? He knows where the evil is and how to get rid of it.

So, what do we barnyard occupants do? What is our weapon? Do we continue to act like my cats? Or do we join hands in PRAYER to our Creator to give us the wisdom (James 1:5) to understand, to give us the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22) to work together, and faith (Hebrews 11:1) to believe that our Caretaker can take care of this world that he has  created.

 

 

 

 

 

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Our Life in the Country

According to the resident expert this is a lavender Australorp (ROOSTER!!!).

Sometimes life in the country takes “true grit.”

My new replacement hen crowed today.  OOps. He was guaranteed to be a hen. Now, my granddaughter, Lillian, tells me the other “hen” is a rooster, also.

And why do I have a replacement in the first place? This is the sad part. According to the trail cam we also have a mother fox with three kits.  This mom decided she needed to feed her babes, and my wonderful, dear old hens were the dinner. The night before a raccoon had decimated my friendly ducks.

I became an “empty nester” in just a few days. So, what will I do with two roosters? Not sure.

I still have some brown and green eggs from the beautiful hens. Gifts. From them to me, (at least I pretend). I had two fried eggs with toast to day which I ate in memory of the girls.

Silly, inconsequential happenings in the big scheme of things. But everyday, nitty-gritty life on a farm. You win, you lose.  Today I lost the battle with Donqui. Flies are eating his legs, but today I could not catch him to spray the dastardly flies. I gave up and walked away this time. Donqui won. That’s one for the donkey.

Notice his ears. With the can of spray behind my back, I know he will bolt when I pull it out.

 

 

BUT, what is life without challenges? I still love this life on Kitten Creek Road.

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Anticipation Abounds!

costumesChristmas comes early on the farm! Everyone here is knee-deep and prayer-deep in preparing for the thirty-first year of what has become Bethlehem Revisited.  Anticipation fills our hearts as we grandparents along with our children and grandchildren are joined by our large community to worship and work together in bringing this narrative to life once again.  Costumes hang in the barn separated into categories: Angels, market-place, shepherds, guides, children, Marys, Josephs. We have covered the paths with wood chips ready for hundreds of people to trudge up and down the hills.  The tickets that sat in Judd’s office have been distributed to various outlets.  Stock pens for all the animals who will need boarding overnight are ready and waiting for their occupants.  The lanterns (around sixty of them) sit on tables in the barn;  some will hang from lampposts, others will hang from the guides’ and guide assistants’ outstretched arms as they lead the groups through the forty-five-minute walk. Cut wood stands in neat, orderly stacks beside the fifteen fire pits.

With prayerful anticipation, we are asking that the whole weekend will be drenched in God’s Spirit as we invite our guests to relive the greatest story we humans can ever tell. In fact, last year, as one woman was waiting to board the bus to go back to the welcome center, she hesitated before boarding.   “You mean to tell me,” she almost stammered as she addressed her guide, “this story is TRUE?”  And we can say without hesitation, “Oh, the amazing thing is, it is TRUE!”

I am attaching a two-minute link for this year’s event.  Enjoy!!!

https://www.dropbox.com/s/n49qa47w9gciw1v/BR%20Trailer%202015.mp4?dl=0

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No Pretension

 

Authenticity.  Reality.  I think that was what drew us to our farm.  Yes, it was badly run down. The farm had seen a lot of living.  It had been used to raise chickens and pigs, to grow crops, to supply milk, to allow a tiny family of three with little outside income to live comfortably for years.  The eighty-five year old farmer had told us when we noticed the huge stacks of firewood around the house, “In the winter I stay snug as a bug in a rug.” The tiny house had been a shelter, a place of love, heartache, joy, loss.  No pretense, no desire to impress, just living out life in a simple, authentic way.  We stepped into that history and attempted to continue the story.

On an instructor’s income, we had no money to spare.  Most of what was done was by family (the boys were in Jr. High; Sara was six), and wonderful, incredible young college students.  Sara and I fed the crew sandwiches, chili, and hot chocolate in those cold months; and in the summer lots of lemonade, ice cream, pie, and more sandwiches. We worked evenings and weekends. We cleaned out the top of the barn that had been filled to the very ceiling with hay bales..  Slowly, those who had bought the hay at auction had come to claim their hay. What was left after the bales had been claimed was mounds of loose hay full of mementos: old horse harnesses, buckets, mice, snakes, etc.. Meanwhile, Kansas State University’s InterVarsity had used what bales were there as seating for their “barn party.” Hundreds of students were to pass through that old and unadorned barn in the future.

The crew tore down sheds that were too decrepit to restore, cut brush, created paths and gates, built steps with large rocks from the pasture.  The process of reclaiming and refocusing the use of the farm was a team-building experience because we did it together, in a simple and unpretentious way.

The open and natural expanse of land also beckoned my soul.  As I walked in the pastures and through the forests, I sensed the presence of the God who knew my innermost being, the One with whom I had no need of pretension.  He knew me better than I knew myself.  Up on the top pasture or down in the woods I was free to be myself … to sing, walk, pray, worship,  knowing I was loved and at home in His presence.  I had been on a journey for years learning to be open and  not self-conscious around others;  but alone with God as my companion, I had always been totally at home.                                      (to be continued)