The Israelites had manna.

I have … zucchini.

Every day they collected this unusual  food.  It was white  like a coriander seed and tasted like a honey wafer.

Every day I walk outside for the long green THING. Yes, the inside is white and full of seeds.  It does not taste like honey.  It is bland.

No matter what, the Israelites had daily provision from God.

No matter what, every day we would find more zucchini.  It was a daily thing provision from God

The Israelites did what fallen man does best, they complained about the manna and longed for what they didn’t have.

I did the exact same thing.  When I saw all the zucchini day after day, I complained.  I complained because growing an abundance of zucchini was NOT my goal.  I intended to grow a plethora of green beans and tomatoes.  You may wonder why I planted so many zucchini plants?  It is simple.  The plants were a gift from my plain friend.  (Yes, I acknowledged  in an earlier post that  my plain friend’s gift of corn was really a gift from God.  That was different!!  I wanted corn.  I didn‘t want or need zucchini.)

Instead of being grateful, I complained to my husband.  Heavy rains drowned a substantial part of green beans on the west side of the garden.  The plants  yellowed, later turned crispy, and died.  The Zucchini, however,  grew more succulent leaves and became mammoth-like.  I wanted more than just Zucchini. My ambition was to can tomatoes and green beans this year, not  zucchini.  My complaints resembled the Israelites.  They failed to be thankful for what God gave them. The wanted what they did not have.   I wanted what I did not have … yet!

My ingratitude  impacted my whole family.  My daughter was pouting in the kitchen.  I  asked her what was wrong.  Her daddy had just delivered some news and she responded, “For breakfast every day, it is zucchini, zucchini, zucchini…”

Can you tell?  We have a fantastic crop of zucchini this year.  It doesn’t matter where you look you will find a zucchini in our home.  There is one on the window sill in the kitchen and one under the porch (a child is in dire need of training about where the compost pile is located).   Open the freezer and you will find 54 quarts shredded in freezer bags.  In the guest bedroom you will find 115 pints of zucchini processed in pineapple juice stacked in boxes. We have made brownies, breads and breakfast casseroles with zucchini.  There are some in buckets near the table waiting to be processed.  I surveyed the garden before dark.  Some of the zucchini plants were dying.  I let out a  hearty “yee haw”.   Then I felt guilty.  God has provided for us through this garden.  It is our manna of sorts.    I wondered if the Israelites converted manna into a variety of dishes.  Keith Green wrote a song and the lyrics go like this:

What…Oh no, manna again?
Oh, manna waffles….
Manna burgers…
Manna bagels…
Fillet of manna…
Mannacoti…
Bamanna bread!

Gardening has its highs and lows.  With each seed poked in the ground one must take a step in faith.  There is so much work and there are uncontrollable forces of nature that impacts the final harvest.   We can set goals, our own goals for the season’s end.  Despite good goals and excellent follow through, a gardener may have to face unrealized dreams. How does one face foiled plans gracefully?  I don’t know, don’t ask me.  I griped and complained about all the squash.  Keith Green’s song resonates with me once again.

Well we once complained for something new to munch.
The ground opened up and had some of us for lunch.
Ooh, such fire and smoke.
Can’t God even take a joke…Huh?….(NO!)

Complaining about what God gives us is no joke.  I am thankful God extended His mercy toward me instead of His wrath.  Indeed, I deserved to be swallowed up. I accepted  corn as a gift from Him through our friends.  But, I deemed the zucchini a curse.  God  still graciously gave  what I didn’t deserve.  Just a week after I complained, our green beans produced enough for us to can 107 quarts.  We have canned  20 quarts of tomato sauce so far.  The tomatoes are  now starting to turn  ripe.

Setting goals on the farm is a good and noble thing.  However, sometimes we can get so fixed on a goal that distractions or detours become major debilitating  irritations.  It is so important to be flexible on the farmstead and to be grateful for what God gives us.  An ungrateful attitude is much like the tomato worms I find.  The worm starts boring into the fruit with a small hole.  In just a few days, the entire fruit is rotten and worthless.  This is the kind of spiritual fruit I produce when I give way to complaining.   May we all strive to be thankful for the harvest God gives us.  May our attitudes be a pleasing fruit to others and to Him who cares so mercifully for us.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

My husband told me to go wait in the car.  We were at church and the services just ended.  I didn’t know what was going on.  But, by his demeanor, I knew it was serious and that now was not the time to ask.  I took the children to the car.  It was nearly dark.  Bored and desperate to pass time, I pulled out my laptop.  With a few strokes of the key pad, I was connected and chatting with a precious friend of mine from North Carolina. I was engrossed in our conversation.

Fifteen minutes later, my husband peered into the vehicle startling me.  “Chrissy, would you mind if I stayed a little longer?  Aaron….”  he paused a moment trying to maintain composure.  “Aaron, just got a call at the end of services tonight.  His one year old granddaughter  who lives in California just drowned.  They found her under the water motionless.  They rushed her to the hospital, but there is not a lot of hope.  I would like to be with Aaron right now. “  He paused again.  I could see the tears pooling in his eyes.  “I thought I could be there for him, since I know what it is like to lose a child”.

I encouraged him to take all the time he needed.  He did not need to explain.  I repeated 2 Corinthians 1:3-4  mentally “Praise be to God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,  the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all of our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”

I quickly notified online prayer warriors to pray for this family.  My husband finally returned .  We headed for home.  He recounted the details of the drowning with great emotion.  As he shared the story, I knew he was reliving the loss of his own child.  I caressed his hair and wept with him.  Losing a child or a grandchild is a hard cross to carry.  My husband chose to embrace his loss. Though it is painful,  he feels he understands God’s love for us more, because God also lost His son.  His only son.   We drove home in silence that night.

Within 48 hours, this story took an amazing turn.  After Chloe, the baby, arrived at the hospital. The doctors pumped her lungs and were able to revive her.  Excitement soared as we learned the news.  Our new prayer was that Chloe would not have brain damage or  contract a lung infection.  We offered steadfast prayers.

That was a year ago.  Today, I met Chloe. The family came from California to visit Grandpa Aaron. I watched her Grandpa bring her to the front before the congregation.  (Please note:  This is not a charismatic church.  But God returns life to those He chooses sometimes without full understanding or explanation by the medical community and everyone should give glory where glory is due.).  Aaron shared the story of her drowning as he held her on hip.  Chloe just turned two.  While he was talking, Chloe called out to a relative sitting in the back of the church.  It was clear God, our AMAZING God, answered all of our prayers fully and completely.  This time it was me fighting back the tears as I looked at this precious little girl.  There are many times when God sovereignly ordains for children to reach for the arms of Jesus instead of their parent’s arms.  That is, God takes them home to heaven with Him.  The parents go home to view and empty crib or bed.  They live with life long pain.   In this case, God ordained that Chloe should live.  Why Chloe and not my husband’s son?  Why Chloe and not the  babies I carried in my womb? Why Chloe and not my friend’s twin daughter?  Why Chloe and not my friend’s newborn son?   There are some things that will remain a mystery.  But, let me tell you this.  When Chloe was revived, God opened her Daddy’s eyes.  For the first time in his life, he saw the depravity of his soul and simultaneously saw the grace and mercy of God.  He became a Christian.  Chloe’s Uncle had the same life transforming experience.  I don’t know all of the why’s but it is clear that God changed lives in this situation.  The challenge for those of us who have lost children is to embrace that loss.  God blessed us with tribulation for our own good and for His glory.  We may not have all the answers.  But, we can be certain God lives, moves, and breathes.  He is active in the affairs of men.  The Lord gives, the Lord takes away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord!!

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Looking back at my life, I can honestly say I have made a whole host of poor choices.  Sometimes I am embarrassed when I consider the foolish decisions I made.  I am a product of my upbringing though.  I was raised in a dysfunctional home and it took years to overcome the damage done.  Besides that, there is a culture to an unbelieving family.  Christians were relieved when I converted.  However, there was very little effort to disciple me.  Because I came from a hardcore pagan family, I desperately needed discipleship.  I can’t begrudge the fact that I had no clue how to live out a Christian worldview.  It was God’s sovereign plan for me to lead the life I did.  I learned a lot.  I learned it…the hard way.  It ain’t very pretty.  But what I did learn should give me PhD qualifications on making mistakes and poor choices.

Perhaps, that is why I am so melodramatic when I see the young people around me making poor life choices.  I get entirely worked up over young adults and families who harbor bitterness, encourage schisms in families or look for love in all the wrong places.

Despite a life marked with poor choices, I can assure you I have made many choices I do not regret.  The best decision I ever made was in the fall of 1997 when I gave my life completely to Christ.  Please understand, it was God who woke me up.  He opened my eyes and helped me to see clearly the dead and decaying carcass I was.  When I saw my depravity, I was shocked and horrified at all I had been.  While viewing my sins, He simultaneously  gave me the ability to see His marvelous grace.  It was irresistible.  I am ever so thankful He called me out of darkness into His marvelous light. Prior to that, I was living with one foot in Christendom and the other in the world.  I then experienced a domino effect.  Giving my life completely to Christ meant I gave up my career, began home schooling and devoted time to helping my children’s father with his dream to farm.  Despite the tragic turn of events in my marriage, I do not regret having the children, home schooling or learning to milk cows.   There is a great deal of pain in my past.   But, God helps us transform tribulation into character building opportunities.  With the amount of struggles I faced in life, I affirm I am quite the character.  Basically, I appreciate certain aspects of the children’s father and how he influenced me.

Setting all these great choices aside, there is one choice I made one year ago today.  It has forever changed my life.  Through this decision, my life and that of my children’s has greatly improved.  A year ago, I married a terrific man.  It is such a joy to have a godly companion who is tender and lives with me in an understanding way.  He regularly washes me in the word.  Over the last year, I remember waking in the night more than once and hearing my husband praying for me as he stroked my hair.  Our home is filled with authentic joy!!!  No more striving to turn lemons into lemonade.

As I reflect on our new marriage, I  review vignettes  in my mind.  Some of my favorite memories include seeing my husband play kickball and soft ball with the children.  I will never forget the children’s laughter as they played with their new Daddy.  Course, there were quiet moments with sudden outbursts.  When the children played checkers or chess with Daddy and then beat him, there was a sudden outburst of “Oh man!! Can you believe it? The twins beat me“.

It was not uncommon to gather in the living room at the day’s end.  My husband bought all the children bibles.  He has a family bible too.  Each child would open up the Book  and we would take turns reading the word.  After that we sang a variety of songs including ones he composed.  Sometimes, we would read from a book from his theological library.  We completed five of Richard Belcher’s books in the “Journey  in Grace” series.  The book’s gripping plot made it hard for all of us to stop reading.  With the peace in our home, the children advanced rapidly in their home schooling. All the children began reading save the youngest.  The older four children completed a Saxon Math program in three months, cover to cover and then started on another book for the summer.  With the love, encouragement and affirmation from their new Daddy, they are thriving.

Another great memory is when my husband recorded a improvisation on his electric keyboard.  He extended a hand to me and we began to dance.  I love looking into his eyes.  In his eyes, I find comfort, reassurance, and pure joy.  We were so absorbed in each other, it took us a few minutes before we saw it.  Each of the children partnered up and were dancing with us.

Learning to sing with my husband brought me great fulfillment.  After two semesters of voice lessons, I began singing with him more and more.  We once competed in a talent show.  Moments before, I panicked sharing how I never liked competition.  I told him I was a newbie and had no business on stage in front of an audience.  He responded by holding my hand and praying with me. It was just the right encouragement.  We placed first singing a song he wrote after his little boy passed away.  Though I am still a little stage shy, I do enjoy sharing his love for the music ministry.  Our first duet was at our wedding.  Since then, we have preformed together  in a variety of settings.  With his love and support, I overcame my stage fright long enough and sang “Mary, Did You Know” for a Christmas special.

A dream came true two and half months after we were married.  We moved to the family farm.  A farm that has been in the family for around 100 years.  The move while exhausting  demonstrated that God knew the desires of our heart and gave us more than we could ask for or imagine.  No matter what task was before me, whether it was unpacking boxes, cleaning up debris from active children, schooling the children, or providing meals, my husband was there for me this past year encouraging me every step of the way.  He praised me when I didn’t deserve it.  He told me he believed in me when I struggled to get it all done.  When we encountered heartache or stress, he was quick to wrap his arms around me holding me close while he called out to our heavenly father to help us.

We have celebrated much this past year.  We celebrated the children’s birthdays, the move to the farm, the completion of the children’s school goals, big fish caught from the pond, our purchases of draft horses, and recently the harvest from our garden.  We celebrate even when no event warrants it.  We can do so, because we know heartache and are thankful for what God has done.

After walking through the deep waters, I learned God does not abandon us.  He tenderly leads those with young to a better land.  God transformed my mistakes into experiences which taught me more about His sovereignty.  Despite my lifetime of mistakes, God in His great mercy and love, gave the children and I a second chance.    On this day, I have much to be thankful for.  I affirm that God does restore what seems wasted.  He gives us reason to rejoice and praise His name.  Read Joel 2:25 and following with me and praise the name of God, our redeemer and restorer.

25I will restore to you the years
that the swarming locust has eaten,
the hopper, the destroyer, and the cutter,
my great army, which I sent among you.

²⁶ “You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied,
and praise the name of the LORD your God,
who has dealt wondrously with you.
And my people shall never again be put to shame.

²⁷ You shall know that I am in the midst of Israel,
and that I am the LORD your God and there is none else.
And my people shall never again be put to shame.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Sure.  I could have bought them at the store.  Better yet, to squelch guilt, I might have purchased them at the local Farmer’s Market.  Smart people say it is easier, less of a hassle, and more convenient to buy them at the supermarket.   If I went to the store, it would have taken me an hour and half to do it. I live in the country, you know.   It is thirty minutes one way to civilization.   Instead, I decided to be stubborn.  I spent four hours one day getting them in the wilderness.  Snakes, spiders, mosquitoes, and gnats were my companions. Oh, I also took Jordan, 8, and Moriah, 10, with me. Hank the Cowdog tagged along. That is always a given.   We walked out the back door and went deep into the woods.  We came back with battle wounds.  The kids and I had scratches.  The next day Moriah and Jordan had red swollen eyes.  They got poison ivy.  Did I give up?  No.  I went out to the yard and made a poultice of plantain to put on their eyes.  One young lad told me it look like Llama spit.  Okay, mock me.  But, I do what works.  I administered the poultice twice daily and in three days the red, puffy, itchy rash was completely gone.  My desire to get more of them was not gone.  I spent four hours one day and then returned to spend an entire eight hours to get more.

The first day I fought six foot tall weeds to find the succulent red and black treasures.  The thorny branches drooped down and grabbed me despite my caution.  The Missouri heat and humidity made it look like we had jumped into the pound.  Our efforts that first day produced one pint of wild blackberries.

Blackberries

We meandered through the woods and found wild black cherries as well.  Jordan, Moriah, and I returned home to make a wild berry jam.  I processed four quarts.  The children polished off one quart in two days.

In three days, I forgot the agony and mustered up determination to return to the woods.  This time, I took all five kids plus our niece to pick berries.  I can’t forget Hank the Cowdog.  He is an important part of this story, too.  I wanted a massive amount of berries and I wanted them bad.  By the days end, we had a mere half gallon of berry juice to make jelly. (This is an overview of the second day.  More details will follow.)  It was hardly anything to boast about.  So why endure suffocating heat and humidity and thorns for such a small return?   It would have been less complicated to go to the store.

If I just went to the store, I would have missed out on memories that will last a lifetime.  I bet some of you  have memories from Wal-mart.  Mine border post traumatic experiences. Our local Wal-mart remodeled with garish blue and orange paint. It is enough to blind a person through over stimulation.    I regularly had heated arguments with the self check out screen.  I always created quite a scene.  “ I DID bag that item.  You stupid machine”.  I punctuated each word spoken by sharply punching the screen with my index finger.  The customer in line behind me guffawed, but empathetically acknowledged having the same issue with the machine.  I was forever keeping that lady at the management station busy.  She typed in her store code to correct the problems created by my index finger.  This was a ritual  for me. Apparently, this was  common place for others too.  I was ever so delighted to see them rip those machines out and put in regular cashiers.  Another  memory is the time when the sign said the apple juice was $1.50.  My husband, the chipmunk, saw the good deal and bought 4 bottles to store under our bed. Yes, he really does store non-perishables under our bed or even in his filing cabinet.   The juice rang up for $2.00 per bottle.  My husband  took the cashier to task.  This is a regular scene because  Wal-mart signs never mean what they say.  I winked at my husband and told him I would wait in the car.  Fifteen minutes later he exited the store  hauling several heavy bags with a look of triumph on his face.  I figure there is more to making memories then the big yellow smiley face and price roll back signs.  I gladly exchange my Wal-mart experiences for what occurred that second day in the woods.  So, what exactly happened in the woods?

The day started out with me making an announcement.  “Let’s go to the woods to pick blackberries.  If we don’t get enough here on the farm, we will go to the nature trail and pick.  Be sure and put on long pants.  Bring gloves too.”  The children responded with enthusiasm including whoops and hollers.  In no time, everyone was dressed and ready to go to the woods.  When we stepped out on the porch, the Missouri humidity hugged us tightly.  No matter. All seven of us had enough enthusiasm to overcome it.  And we did just that.  Hank crawled out from under the porch wagging his tail excitedly.  He loves to explore with us.  We passed through waist high pasture grass and two fences before we reached the woods.  I had picked berries three days prior so I knew exactly where to go.  In minutes we surrounded the blackberry bushes and began plucking the berries off the bushes.  And the bushes  plucked back.  Every now and then I could hear the kids screech  “ouch”.  Hank began wandering through the brush.  The kids stayed focused save one who decided to agitate.  Soon we heard Hank take off running through the woods.  I heard a thump, thump, thump as he passed me in hot pursuit of his prize.  We were nearly finished picking, covered with sweat, and ready to head back to the house for a refreshing drink.  Zach called out, “Mom, Hank is after something.  Hey guys, let’s go see what he has”.  I responded , “Be careful.  You do not know what kind of animal he treed.”  Hank began barking furiously.  I was intrigued.  Hank does not bark.  I stepped out of the brush and saw the children running toward the barking.  “It’s a possum,” hollered Zach.  “Let’s get ‘im”.  The children ran with Zach exhibiting a pack mentality war hooping.  Seconds later Zach screams, “SKUNK”.  I looked up in time to see the children retreat with lightening speed to the center of the pasture.  Hank stopped barking and began to whine.  “Oh, you stink”, became the general consensus among the children.  Hank began frothing at the mouth and rolling obsessively on the ground.My neice and I laughed affirming the entertainment value of farm life.

Hank trying to get rid of the skunk scent

Poor Hank!

A few hours later we continued our quest to find blackberries.  We loaded up in the SUV and headed to a nature trail.  Berries were sparse.  The ground bore evidence that others had folded the grass over a few days prior and taken ripe berries.  We remained steadfast and  stayed on the trail.  The bucket filled up slowly.  The children found a small creek to play in while I picked berries.

Playing in the creek

Moriah empties her boots

As we made our way through this scenic path we took time to enjoy the beauty.

Serene beauty like this can't be found at Wal-mart.

At one point the children sat on a fallen tree to pose for pictures.

At last, we decided we should return to the vehicle.  We started back down the path.  The trees provided thick insulation from the outside world.  Jordan, 8, began singing “Our God is an Awesome God”.  We all joined in.  Soon we sang one song after another.  We couldn’t help it.  Nature’s proclamation of God’s glory is infectious.

Just buy blackberries at the store?  No thank you.  I wouldn’t trade these experience for the a half hour of over stimulation due to smiley faces and orange and blue garish paint.

Lest you think, I glamourize to a fault.  Let me assure you there were moments of irritation on the nature trail.  A huge scene interrupted our singing.  We had just finished singing these words:  His grace will lead us home.  A large fallen tree blocked our passage way on the trail.  We went off the trail through the woods and came out on the main trail again.  Suddenly, I was turned around.  I had no idea which way to go.  The children insisted I was wrong.  I insisted they were wrong.  I urged them to follow me.  One stubborn child stood  like stone refusing to move in the path.  I sent my niece ahead to see if I was right.  I was wrong.  The stubborn one smiled and peace returned.

Even this intense irritation does not overshadow the joy of our time together as a family.  Wal-mart can reproduce uniform bland blackberries, but they can not reproduce a bonded family nor create the kind of memories we made in our family that day.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Yesterday, my family took a long walk through the woods on our farm. Our goal was to find Jewel Weed. The recent rainfall kept us out of the garden and gave us an excuse to look for wildflowers. It was a nice break after four to five hour days in the garden last week. We use this time off from gardening to traipse through the woods getting acquainted with the land, trees, and medicinal wild plants. One of our many goals in reclaiming and redeeming the land is to use wild crafted herbs to create salves, tinctures, and teas.

My mother-in-law took me on a walk last Sunday afternoon and showed me how to gather Jewel Weed on her farm. Jewel Weed is important to Momma because she is active outdoors. Momma gardens. But, she is in regular combat with a beaver who works diligently at night to stop up water flow between their ponds. The beaver works all night, sometimes every night. Momma takes a rake, and sometimes uses her bare hands, to undo what the beavers did the night before. Beavers are clever as well as busy. Somehow they knew she was highly sensitive to Poison Ivy. Whether they stopped up the water flow with debris coated in Poison Ivy, or if they strategically built their dam near the Ivy, I do not know. But it was clear Momma was suffering in the dead of winter from the miserable rash. One day I ran across her in her kitchen. Momma had a circular shaped green ice cube with green vegetation dangling from it. She was rubbing it on a red rash near her eye. It was a strange sight indeed. Naturally curious I inquired about the ice cube that looked like a gift from the swamp thing. Momma had taken Jewel Weed the previous summer, boiled it in a pan, cooled it, and froze it in a butter dish for use when Jewel Weed was no longer growing. It was then that Momma told me story after story about the blessings of Jewel Weed to her and those she loves. The youth minister suffered from hornet stings earlier that summer. Daddy and Momma brought him to their farm and applied Jewel Weed. The swelling went down immediately. In fact, she encouraged me to make my own swamp thing ice cube for my husband as he is dangerously allergic to bee stings. We found a handful of Jewel Weed plants on Sunday. However, I was not satisfied. I wanted to gather a large amount to save in a variety of ways.

Unfortunately, I was unable to find Jewel Weed on our farm. Daddy says the plant is also called Touch Me Not. The seeds burst if you touch them. Perhaps, the plant exists here on the farm, but I haven’t found it yet. We plan to take regular walks through the woods to familiarize ourselves with the variety of plants as they bloom throughout the season. Perhaps we will find the Touch Me Not yet. Much of our woods are overrun with heavy brush making it hard to explore some areas. We are discussing plans to clear some of the brush in the late fall to help us better steward the woods.

Jewel Weed Preparation

I prepared the Jewel Weed by boiling it in water.  I strained the leaves and filled ice cube trays with the orange liquid.  This will give us an emergency remedy for bee stings or poison ivy.  I will continue to search for this herb as I walk our farm.

While I couldn’t find Jewel Weed, we enjoyed a fragrant walk. The wild roses and black berries are in full bloom. My strategy in working with herbs is to exhaust all potential uses of the plants I have identified. I was delighted to discover that Wild Roses and Blackberry leaves offer medicinal benefits for the homesteader.

Wild Rose Preparations

Wild Roses can be used in a variety of ways. I made a tea of the leaves and petals. It was an enjoyable and refreshing drink. Rose tea is a great blood purifier, acting as a mild diuretic, and benefits the liver, kidneys, urinary tract, and more.

Another way to use the petals is to toss them in a salad. I have not tried this yet, but the children and I have nibbled on a few petals. The children appear reluctant to have rose petals in their salad. I find this peculiar considering they have no problem eating cow tongue. Go figure.

Today, I followed steps to make rose water. I tried both the easy way and the more complicated method. The complicated method worked okay. I collected eight ounces of Rose water. I would have collected more but my bowl kept tipping. I think I had too much water in the pan which caused the inverted bowl and upright bowl to tip. The distilled Rose water smells absolutely wonderful. Whereas, the steeped rose petals do not smell as strong. It was an enjoyable experiment. The kitchen smelled fragrant. The children enjoyed the smell of roses wafting through the kitchen.

Blackberry Preparations

Blackberries offer wonderful fruits but that is not all. We discovered the leaves make an excellent tea to treat diarrhea. A few of the children experienced stomach upset recently. I gathered leaves of blackberry and made a decoction. In the past, I would have given them PeptoBismal. The active ingredient is Bismuth subsalicylate. Other inactive ingredients include benzoic acid, flavor, magnesium aluminum silicate, methylcellulose, red 22, red 28, saccharin sodium, salicylic acid, sodium salicylate, sorbic acid, water. The cost for this over-the-counter drug, if purchased on-line would be $4.70 (incl. tax & shipping).
The warnings and side effects are noteworthy and put me on edge. Click here for a listing of the damage possible by this OTC medicine.

Blackberry tea is rich in vitamin C and tannins. The active ingredients are not manufactured by a drug company in a sterile lab, but created by God and ordained for use by man. I noted there were no drug interactions, no contraindications and no known side effects for Blackberry tea. It cost me nothing to harvest this tea from the woods. In fact, some of the children helped harvest the leaves and enjoyed the walk. It is a far cry better than getting in the van, driving to WalMart and experiencing over stimulation due to all the advertising gimmicks. Instead of polluting my children’s blood streams with dyes and other chemicals, I nourished their system with vitamin C as I treated a specific ailment. Exploring the land God gave us and putting to use the medicinal plants is a rewarding endeavor. Using plants medicinally fosters a spirit of gratitude and awe for God’s creation. Many of the plants provide food like berries, or beautiful flowers like the rose. Yet, if we dig deeper we find there is more to these plants then meets the eye. Our Master, the Great Physician, created these plants not just to delight us and feed us but to heal and sustain us.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Lately, I greet early mornings and late nights with the same thing, stiff sore muscles all over my body. That is, I wake up in pain and I drop in bed with the same kind of agony. Most associate stiff and sore muscles with illness, injury or symptoms of death. Not me. These are symptoms of well being. I hurt because I have been sedentary the last two years. Truthfully, I have been sedentary all my life when it comes to the kind of work I have been doing recently.

After a long cold winter, I am gardening in the sunshine. We are putting in a half acre garden and it requires intense work. I am not just coming out of a literal winter season but a figurative winter. I have been on sabbatical from dairy farming for nearly two years while I relocated from Kansas to Missouri to flee from hardship involving domestic violence. During this time off, God rebuilt, restored, and transformed my life. Two significant events permanently altered who I am as a person and my direction as an agrarian woman. The first and most obvious is my recent marriage. God knew the desires of my heart. That is, I prayed to recover from aftermath of domestic violence. I also prayed to have a godly father for my children, a tender, understanding and compassionate companion who shared my love of cows, kids and stewarding the land for God’s glory. Finding a companion would not be easy for me. After all, I had 24 dairy cows and six children. I shoveled manure and milked cows twice a day, every day, in all kinds of weather for a living. My life’s vocation was none too appealing. Most men would view my bovine’s and children as baggage. I saw my prayer for a companion as unlikely. But, with God nothing is impossible. God knew there was one man who would not find my life‘s work unappealing. In fact, he saw the cows and children as a dowry, a rich inheritance. Ten months ago, we united our lives in marriage and have relocated to the family farm, a farm that has not been lived on since 1951.

The second event that impacted my life is our friendship with the plain people. Over the last year and a half we have fellowshipped and worked with them in a variety of circumstances. Recently we purchased two Belgian mares with our friend’s guidance. Mr. G. helped us talk to the owner and ensure a good purchase of the mares, the required tack and implements to get started. If this weren’t enough, he offered on site training with our team. Mr. G. has played an instrumental role in helping us succeed in our quest to live a simple life. During the last month, we have worked with Mr. and Mrs. G two to three times per week.

This apprenticeship is so much more than learning to work with our draft horses. It is an up close and personal look at successful plain and simple living. We have seen first hand that poly culture farms with reliance on draft animals works!! It is not just working for one family but many families (Specifically, 300-400 people. This does not include the many families that have moved from the area because of land unavailability. Many little communities are shooting up all over. When there is no land available, the plain people are moving twenty to thirty miles to start up a new community. It is important to note that our plain friends believe children are a rich heritage. On average our friends have 11-12 children. The families are growing, buying up all available land and relocating if land cannot be found.)

Draft horse farming is not old, outdated and impossible. We American’s have grown lazy, our appetites for leisure and ease caused the failure in farming. Our friends witness to us daily in many ways that the ease in my life is not ease at all. It is bondage and complication of the worst kind. Our time with the plain people caused us to re-examine all aspects of our lives. We have started to exchange some of the “convenience” items for a more honest stewardship of the time and resources. For example, we own a wood cook stove, a manual washer, Belgian mares, a walk behind plow, and other horse drawn implements. We have a long way to go to fully integrate these items, but we are well on our way.

While we do not ascribe to the same religious doctrines as the plain people, we do affirm the overall approach to God and life. We believe we as a society we live well above our means. We have a standard of living that feeds an insatiable appetite for more and more things while never reaching satisfaction. Our plain friends show us the joy of being satisfied with less. They show us the reality of families living out legacies. They show us the fulfillment of sweat of the brow work. There is a health and vitality in their lives that we long to have.

We are privileged to see several varieties of plain people in our area. Some use all draft animals and no small engines of any kind. Others use draft animals with some use of small engines and gas powered appliances. Those who use fossil fuels complain to us about having less resources and feel they are more financially burdened. Our friends who use manual labor and draft animals only have never complained about making ends meet. In fact, those who do not rely on fossil fuels to assist them are farming as their primary income. In the past, we have hired our plain friends to work for us building furniture. For example, we had a friend build us some benches for our kitchen table. He powers his wood working tools with horses attached to a treadmill. When I hired him, he told me that he could not complete the job until November as he was busy with farming. We hired another friend to build us a manual washer. Again we were told that the washer would not be complete until after farming season. It is clear that the plain people who do not use gasoline power are much freer to farm as their primary income. They regularly turn down non-farm work because they can. Our friends who use small engines and gasoline powered tools complain that they are unable to farm full time and have to have off-the-farm jobs to support their farming.

Our journey to live a simple life is not clearly defined. We will likely alter our course as we go. We are thankful for our friendship with the plain communities. They have strongly impressed their values and methods on us. I plan to share what we have learned as time permits. We understand it took years to foster a learned helplessness when it comes to basic living. Much has been forgotten. As we relearn what has been forgotten, it will take time. It will take embracing and coping with stiff sore muscles. I have been in agony before, but I have never felt so refreshed in spirit and mind. Sweat of the brow work is good for the soul, good for the soil, and good for the mind.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Lately my days are packed full. I long to chronicle all the activities, the information I am learning , and the general impressions about our new journey. The sheer busyness prevents me from writing as much as I would like. As I get older, it gets hard to remember all the details. My goal in keeping a written record is to provide history for my children and grandchildren about our quest to get back to the land. So much information has been lost because of abandonment and neglect. Who needs to know how to butcher a pig when you can go to the store and buy Farmland? Why learn to process a steer when you can buy from Tyson? Why learn to work with draft animals when you can do so with John Deer and fossil fuel? I have written many times about the reason we are forsaking modern methods for a revival of the old fashioned. I won’t repeat that here. But, I must comment about how difficult it is to return to the old ways when nobody does it anymore. The knowledge, tips, and advice is six foot under with our ancestors. Most aspiring homesteaders will face many obstacles when trying to learn basic survival skills. Many are homesteading despite the absence of information. The learning curve is great. But the disillusionment with the false promises of modern society is greater.

In the last year and a half, we were blessed with a remarkable and dynamic friendship with plain people. This large community possesses a vitality and success that encourages even the most critical skeptic of non-electric living and draft horse farming. Generally, plain people are reserved and closed to the outside world. They put up with English long enough to do business with them. This was my experience in Kansas. Others report plain people to be English people who wear plain clothes. You can’t tell the difference in their lives because they rely so much on corporate America, rides from the English and industrial agriculture. This is not true with our friends. They are living examples of really living a plain and simple life with success.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the plain people in Missouri are of a different stripe. They are open, warm, and friendly. We have formed friendships that have permanently changed who were are as people and our goals in life. This is a subject, I wish I had time to write about extensively. Yet, actively living out the methods they are teaching us prevents me from keeping daily records as much as I want.

It is my hope never to forget this time in our lives and all we are learning. I am not sure how long our apprenticeship will last. As we convert to more of their methods, we will find less time to travel, less time to work with our friends side by side. I intend to savor every moment we have with them. In the past when we were unable to visit in person, we kept in touch through writing letters. We both felt it was just not the same and are enjoying our time working and fellowshipping together again.

Thankfully, my children are learning just as much first hand as we apprentice with our friends. While I may forget details and lack time to write it all down, they have keen minds and may be able to recall what I have forgotten. My prayer is that the children will hold fast to the methods they are learning so they can teach their own children too. My children are witnessing first hand a variety of farming methods that may forever change them. In fact, as I watch them work and play, I can already see the influence of the plain people on them.

Over the last few weeks, my husband worked with the plain people in their farm fields. He drove a team of horses to prepare the fields for crops. Our friends operate a green house but also sell produce for community’s market. Their market is popular and busy during the produce season. Plain and English alike keep the market booming. Many times I would stop at the store and see a parking lot full of cars. A winter store continues to augment the income of many in the community. They ship out many vegetables and fruits to local stores as well. Several in the community have a variety of family businesses to diversely support their incomes. A few families make furniture, one runs a general store, another a fabric store, still another runs a butcher shop, and the list goes on. Our friends are diverse in that they milk cows, keep chickens and rabbits too. Each aspect of their farm brings income. In early spring the green house brings profit. Only a few modest signs point customers to their home. Word of mouth prevails and customers travel an hour and half to purchase green house goods.

While my husband worked in the field, I helped Mrs. G. around the house and farm. The bulk of this article will address the use of wood for cooking and heating. I will also discuss water storage systems which are important to us who desire to go off-the-grid.

Our friends begin work in the green house in January. Some seeds are started in their home. They like to have early tomatoes so they seed them indoors and carry them out to the green house during the day. They do this until they have enough flats to start the wood stove. The green house is heated by a wood stove. In fact, wood is used to heat their home and to cook food. The children and I helped clean up the wood pile and carry kindling to the shed. The wood is split with an axe. The wood is delivered from another Amish community who specializes in saw mill work. Mr. G. split’s the wood and Mrs. G. hauls it to the shed and to the house as needed. The plain people in this community do not use any gas powered engines. I have seen others cut down trees using hand saws. Though the work is painstaking, they do complete the job in a surprisingly quick manner. While hauling wood may seem like a mundane task, it was helpful for us to participate. If you rely on wood as a source for heating and cooking, it is important to know how to properly manage and store the wood. It was helpful for me to see how the wood is brought from the shed into the wood box. To cook daily, the wood box must be kept full.

During the cooler months our friends use the cook stove in their kitchen. There is always two teapots full of water on the stove. This makes hot water available quickly. My friends do not have running water. They have a hand pump in an enclosed room just off the back porch. We wash our hands in a basin of water in this room. When I help with dishes, I fill a pitcher of cold water and carry it to the sink and put a little in two separate dishpans. I also put a little water in a bowl for rinsing debris off the dishes. Next, I take a teapot full of hot water and pour the hot water into the two dishpans. Washing dishes without running water is simple. In fact, it is so simple, the first time I did it I wondered why I have spent some of my life paying a water company, electric company and gas company to complete my work. The ease of this task comes from thinking through the steps and laying out your home to make it all work.
My friends indoor hand pump gets water from a cistern. They have lived in this house for eight years and have never had problems with a water shortage. They do not drink this water though. The previous owner was a convert to plain living. He did not know the finer details of building a cistern. He left no practical way to clean the cistern.

My friends have a second source of drinking water from a hand pumped well outside. They keep a large cooler full of fresh drinking water next to the indoor water pump. Yes, it might be a hassle to keep the drinking water pitcher full. In the winter it may be taxing especially. However, when I examine my experiences I plan to gladly exchange the high costs of water bills and electric well pump costs for this minor inconvenience. Twice in fifteen years, I replaced an expensive well pump on our rural farm in Kansas. It took electricity to operate which meant dependence on the grid. The pumps ran approximately $800. We had various problems with our well pumps over the years. One major complications was having no access to water when we had an eleven day ice storm. My friends do not have this problem. Further, I had to heat my water with an electric water heater. Again, I was dependent on the grid and it was costly. Upon moving to Missouri I paid the city for water and sewage. I also paid the gas company for hot water. This is by far more complicated to me then simply having a good cistern and a hand pump.

For garden watering needs my friends have a windmill near the pond. The windmill pumps water into a 30 foot holding tank near the greenhouse and gardens. When water is needed for the plants it is delivered by gravity to the garden. The metal tank is a common item on the landscape of those who live in this community. Apparently, they are salvaged. We intend to locate the source and set up a similar watering system for our farm.

When we butchered meat with another plain family, they had an intriguing water system for their butcher shop. They had running water in the shop. When I inquired about its origin, my friend took me to another room. In the room sat a small wood stove. It had a hot water reservoir. Just above the wood stove, there was a cistern placed in the second story of the room. The bottom of the tank and the related fittings were exposed through a clever design with two by fours in the ceiling. The wood stove kept the pipes from freezing and the elevation of the poly tank allowed for ample water to be delivered by gravity to a simple sink. I inquired further about how others in the community kept their outdoor poly tanks from freezing in winter. He said some insulate them with standard insulation. But, many use composting matter around the outside of the tank to keep the water from freezing in the winter.

During hot summer months, my friend uses a summer kitchen for cooking. The summer kitchen looks like an enclosed porch or an addition to the house. A door separates the room keeping the heat out of the main living area. She does her wash here as well. The summer kitchen and wash room has a separate exit making it unnecessary to carry wet clothes through the rest of the house. She uses a manual washer. In fact, her husband makes the manual washers. It is another source of income for this family.

Seeing the layout of their farm and home has saved us years of heartache and frustration with learning curves. We know first hand the problems that come from not knowing how to set up your home and farm to run non-electrically. There are some small design problems in our friend’s home due to the builder being a new convert to the plain lifestyle. A quick search on the internet reveals helpful but limited information. However, most sites offer high priced solutions to going off-the-grid. For example, some companies offer self composting toilets with exhaust fans built in and promise no odor. Several readers wrote and shared these contraptions wreak. A home constructed self-composting toilet works better and costs less. Consumerism affects the off-the-grid wannabe as well. It has been a joy and privilege to see how it works behind the scenes from people who have lived off-the-grid all their lives. I can’t imagine how many years we would have spent researching and experimenting to get the same information we have gotten first hand.

Stay tuned for more on our work with the plain people.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Author’s note:

I am republishing this article because a number of visitors are being pointed to my site related to the topic of domestic violence.  I have not written extensively on my experience with domestic violence because healing takes time. We endured a lot of pain.  I anticipate writing more specifics about our ordeal someday.  It would not be graphic details about what my abuser did to me, but what God did for me and my children in our deliverance.  There is life after abuse.  God set this captive free!!!  He blessed me with a new life with a tender, compassionate, and understanding husband who has played a key role in my healing and my children’s.   We are in the process of rebuilding a new life that is distinctive and joy filled.  Gone are the days where I wake up to screaming, shouting and demeaning comments.  They have been replaced with wonderful music composed by my husband. There is laughter and romance.  The joy in our home is real.  It is geninune.  No more hiding behind a fake smile or keeping secrets about rage.  God has restored my life out of the wasteplaces, out of the ashes and rubble. 

I remember the days when his voice would boom behind me. Accusations bounced from wall to wall about my inadequate capabilities. He ultimately concluded I was a worthless wife. He shouted his conclusion in front of all the children. Sometimes I would see the terror and fear in my children’s eyes. How far would daddy go this time? Would he throw mommy into the wall again? Or would he cover her mouth and nose with his hand to shut her up causing her to gasp for air? Perhaps he exhaust his rage on big brother with brutal blows where ever they would land? Maybe he would choke big brother again. We never knew what his rage would bring from moment to moment, from day to day.

It has been over two years since I heard the insults screamed at me. Two long years since I saw my oldest child pinned to the floor receiving blows to the head and face. Over twenty four months since I had to worry about what kind of mood he was in when he came home and how to prevent the inevitable release of rage. The day-to-day abuse ended. Let me give you a picture of what life was like the day the abuse stopped.

The first few months after I turned the to courts the war began. I aroused a sleeping dragon. He will not rest until his fiery breath of revenge has charred my life. Anyone who has lived with domestic violence knows it is a cardinal sin to put your foot down with a batterer. But, I had to do it. The violence grew worse. There were death threats, scars, broken bones, and the need for physical therapy to recover from injuries. So, I asked the civil courts to restrain him. The outcome of involving the civil courts resulted in dread and fear.

I dreaded checking the mail. Almost every day I received notification of legal action advancing with great force. He filed for divorce. Eventually, he sought custody of the children. Ultimately, this war meant I could lose everything. Walking to the mail box became a horrifying experience. My chest would tighten, my palms would sweat. I would open the letters and feel as though I had been dealt a new kind of blow. Before, I asked him to leave I took the abuse in person. Now he had a new tool: the legal system. I dreaded checking the mail. Yes, I dreaded answering the door. Throughout that year, police officers arrived often delivering me one subpoena after another for my appearance in court. There were over thirty court hearings when I stopped counting. This left little time to care for the children or the farm that year.  The result of the court process was dread, fear and horrific pain. The initial abuse was bad enough. The civil court experience felt worse then the abuse.

The abuse was private. It occurred in the confines of my home. The court action gave him an audience to which he delighted in. Now legal processes provided him with the opportunity to humiliate me publicly. Accusations flew faster than I could absorb. I was crazy. I feigned the abuse to make money off the internet. Along with this scheme I made up his battle with cancer too. I made up my step-dad’s death all for profit. The pain of mocking my dad’s untimely death cut through me like a knife. They would stop at nothing to terrorize me. Recently, I stood looking at his tombstone wishing that I had made it up and that he was still here. How could they stoop so low as to mock my dad’s death? My advocate told me not to take it personally, it was just the job for the criminal lawyer. They searched my background and went twelve to twenty years into the past when I was a fool and  an unbeliever and dredged up the skeletons in my closet. They paraded them around the court room, while I sat in horror. To this day, I pass the court houses and anxiety sweeps over me. The result of the criminal court trial was dread and fear.

Once the divorce was final and the criminal trial plea bargained away, I left the state of Kansas in search of refuge, restoration and healing. The mail slowed down and later stopped. But, it was replaced by emails from a legal representative of the judge.

Today, I live in fear most of the time. Will he find me? If he finds me, how far will he go? How deep is this pathos of battering? Will he kill me? Will he kill the kids? I live with economic hardship of having to pay for ongoing legal involvement. Can I afford to keep protecting my children? How high will the legal bill get before my youngest child turns eighteen? I have read countless stories of women like me who suffer for years because they were abused. Then they stop the abuse only to suffer continual attacks through the family court system. Some of them are in court protecting their children for fourteen  plus years.

A few months ago, I complained to a friend about the quality of my life. The fear is so real. The exhaustion is intense. How can I face tomorrow? Why are my children’s lives in the hands of courts? What will happen to them? Truthfully the quality of my life is not very good when I narrowly focus on what I described above. Which is worse? The abuse or living in constant dread and fear. Will I go bankrupt trying to ward off the battles he continually launches?

Victims of domestic violence face insurmountable barriers. Some women leave their violent partner multiple times only to return. It baffles police, judges, and other professionals. Those who do finally make the break live their lives heavily entrenched in litigation. Yet, the same professionals do very little to protect the women and children once they leave even when evidence is clear that child abuse occured. Courts often become the tools of batterers.  Custody battles become gruesome and financially devastating. The future for us looks dismal with this narrow focus.

Sunday, God broaden my focus. As I reflected on the past two years, I saw one triumph after another. Yes, I lived in anguish and fear. But, God delivered me from my oppressor. Sometimes He would not answer my cry until the absolute last minute after I had exhausted all my energy trying to solve the problem on my own. Why would an all powerful God, a God who can raise the dead, wait to save his people until they are nose to nose, face to face, with their enemy? It is in this moment that we recognize our helplessness, and that we can’t fight the enemy on our own. He arrives to save His people in the most uncanny way. Then there is no doubt that it is truly God who delivered His people.

My deliverance was exactly this way. Many times the answer to prayer was humanly unachievable, but God worked in providential ways to achieve it. For example, the judge allowed me sole legal custody which does not happen in our county anymore. In fact, my lawyer and the domestic violence advocate told me, “You won’t get sole legal custody. They just don’t award that anymore”. The judge gave me sole legal custody. The judge granted me permission to leave the state to get a fresh start. This too is an unusual ruling. Each step of the way God demonstrated the fulfillment of the promise “I will save your children” as found in Isaiah 49:25.

This Sunday at church we sang Bill Gaither’s song “Because He lives”. We sang it Sunday morning and Sunday evening. God really wanted to get my attention. It is easy to get caught up in the fear, terror, and assess that the quality of my life is poor.

As we sang this song, I reflected back over the past two years and I realized that God walked intimately with me through the darkness. He lifted me up and carried me when I could not stand. He came to my rescue sometimes waiting till I thought the enemy had gained victory over me.

Because He lives all the fear I face related to domestic violence is gone. Should I die, I will enter in God’s presence. So what effect will domestic violence have on my soul? NONE. Because he lives, I can face tomorrow. Everything that is happening to me now first passed through his hands.  He holds the future.  By knowing Christ and examining my suffering through a biblical perspective, I don’t have to dread anything. Even better, because I know He holds the future, there is not one thing to dread. Life is worth living because He lives.

Often times I forget Christ lives today. He is an active King who rules from the right hand of God. His reign affects our lives today. He providentially works in our lives for our good and His glory so that all people will know He is God.

The benefits of Christ’s resurrection doesn’t just apply to victims of domestic violence. We all have fear. We all have dread. Some nights we ache and wonder how we are going to face tomorrow. We wonder who is in charge of this mess we call life. The hope I have, the truth God spoke to me through this song isn’t just for me. It is for you too. There will be a final war with pain and there will be victory for those who belong to Him.  You can face tomorrow.  Life is worth living … because He lives!!!

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

A day in the life of a large family is busy. Our quest to live an off-the-grid or simple lifestyle increases the flurry of activity. It is not uncommon in the flurry of life to have a child come to me with tears streaming. They point to a new cut, bruise, or other injury.

Living simply affects every area of my life health and medical included. We have found that eating food we produce has reduced the illnesses in our family. However, accidental injuries still occur and require attention. A few years ago, I started making my own salves. They are nothing special. Yet, they work. The children know to get the Healing Salve when they have a minor wound. Zach recently found some poison ivy and had a severe rash on his hands. He used the salve before bed. When he woke up the two-day rash was gone and so were all the symptoms. I enjoy making salves and other home remedies. When I refer to reducing my dependence on the medical industry, that includes the broad array of over-the-counter medications. I became skeptical of them when there was one recall after another. Over the past few years I have learned that simple items in my kitchen will address minor injuries and illnesses effectively.

For bleeding, we apply cayenne powder after the wound is clean. It stops bleeding instantly. Surprisingly the application does not burn either. The children follow the cayenne pepper with Healing Salve.

For pain and inflammation, I often use a castor oil heat pack. I recently suffered from on-going abdominal pain. Andrew also developed carpal tunnel. We used the castor oil pack to help decrease inflammation and reduce pain. I dipped an old cotton T-shirt in castor oil. I applied it to the area of concern, covered it with plastic wrap, and then applied a heating pad. In both instances we found this to be effective.

Recently, we treated a bruise with a poultice made from black strap molasses. Charity had hit her head when she tried to steal Zach’s math paper. She grabbed the paper and turned to run. Only she ran into the corner of the wall. By the time, I got to her, the bruise was present just above her eye. The swelling was larger than a small plumb. While it was not protruding a great deal, the area swelling was large. Moriah began by applying a cold cloth to her forehead. The other children began feeding her treats to calm her. Gotta love large family cameraderie. We applied ice on the area for thirty minutes. Most of the swelling went down. I wet a piece of brown paper and then dipped it in black strap molasses. I applied it to the bruise for a few hours. It worked. There is a slight abrasion but the bruise is gone.

My husband developed a severe stiff neck. He spends a great deal of time in the office before a computer. His recent training of the draft horses aggravated his stiff neck making it difficult to function. We did the castor oil pack and it reduced some of the pain but not nearly enough. I soaked cotton balls with diluted rosemary essential oil and applied it to the affected area. He experienced relief.

My goal is to continue to build a resource library so I can learn more about home remedies. There are many good books available. I am concerned that with the current political climate severe restrictions will be placed on herbal remedies. I perceive books and supplements will be more difficult to get. My long term goal is to build an herbal pharmacy so I can avoid buying herbal supplements. It does a person no good to step away from the medical industry and spend their life’s savings on the alternative health care industry. It is greatly fulfilling to find and identify wild herbs on our forty acre farm. There still maybe times when a doctor is necessary or a trip to the pharmacy. However, the average person can find a great deal of healing tools in their kitchen cupboard and the backyard.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

With spring right around the corner, my family is anxious to farm. The wet, cold, and long winter provoked many to complaint. However, my family was remarkably quiet and rejoicing.  Why?  Our home is filled with many large windows. Lifting the blinds daily kept plenty of light in our home and prevented the winter time blues.

But, there is more.

We returned to the land after a long wait. While most were bemoaning the dreary winter, my family was busy making plans for turning our acreage into a farmstead like the one in Kansas that they treasured.  Since our farmstead has no meaningful buildings, we have a lot of planning to do. We were also enjoying the return to the land giving thanks to God for His mercy.  Rejoicing in the Lord can break any stronghold on one’s life including seasonal affective disorder.  That is, depression brought about by less sunlight.  This is common in winter.

Keeping attitudes positive was made easier because our home filled with simple joys that dared any winter blues to take over. My husband’s music cheered our hearts and kept our focus on Jehovah-jireh (God our provider).  Sweet aromas also filled the house along with my husband’s music.  Here is a picture of Lazy Day Peach Cobbler I made for my crew out of our fresh ground flour.

You can make your own Lazy Day Cobbler by following this recipe:

Put one stick butter or margarine (1/2 cup) in the bottom of a deep dish pan.  Place in the oven to melt.  Beat together 1 cup of sugar, 1 cup self-rising flour and 3/4 cup of milk to a smooth batter.  Pour over melted buter but DO NOT stir!  Empty one can of pitted, unsweetened cherries not drained over the batter and sprinkle with 1/2 cup of sugar.  Back at 350 degrees for thirty minutes.  I added 1and 1/2 teaspoons of baking powder and 1/4 teaspoon of salt to my fresh stone ground flour since it is not self-rising.

We used peaches that we processed last fall instead of canned cherries.  We preserved peaches by soaking them in lemon juice and honey.  We froze them.   We saved them anticipating  dreary days of winter.  We enjoyed the sweetness of peaches several times this winter.  It was a joy to extend the fruits of the warm days well into the cold days.

The aroma of fresh baked bread also filled the house many times. 

My bucket began to run low. 

But, God provided and we will have ample grain to continue baking.  I have been adding flax seed to our bread and have been drinking water with a tablespoon of fresh ground flax for the health benefits. An entire book has been written about the health benefits of flax.

The children passed the time learning to play chess. Rain and mud prevented them from being outside. So, strategy and concentration repelled melancholy.

When they children couldn’t play outside in the dirt, we brought the dirt inside to them. We planted heirloom seeds in anticipation of spring. The act of planting seeds in the midst of winter reminds me of our faith in Christ.  The evidence around us visibly speaks of no hope.  Yet, we know based on history that winter is followed by spring.  As we read through the bible, we see God caring for His people.  There is redemption after oppression and tyranny.  I have faced much oppression and tyranny in my life.  I can assure you that there is always spring after the winter seasons of our life.  We, a family who knows hope, watched the snow fall outside.  We planted seeds inside.