A bob white quail made its presence known as I stripped the pods from the vine. Off in the distance, I heard her. She retrieving water from the hand dug well. The metal handle whined as she drew it back and forth. Her dark skirts swayed as she walked through the yard tending to the laying flock. I rose from my crouched position long enough to see her white prayer cap disappear in the green house. I sank back to my pea picking posture filled with gratitude. My plain friend invited us over to have a pea picking party. They planted too many peas. She had already canned all they needed.

The row of vines stretched across their entire front yard. The children started at one end and I the other. We worked our way to the center filling a large box with pea pods. Earlier this spring, I visited my friends to get milk. I saw them work the soil with their horse drawn cultivator. As I picked the pods, I meditated on the hours of work it took to raise this bountiful crop and the kindness of sharing such a harvest. Oh that God would grant me the ability to sow, reap, and share just like my friends. Learning to live simply overwhelms me. There is so much to learn. The harvest wasn’t just about bushels of peas to take home. It was about the joy of crouching in the rows, digging my toes in the dirt, watching my children run and play between picking peas. It was about hearing the buggies of this plain community trot by while we worked. It was about God blessing me with the ability to have a garden moment during my urban season of life.

Many times, I allowed resentment over my plight to well up inside of me. I questioned why God gave me this detour before arriving to our promised land. No. I have not learned to joyously accept disappointment and detours. My prayer journal contains ample prayers begging God to get us to the land quickly. The months seemed to drag on. The spring planting season came and went. I observed my friend’s gardens with a deep aching. I longed to feel the cool moist dirt between my toes. My pressure cooker sat in the corner of the kitchen collecting dust much to my dismay. After many months of praying for God to hasten our move to the land, I stopped praying for the move. Instead, I asked God to help me accept and celebrate the sabbatical from farming.

I sat on the couch reading to the children when the door opened unexpectedly. My beau gave me a dazzling smile. “You are invited to a pea picking party. Do you want to come?” He knew I would accept the invitation. We gathered up baskets and drove out to see our friends. God did not forget my longing. He heard my request. As I plucked one pod after another that day I pondered the passage in Matthew 7:9:

“Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?

God is so merciful to answer my prayers, to bring me into the presence of a people who farmed in excess allowing me to share in their bounty. Today, fourteen quarts of peas sit nestled in my cabinet as a testament that God gave me peas when I deserved pebbles. Indeed, we serve an awesome God!!

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Ten minutes passed. I could hear the chatter outside the window. Moriah announced through the open window the ground was covered with slugs near the washer. More time passed as I worked on supper dishes and tended to the other children’s needs. I had a faint recollection of a shriek, but the babbling of the other children drowned out the sound and distracted me. Suddenly, the door burst open. Moriah entered gagging asking for a towel. As soon as she was able, she gave me a detailed description of what turned her stomach. Her graphic description had me nauseous too.

Joseph was captivated by the plump slimy creatures around the washer. After running several articles of clothing through the wringer, he could no longer restrain his intrigue. He noted my daughter was revolted by the slugs. He took our recent bible study of boys being protectors seriously. He found a rock and turned it into a slug crusher. Moriah and Joseph developed an organized system. She would sound off a contrived damsel in distress alarm. Joseph would come to her rescue and obliterate the slug. He showed no mercy upon the oblong gooey creatures. All went well, until a force natural to pre-adolescent boys seized him. He eyed the granddaddy of all slugs (it was huge), then the rock, then the wringer. He cast the rock aside when a new enemy was detected. He grasped the slug in one hand and the wringer handle in the other. Yes, the offender met his doom between the wringer’s roller bars. The damsel in distress saw the results and headed into the house gagging as she went.

After hearing the report and stifling waves of nausea, I mustered resolve to rebuke the child. I peered out the window to bellow his name. I found him working with fervor to remove the remains of his conquered enemy. “Did you run a slug through the wringer?” I interrogated.

“Yes, and it was a bad idea.” remorse replaced the expression of satisfied delight. “It is a real mess to clean up. I was trying to protect Moriah. The slugs terrified her.”

My resolve waffled with the hilarity of it all. “Joseph, only a boy who is 100 percent All-American Boy would pull a stunt like that. I now declare you 100 percent All American Boy. ( I dubbed him with an imaginary sword) Please do not run slugs through the wringer again.” He agreed. If only he had a straw hat and if only I had a fence to white wash.

Boyhood is filled with testimonies of creative play and work gone overboard provoking even the calmest of adults to fitful irrationality. I imagine when Joseph is an adult he will recount his adventures with pride. The story of the day he ran the slug through the wringer will be retold for all posterity. What my children may have forgotten is the grandmother’s pledge. I long for the day when they bring the grandchildren to stay. I pledge to recount these stories to my grandchildren, aiding and abetting them to follow their in their parent’s footsteps.

Joseph paused for a moment, when I gave him a smile and a wink after the reprimand. He seemed caught off guard by my response. Perhaps the other children will tell him of the grandmother’s pledge. If not, he may learn about the mother’s curse that he have seven children exactly like him or perhaps a tad more energetic and creative.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

On eating poison berries:

“Those are Holly Berries,” my eleven year old explained to his younger sibling. The dark red and purple berries nearly swiped the window as we pulled out of the drive way. “They are poisonous. You should never eat them.” I heard him lecture the younger children.

“What will happen to you?” a six-year-old twin asked.

Zechariah explained, “ Well, I ate two berries. Nothing happened to me. My stomach wasn’t even upset. But, my bottom sure felt warm after mom disciplined me for eating wild berries. She warned me once, but I didn’t listen. I am telling you. Don’t eat Holly Berries. It is no fun.“

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On hiding God’s word in your heart:

We recite the following pledge to the bible.

I pledge allegiance to the Bible, God’s holy word.

It is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.

I will hide God’s word in my heart that I might not sin against thee. Amen

Our family began reading Pilgrim’s Progress. In the story Christian receives instruction to hide God’s word in his heart so he won’t sin. One evening, Moriah, at the age of four, was laying on the couch. We had completed a full day of school and another chapter of Pilgrim’s Progress. She was pressing on her chest with her hand directly where her heart was.

“Mommy, I finally figured out what this bump is. Well, it says to hide God’s word in your heart. This hard spot in my chest has to be the Bible”

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It is true being a mother requires sacrifice. There are days when training them brings one challenge after another. Yet, their unique perspective and their ability to find joy in work reminds me how fortunate I am to spend all day every day training them. It is an honor and high calling to home school my brood. There are some days when chaos reigns supreme. However, I have learned more about God and the real meaning of life from my children then I ever learned from my college professors. Every college student purposes to use their career to make a difference in the lives of others, to leave a legacy. As I watch my children grow and impact others in our lives, I conclude motherhood and home schooling is the most influential career available. I am not sure who the true students are in home schooling: the parents or the children. It is a mutually satisfying and beneficial endeavor.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Emails have been pouring in lately questioning if I am still among the living. Indeed, I live! However, at night when I crawl into bed and in the morning when I climb out of bed I wonder if I have moved into the realm of the walking dead. I suspect this is a common phenomenon for mommies of little ones. I have been unable to write lately as there we have been so busy.

Life has been full of activity  mainly involving road trips, celebrations with family and great fellowship with friends. This past weekend, I traveled to see my oldest son who is doing well. He continues to make cheese.

Cheese Andrew helped make

I enjoyed bringing some home this week and am still munching on it. When Andrew is not working in the creamery, he is in the farm field. By far, he enjoys being out in the fields driving tractors to being in the creamery. It was a joy to see him pull up in a tractor and greet us. Andrew gave his brothers and sisters rides up and down the road. I remember when he was just a little boy. He would stand near the fields and watch harvest crews until a compassionate soul would give him a ride. Now he is a man and giving his little brothers and sisters rides. I am delighted to see him living out a life on a farm. He is doing what he loves best and all in the context of a Christian environment. Though I wished he were closer to home, I see the Lord is working in his life, honing and refining Andrew for His work.

Over the next month or two, there will be many changes in our lives including efforts to get back to the land. A farm site has been located and we are now sketching out details for our off-the-grid home. We will remain close to the plain people who will help us design and construct our home.

We have put the cart before the horse by acquiring some horse drawn equipment. Our cultivator arrived. The search is on for a good work horse. The mare I intended to purchase this fall was sold to a person who appeared to back out of the original sale. Unfortunately, they didn’t back out. We have a lead on another mare, but she is significantly older.

My beau continues to work with the plain people doing various projects. One week he helped pour concrete. The next he drove a team of horses and helped lay plastic sheeting over wide rows in the field. Yet another week, he helped put up hay in the hay mows. He is getting a good work out and great first hand training. We continue to praise God for our friends and their willingness to teach us what has been lost.

I have been involved in a number of projects lately including knitting, crocheting and sewing among other things. My goal is to sew much of our own clothing. I found some simple patterns. The fabric store in the plain community offers me the ability to reach the goal of sewing our own clothes with frugality. I have a pattern cut out and ready to sew together. Soon I hope to have dresses for all of us sewn.

The Jersey girls moved off pasture to a local Holstein dairy farm. I had trouble breeding them and assumed that my efforts failed. In early May, I learned I was too hard on myself. Lacey calved which meant that the last time I bred her, she settled. She gave me a nice Jersey bull. We have had a long line of bulls lately. By fall, we will be back to milking for ourselves. I am still praying about whether to homestead or farm. Specifically, I am not sure if I will sell milk or if I will keep a family cow. There is much to consider.

I appreciate all the emails from friends scattered across the globe. I hope to get back to regular posting soon. Though, with all the preparations to return to the land, it may be difficult to get to the computer with any regularity.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid