I apologize for the start-stop method of blog posting. In addition, I have run into some technical difficulties trying to post pictures. We have been displaced from our home due to the cold weather and complications with the heat pump installation. Plus, we have had distractible excitement around deer hunting season. We spent most of the week with my husband’s parents to keep warm while Daddy worked on the installation. It is midweek and we have arrived home. We are grateful for a warm house.

The heat pump installation is a curious creature to me. Daddy purchased a ground source heat pump. Trenches were dug and the heating and cooling framework will be placed in the bottom of the fishing pond rather than a hole in the ground. There is still more work to be done before we draw the heat supply from the ground. For now, we are using the electric back up mechanism on the heat pump to keep warm.

Frankly, I miss the wood burning stove. I love the smell of wood burning as I walk out in the yard to do chores. We will have to wait until our house is built to use wood heat. Much work still needs to be done before we can bring the cows home. So, there will be no winter chores again save feeding Hank and drowning rodents who make their way into the house. Now that the duct work is completely hooked up, we should see a decrease in the mouse population.

In all of my years in the country, we never had mice in the house. This is a new experience for me. We are using the dreaded glue traps. My children, being ruthless, fight over who gets to drown the prey. I have converted to a country girl, but I still struggle with certain aspects of rural living. I think my children take country living a bit far.

As I snuggle down for the night in this warm home, I am reminded of how our gracious Father cares for our every need. I am thankful for a home in the country, land to farm, a home full of love, peace and joyful noises from children. This Thanksgiving, I have so much to thank God. The children and I are safe, free from daily tyranny, enjoying the love of a godly husband and father. We have had a wonderful year of peace.

Udderly His,

The Kansas Milkmaid

Yesterday, I traveled to the countryside to get real milk. The air was fresh and warm, making short sleeves a requirement. The land, it was beautiful. Huge clods of dirt lay freshly overturned by horse and plow.

The land offers much to our family. It heals, it feeds, it sustains. I know this. It was farming the land that saved me from insanity during the grueling divorce and criminal trial against my children’s father. The farm offered structure in the midst of the devastating chaos. We had something to live for. The animals needed us, and customers counted on us. It gave us meaning when life seemed meaningless.

You may wonder how the children held up with all the hard work. After all, we live in a society that intentionally shields children from hard work and limits their participation in household chores to merely taking out the trash once per week or drying dishes. My children had to help with every aspect of the farm and home. So what do they think of farming and household chores? Let me share their thoughts with you expressed best in scenarios.

Scenario one:

There is a container on the kitchen counter. It holds money. All the children have pooled their allowance and placed it in this container. They labeled the container “Chicken and Goat Fund”. When most children save up for techno toys, mine are saving for farm animals. This has special meaning because we are not on the farm right now. We live in a small town.

Scenario two:

I am in the kitchen washing dishes and cooking supper. We just completed school. I left the children in the living room to play or have free time. Once the children realize I am in the kitchen, they begin to join me one by one.

Jordan: Mom, I need something to do.

Me: But you can play with your toys and let mommy do the work.

Jordan: No, I want to help. I need something to do.

Soon Charity enters the kitchen and then Moriah. Josiah enters asking if he can set the table. I am browning hamburger. When I turn to put a dish in the sink, I can barely get to the sink. Four children crowd around the sink washing dishes. They volunteered.

Scenario three:

Last night at the supper table the children began to chatter excitedly. They were pouring milk from a glass jar. Local friends have a milk cow that just freshened. Another friend is going to milk one of our cows, Sunny and give us the milk. With two sources of milk, I may be able to make some cheese on occasion.

Zach: Can we save this cream and make butter tonight?

Me: No Zach we still have twenty pounds of butter in the freezer. We can make some later.

Zach: Awww. Can we make cheese then?

Me: Listen to you all. You sound like a bunch of farm kids. We live in the city now. How about we forget this foolish farm stuff and move to a bigger city. Let’s take life easy.

The children: But we are farm kids! We will die if we move to a bigger city. We can’t wait to get to farm again.

Zach: On our new farm we are going to get a sheep. We will save the wool and learn to spin.

Me: Sorry guys, I forgot to tell you we are going to move into the big city and shop at the store exclusively. No more hard work.

Josiah: Ha, Ha, Ha. You are just kidding.

Moriah: Our mom would never do that. You love cows and the country too much.

As you can see the children were not traumatized by the work they endured. They miss the farm. They have a character habit of participating in household duties and prefer that to playing. They make plans to return to the farm quite apart from my plans.

I believe the social ills of our nation could be greatly improved by a return to farming. True, we suffered a common social ill of domestic violence and divorce. It didn’t stop the social ill. However, I believe the farm gave us a means to heal. The children knew they played an important role on the dairy and that it would not continue without their contribution. My family organized around a common goal and everyone participated in cleansing sweat of the brow work.

Udderly His,
The Kansas Milkmaid