To Bee or Not To Bee . . .

   

    (What is the question?)
     I laugh to think that when I began this little
farm journey, what I pictured was nothing to compare with the reality I live today.
    Going back to my very first blog of a year and a half ago, I spoke of Waldon and quoted Thoreau. "Holing up" was key to the equation. My journals, were to be but keepsakes of lessons learned with a few experiential notes to grace the liner pages of my next cookbook.
     In my mental "Farmville" mornings were to be spent writing, with grazing goats and waggy-tailed dogs for backdrop. The air would be fresh. The crops would make great photo ops for the cookbooks that are my livelihood. Otherwise, solitude and silence reigned supreme. (OK, so 4 out of 5 ain't bad.)
     Now that I'm living it, my biggest misconceptions were these:
    1) I had no idea one could fall in love with a way of life, the way most people look for it in a lover.
    2) The work is never done, but there's something very spiritual about the process...(I will go as far to say there is GOD in the process.) It is hard work, but it is joyful work, and fulfilling work.
    3) Don't EVEN think you can do this alone. (#3 being the biggest misconception I've had to overcome.)
     As I enter my 4th season, I feel just as much (if not more) the novice, though the experiences grown richer, and the lessons come faster. Though I've completed the Master Gardener's course, I am not, nor do I ever feel I will be a master gardener. I am, however a master student, and shall be until the day I die.
     Today's experiences reiterate that notion, as does everyday lived here on the farm.

    Two wonderful things happened today--both involving women I admire greatly.

    1) I started this year's garden (today's planting sign was in the breasts, which is nurturing for both above and below ground plants).
    2) The pups, the cat, the kids and I welcomed the newest addition to our family: namely, bees! (And what a welcoming it was!)

    Starting with the former, may I just say here, neighbors don't get any better than Miss Duff! As her precious name suggests, Miss Duff is as country as the lane we live on and has been pretty much gardening all her life. It warms my heart to hear stories of when my uncle last lived here, knowing his penchant for running a place known for country cooking was enhanced by his regular meals shared around Miss Duff's kitchen table.

    First call of the morning was to Miss Duff, asking if she'd come walk me through the potato planting process one more time. While a little late in the season (like last year, we didn't have a spring), I had 5 lbs of Kennybacs in need of cutting "just so" and while I've done this ritual before, I always like going over the steps with someone who can do this in her sleep...Quick as a flash (as the insurance ad states)  Miss Duff was there.
     For the record, you need a couple of good eyes and a quadrant of the tater to put in the soil. Because they are below ground crops, you aren't going to know if you did it right until it's too late and given I had done it incorrectly before, I wanted one last lesson before pulling the dirt back over things.  (Last year was too late to get potatoes in, and the year before they didn't grow properly; Thurman says it's because I planted on the wrong sign.)
     Never one to pass up an opportunity to ask a question, I ran another 100 past her about other crops as well, including, but not limited to: okra, peas, squash, cucumbers, watermelon, strawberries and a litany of others (many new to me this season).
     With several rows underway, I next get the call I've been waiting for~ My bee authority Miss Margaret was on her way, toting 4 crates of bees (at roughly 10,000 per crate). Kind of her to bring me a bonnet, and for safety's sake I did go for long sleeves which I tucked in gloves, but honestly, the bees (disoriented though they were) seemed delighted in their girly painted hives :) (Didn't know it at the time, but there are thousands of girls to about a dozen "drones" (i.e. male bees), so the feminine energy around the place was palpable, despite the fact that we had several guys here helping hoist, haul and host.  Having walked the land previously, staking out the best possible path so my new family members can pollinate both flowers and food ...we welcomed the girls to their new homes.
 

 For the next few hours,  I watched in awe as this amazing woman transferred one screen after another, after another, carefully, placing them within their new homes. My questions were endless...Her answers, pure wisdom. In short, the live cycle of bees and how they make honey is  as fascinating a proposition as it gets...Suffice it to say I'll be writing on this much more in the days to come.
     All in all, a good and productive day ...the kind of day that has you plopping head to pillow and leaving it there until the sun wakes you up.
    Little did I know when I started out that Green Acres really IS the place to be...And farm living, the life for me.
     To the ladies who made this day buzz with life, my heartfelt thanks...And to you guys here helping, never forget, you're outnumbered.  :)


   


   

A Day Well Lived

     If you had one last day on planet earth,  how you would spend it? Would you race to wrap projects at work? Would you spend the day calling old friends, checking in with people you barely see, or would you block out the world to hole up with one person or the precious few you love most?
     Since none of us know how long we have in these bodily earth suits, perhaps we'd be wise to take a cue from that Tim McGraw song and start living like we were dying...
     If I had but one day left on earth, I'd live it just like today... Not that there was anything earth-shattering about this day, but because this day contained within it, everything I love about life as I know it, despite the fact that the day had its fair share of tears.
   

    For starters, I woke up on the couch with a crick in my neck... Why? Because today was the day I was to take Layla in to see if she was strong enough for surgery, so to give her the most peaceful night possible, I slept with her by my side knowing no matter the outcome, for the next several weeks, her life would not be nearly so pleasant.
     We were at the vet early, signing papers, having had lots of conversations with various vets, clinics and surgeons. Since Layla's body has not developed properly, we did a pre-surgical workup, checking blood and all her organs to make sure she could handle what was to be an attempt to pin and wire her leg, all while granting the surgeons permission, should they find it inoperable, to remove it.
     I had fallen asleep to the smell of homemade pies, as someone I love lost his wife 2 days ago, (creating comfort foods, being pure reflex for Southern girls in times like these).
     Upon delivering said food, I next went to see a friend, where for the next few hours we talked and we laughed and we cried. Our topics covered a range of things...  things like life and death and what comes next and how we feel about it. The fact that my friend has just brought in Hospice had precious little to do with it. These have always been our topics. Thoughts of life and its limited earthly span are concepts I'm embracing more and more these days, for I am convinced we've been viewing it all wrong. If life is teaching me anything, it's that attachment is not the goal, rather it's detaching that will keep you sane...Not to say we don't care deeply for things of a physical nature. I am fighting with all my might to save Layla's leg and I sure don't want my friend to die, but the essence of what these life experiences is teaching me...the meaning in these moments...that IS life. That's the point...not the material, physicality of the matter.
     I personally believe my friend will live forever, part time here/full time in places more glorious than "here" could ever hope to be...What's more, there's no guarantee she's going first just because she got a warning sign. I've been on a roll of losses here of late and to cope, I have to believe there is more,  but more than that, having lost some of the most precious people in my life here recently, I can honestly say I know there is more. (I have come to recognize that what I miss most are their hugs, for their presence is still very real in my day to day life.)
     It wasn't a sad visit...to the contrary. While I did make her and her husband cry with a song I wanted them to hear, our laughter far outweighed the tears. What it was was a REAL visit...no idle chit chat about the weather or what we saw on TV last night. The conversation was about real feelings...poignant feelings...feelings about what we care about most in life and talking of people we love. If cancer diagnoses and life's rude awakenings bring us here, then I say "Thank you God for the gift" for it is in these experiences that priorities surface most readily. (Oh but to get here without the abrupt wake up calls...now THAT is the goal if you ask me.)
     Driving home I spoke with one of two surgeons who worked on Layla. The operation was a success! They were able to save her leg with pins and wires~ Layla lives to run another day, which brought joy to my heart and a tear to my eye. (Given she's only 11 months old, the thought of her having a full life ahead to romp and play and run as Pyrs are born to do, makes me very happy indeed.)
      I came in to unplug and to meditate before changing into work clothes and heading straight for my garden where finally (after too many days of too much rain) I tilled lavender fields until sunset...

     And that, my friends, is what I call a picture perfect day...a note in the key of Karlen.
     May the ones that remain hold just as much meaning and love.

Post Script:
     My heartfelt thanks to those who reached out in support of Layla. Your prayers, your love, your contributions have touched me deeply and helped me personally when facing decisions I felt overwhelmed and unqualified to make. We have quite a bit of rehab ahead as Layla must be confined for a matter of weeks, so fragile are things, but for those who have asked, a fund is set up at the vet; if you'll email me at karlenevins@gmail.com I can tell you where we stand. To those of you who've called or mailed payments already ~ you have my undying gratitude. (Layla thanks you too, as do all my babies ... from the bottom of their Pyr and pygmy hearts!)

Battle of Wounded (above the) Knee

   

     Make no mistake. This one's an emotional battle. Not the kind guys reenact on a Civil War battlefield... This one's as tough a battle as it gets and it's all between my heart and my brain and my God...

     So the Layla update is this:

     While continuing to bring her nutritional state up to "surgical readiness" (not a scientific term, but one I suspect, explains the situation more succinctly than a bunch of medical jargon) Layla is peaceful. Her leg is shot, but her tail still wags, which to me, indicates she very much wants to live with or without it (the leg, that is...Gotta keep that waggin' tail).

     Since no one I consulted recommended surgery immediately (given the situation), I have opted to use this time for research... Calling in favors...Calling on masters of veterinary medicine and surgical specialists in particular. I've simultaneously been responding to those who (like me) simply love animals and have asked how to help salvage a poor dog's leg...or life...or both.

     For the past 2 evenings (Friday and Saturday) we were blessed with cool breezes and precious little rain (at least on my farm)...Today, not so much. For those who've ever contended with something akin to damp days and bursitis, arthritis or any of the "itis" brothers, well, you can imagine what she's been dealing with, so for now, it's pain meds, anti-inflamatories and milk bones for a pup propped up like an ICU patient...

   

     To be certain, the x-rays are damning. And while she doesn't whimper or act as if she's in excruciating pain, I can't imagine how she could not be (hence the pre-surgery meds, administered in serious, round-the-clock rotation)...

     The good news is, she's a sweetheart...Her owner tells me she had food aggression issues before...Not so much here, as she has her own space and no one competing for anything anywhere near her. The fact that she enjoys eating so much, makes me very happy (comfort food being what Southern women live for after all)... Heck, I may dedicate my entire next cookbook to her, that's how precious her gratitude and the look of love in her face.

     In short, we're keeping her as peaceful and as still as we can (for a farm with goats jumping around everywhere and 4 big dogs longing to play, that's easier written than done) ....We're keeping candles lit and prayers going, and I welcome the same from anyone so inclined after reading this post.

     For those who have reached out, and for anyone else interested in pitching in for what stands to be a 6 - 8 week recovery after a not-so-cheap surgery, IM me or email me ... I can direct you as to where to send a check if you're so inclined. (Should something go awry, I promise we'll return it to you.)

     For now, it's all about Layla~

     (Why these things happen, I shall never understand...I think they call it "life"~)

 

Layla

     It was a taxing week even minus the 15th. We navigated rains, got mom to doctors and Minka to vets...We got flower beds weeded and new trees on site before setting our own sights on new projects ahead, namely: new cookbook and new garden.
     After several weeks of online searches and pulling over to grab numbers off tractors, my farm worker Pat, found for me the perfect "first tractor" ~ a 135 Massey Ferguson, restored to its former glory~
     With 2 more lavender rows to go (the rains taking their toll, leaving seedlings now doubled in their little plastic containers) I began mapping the plan for my 2015 garden, complete with a wildflower patch (separate and apart from the food garden) all to welcome our newest addition: namely, bees! (I will not be doing this alone, mind you, but will be bringing hives on the land in exchange for honey and extra pollination. )
     But the bees aren't the only new guest at the farm.
     As my Facebook pics will attest, I have a temporary house guest, going through a bit of a rough patch. Here is Layla's story.
     Daughter of TJ, niece to Rosey...first cousins with Hix and Rosebud, Layla was born 11 months ago to a lovely Pyr named Lilly, who's person had plans to move to the country and live on his family's farm. Sadly Layla didn't get that far...Recently losing a sister in a scuffle over food, more recently (as in three days ago) Layla broke her leg (in an accident I'm still unclear about).

     While her person loves her very much, it should come as no surprise that Pyrs are not the most economical breed of dog to raise. Food bills alone run quite high around here, and vets we keep on speed dial. (Minsky has one doctor; my Pyrs and pygmies have another who makes farm visits. Boo has another yet.)
     When I heard Layla's leg was broken my heart broke with it. The thought of an innocent pup in excruciating pain was more than I could handle. Since her person (on fixed income) did not have the funds readily available, I took Layla into my own care until a solution could be reached and options thoroughly researched. (Suffice it to say, there are no good answers here.)
     Juggling to keep a Nashville appointment, I routed friend to vet to get the process going and to get Layla out of pain. By afternoon with tears streaming down my face, I'm staring at one nasty x-ray and two very expensive alternatives... one involving specialists, (and metal plates and pins)...the other involving amputation.
     It has long been my philosophy that money should not dictate decisions involving life as I would scrub dishes or wait tables to see my babies properly cared for. If it were simply a matter of collecting funds, I'd be asking for them now, but there is more to it than this.
     Given the severity of the break, first estimates on a specialist (using metal plates and pins) are ball parked at $5000. Amputation I'm told could run $1200 -- $1500. Pricey numbers in anyone's book, but the tougher decision has to do with her recovery period and rehab as the commitment is huge for a primary caretaker (a role I cannot assume, given my dogs are so much larger and livelier and cannot be near her through the process, save for Rosey who has become extremely maternal here of late).  In short, it is a commitment one must think through thoroughly. The challenge comes with the recovery, which, given her weak bones and her frail skeletal structure, is no guarantee.

     Meanwhile, Layla who'd had no vaccinations until 3 days ago, is malnourished. Her bones are weak, she's unusually small for a Pyr her age; she's extremely frail. The good news: she's adorable; she loves to eat and one look at her innocent face will have you doing whatever it takes to help the girl.
     I brought her home with me Thursday evening and with the help of friends, situated her comfortably in her own space. Taking turns on the floor beside her to keep her from moving, we took shifts (friends, then me, then Rosey...friends, then me, then Rosey) keeping pain meds and anti-inflammatories on schedule and calls and emails ongoing to determine just what needs to happen from here.
     For a girl who was raised to "be a decision maker" I'm failing miserably at the job right now, for in truth, there are no good decisions, and if I make one, I cannot commit someone else to its execution...Yet doing anything less for Layla would be unjust. At times like these, all I know to do is pray, asking God to make the next decisions clear for me. For I do not like the choices that lie ahead.

It's a Sign!

   

     The story of how I came to gardening is as real as rain and as precious a story as I could ever craft, and yet it has the additional virtue of being true. I recall it vividly each year as I bring out my trusty hoe (named Ida) and my little green wagon, as it's forever etched fondly in both heart and mind.
     With two cookbooks under my belt, I had decided it was time to take it back a notch and learn what to do with fresh veggies coming straight from the garden. Here in the country it is not uncommon to come home to a watermelon or a bushel of beans left on your front porch from kind farm neighbors. It was one such event that prompted me to ask, "What happens when it doesn't come measured and pre-cooked in a can first?" (as the preponderance of my original recipes called for).
     No sooner had I told a neighbor friend "This year I'd like to try gardening" did I come home a day later to find an acre of my front lot "turned" (first stage of ground prep when your starting from scratch, as I was about to learn from my soon to be mentor and best bud, Thurman).
     Not only would Thurman teach me the difference between turning and tilling it, he would go on to teach me the difference in hoeing and sowing, ridges and rows and a myriad of other helpful tips that, quite honestly, I wouldn't have even known how to google. But the most important thing Thurman taught (and is still teaching me) is how to read an almanac, and more importantly a planting calendar.
     Now the interesting thing about planting calendars is, depending on where you get yours, they can vary about a day or two on either side. (Note: Here in Lebanon, you can get your calendar from the Co-op, Edwards Feed Supply or Ligon & Bobo Funeral Home. I think the Farm Bureau has a version as well, but don't hold me to that.) I had to laugh the other night when I called to cross check a sign for planting "below ground" crops, when Miss Duff's calendar called for one day and Thurman's the following and my farm hand yet another entirely different, so we took an average, and counted backwards from the full moon.
     Bottom line, I find that following the pattern of the moon DOES make a difference (as most every serious old time farmer I've ever spoken to will attest). I'm guessing that industrial farmers (those who supply grocers and food chains) can't sit around and wait for a sign to be just right, but here on the bend, we do, and not only for planting and harvesting, but some are even known to schedule their doctor's appointments and surgeries. And for sure you plan things like banding or (heaven help) slaughtering for meat by the signs.
     That said, it was with great anticipation that I finally began the first round of lavender rows (second rounds to be completed today and tomorrow as signs are in the feet, which is good, as transplanting and roots are a feet-sign proposition). Anything to assist the growing process (planting guides, moon signs, goat poop) you name it, I'm for it...after all, farming is about as serious and honorable profession as I've ever run across and if someone's been doing it this way for generations, I'd be wise to listen and take notes, which I am...which is soon to become my third cookbook...(Little sneak preview there!)

There Will Soon Come a Time...

There will soon come a time
...in my own final hours

When perhaps I'm unable
to get to my flowers

And when this time comes for me
Give me this image

A point locked in time,
of my own life's sweet vintage

To live my days fully
 By eve, no regrets

Tender moments like these
May I never forget...


I am sufficiently convinced that life is for the most part, taken for granted, used up mindlessly in day to day activity and needless worry.

More and more I am discovering that it is in these (what I call) raw zones...(i.e. points in time where helplessness forces a being state more than a doing state...When people I love face things I can't fix, where things I have planned go a 180 opposite...) in these moments, I am learning, if I but release, and the sooner the better) the very vibration and essence of what I do next, brings a gift.  For some reason, these raw moments open a portal to a new level of meaning, and feeling and "real" to my life ...and how I invest that, gets placed in my long term memory bank for to sustain me in future times of need.

While none of us ask for pain or loss, the fact that certain things are so penetratingly sad, it pierces the flow of our tick-tock thinking, stopping us in our tracks, knocking us to our knees, slapping us in the face. Ironic there'd be a gift in that, but something about forced to snap out of our everyday, take-it-for-granted surface thinking, brings a new level of consciousness...even if for the moment. Maybe life forcing us to let go of the notion that we're in charge...Who can say?

As yet another I love faces bitter news, I come to my garden alone.

All I can feel ...
All I can hear...
is "Capture your snapshot, Evins...This is one of those moments."

Once again, the day's events had opened the portal...I returned from an exhausting day of doctor's visits and poor prognoses of people I care about. Feeling more helpless than usual, I head straight for my garden to find my newly planted lavender babies had taken their first quantum leaps of growth, having been transplanted a few short days before...(Quantum leaps being relative at this stage...2 inches is a lot when you're a seedling.)

Rosey follows me out and in an instant she stops, lies down as if curling around the little plant, then cuts her eyes looking up at me as if to say "Don't worry, Mom, it will be ok. "  (Here is Rosey, all 130 pounds of her, lying next to this sprig of a plant, with the same protective instinct that TJ and Hiccapups have for protecting newborn baby goats.)

Moments like these--simple, silent moments like these, pack a powerful punch anymore these days.  I think I shall remember this moment forever. (And that's a good thing.) Little grainy by way of cell phone, but crystal clear in my heart...

Lovin'my Rosey...Lovin' my Lavender...Lovin' this Moment

Let the Season Begin!

   

      Lavender or taxes? Lavender or taxes? It was a grueling day inside my head as everything in my body wanted to be outside playing in dirt. (Today we had more dirt than usual.)
     Thanks to my new second driveway (for work crews and farm equipment I'm now salivating to purchase)  mounds of topsoil were pushed aside in huge heaps across my yard, (which, I gotta tell you, is an eyesore to some, but a beautiful thing to a farmer.) Drive by calls alone triggered half dozen neighborly calls asking "What cha gonna do with all that dirt?" (I must admit, we've got some beautiful soil here on the bend...And beautiful neighbors who have shared tractors and seeders and front-loading devices while I try on for size just how much tractor I can handle.)
     In other words, just another day in the neighborhood.
     The good news is, we got the winter crops underway --asparagus, beets, broccoli, kale-- I'm going for the iron! Rosey was with me all the way...What the rains don't cover, the dog slobber should. (That dog does love a good garden.)

   

When There's Nothing Left To Do -- Be

     Woke up to rain on a tin roof (which makes you not want to wake up at all). Since the goats hate mud and they got extra hay last night, I decide to give more time to silence and morning meditation as I begin to think of those in my life who are struggling and suffering from the pain of recent loss.
     I listen to a talk, forwarded from a friend...spoken by a minister who, a few months back, lost the love of his life. In this talk, this gentle soul of a man, still working through his pain so vulnerably  and openly, describes his situation in terms of the crucifixion in need of a resurrection. Watching, waiting on...and LONGING to change the outcome of a story tied to a person you love whose days are numbered IS a crucifixion...It's sheer torture...an agonizing death unto itself, followed by days, weeks, maybe months, of pure, raw "empty" ... "I'm still in the tomb" he tells a close friend when asked, "How you doing?"  He describes what I'm witnessing now ...A Greek tragedy that started with refusal to accept the inevitable...(which is our very nature)...It is in the wiring of earthly bodies, this tendency to survive...to "beat this thing" ....to fight till the death until finally, almost mercifully, death takes over, leaving us no choice but to succumb.
     I've written more in the past few weeks of exhaustion than I ever have in my life, for in truth, my last few had more than their fair share of exhaustion, but not for reasons you would think...I've come to know that it's one thing to put in a long day's work on garden or farm, but that is nothing compared to excruciatingly exhaustive mental torture of watching people you love in pain. But as I reflect on my own dance with exhaustion...when I think of suffering, I have to stop and ask, "What specifically is made me tired?  After all, I was not the one enduring the illness. I was not even the primary caretaker. I was merely a witness. But you know what I've discovered? My big "Aha"? I made myself tired for wanting to DO something, when what was called for most (and is being called for now) is that I BE.
     I remember the last night we saw our friend...Weakened from the chemo, down to skin and bones, and yet even in her physical weakness, she glowed...She carried that same sweet spirit she was known for right down to the end...She reached to take my hand and in a whisper said, "You came!" (We would've all come sooner, but her caretakers and doctors had the unenviable task of limiting the visits, and we understood that.) "Of course I came!" I smiled to see her smiling face... "You have all those dogs ...and you came..." and we laughed through our tears as only a fellow dog-lover would think of such in a moment like this...
     We formed a circle around her bed and we sang...and we prayed...And we lit candles in an ICU ward (which I'm pretty sure is against the rules).  Today I think back and the tears start all over again recalling this precious, priceless  moment in time...now a memory...my friend now at peace and free of her cancer-ridden body and the rest of us here, still wanting to DO something, but feeling helpless and empty, just like that empty tomb...
     That's when it dawns on me...When there's nothing left to do...Be.
     Not to say there aren't tasks we can't help with...Not to say there aren't bills to be paid. But sometimes, when our busy-ness replaces our be-ingness, I think we miss the boat...Given a choice to run another errand or sit with her...hold her hand...and just BE...Let's just say, it was that being moment that sustains me now...and I suspect it is only in learning better how to Be, that I'll regain my footing once again.

And Then There Was Easter

   

     Not often do you get a "two-fer" when it comes to birthday timing... As if it's not exciting enough to have been gifted a new goat baby (tiniest baby ever...born to a mama so tiny I had a vet on standby in case we had another caesarian on our hands) we dodged that bullet, so with crises averted, I had good vibes and cooperative weather for both Easter birthday weekend, leaving me wide open to spend this second day any way I chose....(Life doesn't get much better than this. I say "Grab 'em while you can.")
     With full moon behind us (we don't plant on those) the signs were right for transplanting ...Twas a great kick-off to the 2015 garden.
     TWO days of good stuff...(Rest. Rejoice. Recover. Repeat.) ...enough to remind me that life and calendars and all things "Jupiter aligning with Mars" don't get much sweeter than this...
     So with morning friends departing and afternoon friend arriving, the new garden begins... starting with lavender...this time, on the highest spot on my place and with sandy soil for their little root-feet to spread...(only this time, further apart) My last batch grew all over itself because I placed them on 3 foot centers according to the tag stuck in the baby plant's container; now I know better...5 or 6 foot centers folks...That's my advice...My first lavender seedlings quadrupled in the first year (when they were barely supposed to double...I was told this stuff takes 3 years).  But in placing my plantlets a little too close, with my watermelons a mere 12 feet away (when I should've given them 20 if not a mile) well...everything overgrew itself~ Lesson learned. Here's sharing so that you may be spared. May my miscalculations mean financial savings for you.
     At the end of the day, it was a lovely birthday/holiday/Easter of a weekend, ending with lavender fields forever...(Ok. My actual field here is not exactly the picture I have posted on my fridge, but we believe in visualization...Viva Provence!)

   

Spontaneity. It's a Good Thing

   

     As for birthdays, plans and gatherings, this one takes the cake...(Actually, it was nice of my friends to think of a cake...I had not planned for that either...)  Having traveled for the first time in years and somewhat out of my own circadian rhythm, thoughts of birthday gatherings and celebrations were way on the back burner as my celebratory day drew nigh.
     For the record, I'm normally I'm a nut about birthdays...Love the concept...Love seeing friends...Heck, I don't even mind the crow's feet...But I was honest to goodness, so unsure as to where my energy would land me by day of, that the best I could offer was, "Can I get back to you?" Followed by, "how flex can you be?" (Turns out...My friends are way flex; then again, that's probably why they're my friends.)
     So in that same flex spirit, I woke up birthday morn, flexed my little toe muscles before putting feet to floor, then waited to see what my body was about to tell me...
     For reasons I attribute to good angels and good mattresses, the still, small voice said,  "Dangit Evins. It's your birthday. And Easter weekend to boot. You've got friends you haven't seen in eons wondering why you live in a hole... you've got hit song-writing buddies game for bringing guitars...You've even got a new baby goat to show off...Why, it would be downright selfish to spend this weekend alone. I'm sure your friends won't mind that you've waited till day of to get back to them ~)
     In a nutshell, it was a laid back kinda weekend, which the older I get, is the kind I appreciate more and more. A small, but eclectic gathering of writer friends and musicians, church buddies and the like hugging on dogs and passing around goats...More "drop by if you're around" than anything structured. (You'd never know I once was a producer, that's how non-produced the entire weekend was)...Some friends came for cake...Others stayed the night. (When you live on a farm and folks have to drive 45 minutes to get to you, you learn to keep the sleeping bags handy, but it was kinda fun to be reminded that even when you're past your 20s, talking the night away with your gal pals can be just as healing.)
     The next morning we streamed in our favorite church's services to hear our buddies sing and by afternoon, I was four wheeling and laying out lavender rows...
     So here's to you John Denver...Life on the farm is kinda laid back. Personally, I think that should count double when it's your birthday.
   

The Perfect Homecoming

   

    
From two days of travel and meetings galore
     I come home to my farm and head straight for the door
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
     But a brand new goat baby, so teensy and dear!

On a day that is otherwise all about foolin'
     One mama gave birth, with 4 dogs a-droolin'
All there for our baby with wide open arms
     We sleep in a heap on the floor of our barn.

     Welcome to the world Little Baby April~

     Born April 1st, 2015 to Anna Karenina
(World's Littlest Goat with the longest name!) 

   

My Favorite Holiday

   

Shannon & me, April Fool's Day 2015

      It's a sign when your voice mail is full by 9 am on April Fools day.
     "Hey Karlen....Just letting you know....I know what day this is...Don't bother calling back."
      For a girl who strives for "Every statement the truth" I make up for lost time on this particular holiday...Next to New Year's Day, April Fool's is my favorite!
     I've called girlfriends at midnight to "Come see the ring!! Come see the ring!!" There've been shark attack phone calls from beachfront ERs. I've called to bug out of huge birthday plans claiming all flights were cancelled. I've got a million of 'em. Trick is to seek out the unsuspecting, which grows  tougher each year as everyone in my circle has come to suspect me by now. Then again, I have some that (for reasons that make no sense at all) think I'll surely outgrow this nonsense. (To which I say "Where's the fun in that?")
     Such was the set up yesterday when, having driven 4 hours to Birmingham for meetings to take place the following day, I was looking forward to seeing two of my favorite people: my UT college roommate and my 21 year old niece, soon to graduate herself, from Samford University.
     While driving down I-65 an idea hits me (after all, I'm on new turf and no one in this crowd will be thinking about the day) so I reach out my niece to see if she's game to play along. With a heart for fun and a few texts for practice, we hatch a plan, complete with cues and it's "Game on!" for dinner time.
      After a picture perfect evening of campus tours and stories shared, we raise our glasses to toast fun times, when, subtle as wallpaper, my adorable mini-me of a niece braces for the pick up line:
     "You get your shots yet?"
     She shakes her head..."Nope," she shakes her head. "You know how I feel about vaccines..." (My niece's major is sports nutrition. She holds her own when it comes to medical conversations.)
      My college roommate and her husband are game for the bait... They look at one another, then back to us, slightly puzzled.
     "We're talking Ebola, Missy...You'll get a vaccine."
     (Two RCA dog looks, right on cue.)
     "Did you tell them?"
      (Wait for it.....W a i t for it ... and.....)
     "Shannon and I are going to the Congo...What's the name of that village?"
     "Yambuku" (Shannon had actually googled it. Home of the Ebola virus.) Stepping on her line I repeat, "Yambuku...Yeah...Yambuku." I turn to my college roommate, and serious as a heart attack say, "Shannon's into this thing...The village needs an orphanage...Can't stand the thought of her being in a third world country for an entire year, so I'm going with her. It's why I sold the condo. We leave next month...right after graduation."
      With just enough room for a gasp, Shannon weighs in...."Oh it is so sad...That village is sooo poor...Those kids really need us...They'll break your heart. I can't wait!"
      We carry on for a good 10 minutes in a job so convincing, Mary Margaret is now thinking through her vacation days...With a sister formerly in the Peace Corps, she's lived this sort of thing before (only in her case, for real). The joke was starting to backfire. She's thinking of joining us...not shocked at all...Instead, she's intrigued. She circles back to the topic of vaccines.
       Like a bad Saturday Night Live skit, we had thought through the set up, but not the exit, save to finally burst out laughing. "We're not going to Africa goof balls! What day is this?"
     Mary Margaret, who has lived through many a good April Fool's jokes confesses,"Ya know it crossed my mind this morning.... but then I thought 'Surely you've outgrown this by now..."
     But outgrow it I shall not. Not only will I not outgrow this holiday, I'm proud to now have recruited the next generation of Evins women to revere this day as well.
     Here's to you, Shannon-bo-Dannon! You're the best!
     Happy April Fool's Day~
     See you in the Congo!