Some Folks Have a Black Belt…(I Now Am a Greenbelt Girl)

But I am now a Greenbelt!
(Let's Go Green!)

            It began when talking with Miss Duff about pups, gardens and canning tomatoes. Miss Duff, is my neighbor three houses down. She’s lifelong friends with Thurman and another valuable resource for all things planting, farming and almanacs. In the course of our conversation she asked if I’d signed on for the Green Belt, a concept brand new to me.

Best I recalled from my brother’s karate classes back when we were kids, green belts came somewhere after yellow, yet somewhere before brown, but I was pretty certain Miss Duff wasn’t talking karate. Turns out I was right. Miss Duff was talking the Greenbelt Law otherwise called the Agriculture, Forest and Open Space Act of 1976 enacted to keep farm land farmin’ (or as the law states: to maintain farms, forests and open spaces to reduce urbanization across Tennessee). You qualify if you have 15 acres and are using your land for agricultural purposes. The benefits to farmers come at property tax time as your property is appraised on "use" as opposed to fair market value.

            Yesterday was the deadline to qualify for 2015. First stop: Assessor’s Office where a bevy of friendly, helpful folks walked me through the process, asked me a few questions about my land, answered several of my own and helped me fill out an application, all while explaining how “rollback taxes” would work should I come off the Greenbelt someday to sell my property or use my land for something else.

            Next stop: Trustee’s Office (upstairs) where I paid a late fee for having only learned about the Greenbelt Law on the last day to qualify. (There's a 30 day window after property taxes are due, thank goodness, otherwise I'd be doing this next year...A small price to pay for the difference in my property taxes next year, so I was told.)

            Next stop: Register of Deeds Office (back downstairs). This is the office run by “Bev” Spickard who, when he’s not registering our property is a Class “A” marksman and certified instructor for gun carry permits. This is one colorful character -- who, among others, has helped train me in target shooting. Somehow you don’t mind putting an official’s name on a check when you have met them personally. “Bev” is a hoot, but he wasn't in his office this day; but his fine staff was there to help take care of me.

            Final stop: Back to the basement level of the courthouse where my Greenbelt tour ended. While making many stops to complete all these tasks, my friendly Assessor was pulling up info for me to take with me so next time someone asks “me” about the Greenbelt, I’ll be as helpful as this office (and Miss Duff) had been for me. (They also sent me home with some lovely parting gifts like a nifty green pen with the number of the office on it in case I ever needed to call back.)

            

            It's official. I'm a farmer.

            And lovin' life in back in my home town.

That Good Kinda Tired (a.k.a. Why We Do It)

There’s the good kinda tired that comes from a hard workout. There’s the good kinda tired that comes from meeting a deadline. And there’s the good kinda tired that comes from a day you look back on and say “This was a day well spent.”

            Ten years ago I was invited to serve on a trust created by a man with terminal cancer. Having spent the better part of his life chasing the dollar, in his final days he found the Lord, so he and his wife sat down and created a trust with a sole (soul) mission to help others in need, one individual at a time. With no kids of their own, they recruited their 3 nieces and a handful of friends. I was a last minute addition, having met the man late in the game, but he knew I had a heart for helping the homeless, so I was honored when he invited me to join the group.

 Most of our giving is done anonymously. Occasionally we vote as a group to give to larger causes, (there are 12 of us), but basically we’re talking guerilla giving for lack of a better term. Each quarter, we are given permission to Pay it Forward when we spot a light bill here or a house payment there of a person (most often total strangers) in desperate need.  We have rules (as we’ve been doing this awhile). You can’t use it personally; you can’t give to family and you can’t help the same person over and over. We meet once a quarter and try to top each other’s story as to how hard it was to sneak money into someone’s pocket or anonymously figure out how to pay their electric bill. There are moments of joy, and moments of sheer frustration. You’d be surprised how much you scrutinize and second-guess yourself when giving away someone else’s money. It’s not as easy as you think. Trust me. Random giving can be hard.

Some of our favorite stories involve buying someone’s gas for no reason, or paying for the cars behind you in the drive through….Buying your own groceries then telling the check out clerk, “Apply $40 extra to theirs,” as you race out the door….or tipping a Waffle House waitress $100. One girl gave a Contributor newspaper guy a $50 bill (which immediately prompted him to take the day off, which was not the goal). It takes some getting used to, and we still struggle from time to time as it really forces you to get creative, all for the sake of random acts of kindness.

So as if that little gathering wasn’t enough fun for one day, I leave that meeting and head to my church where the teams are setting up for our last night to host Room in the Inn for the season. For those unfamiliar, RITI is a program that invites area congregations (180 this year) to open their doors, create safe, smaller shelters providing those less fortunate a more personal, one-on-one experience. Guests are provided a warm meal, clean blankets and cots and some human interaction after a day out on the streets. The next morning we get them back downtown with a meal for the road. Meanwhile, those volunteering are given the experience of a lifetime.

Tonight marks the last of the season for my church; tomorrow marks the end of the entire season for the winter program overall and yes, it’s a coordination effort like you wouldn’t believe. But it’s an effort oh so worth it. I started volunteering downtown some 27 years ago am I’m well aware that by this time of the season, we’re all ready to drop, but one thank you from a homeless person…one “I am so blessed” by someone who really means it, makes it all worthwhile. I can honestly say, I don’t do it for them. I selfishly admit I do it for me. Some folks have therapists (and I’m way cool with that), but I have these souls, whose stories serve to remind me that whatever I thought was a problem that day, is more likely an inconvenience. I know of no better reality check, no quicker way to “put it in perspective” than to spend time with those who show me life from a different point of view.  I wouldn’t take anything in the world for days like these. I am tired, but in a good sort of way.

(Woo Hoo) Witchy Woman

           Can't help but hum that Eagles tune every time I think of this one... For the longest I wasn't sure if it was "water wishing" or "water witching" …After a little research, I now know the answer.

            Like my childhood misinterpretation of the church hymn “Bringing in the Cheese” for the longest I really did think it was “water wishing” (after all, you are wishing for water when you engage in this activity). But to be clear, the reference is definitely “witching” for in olden days, some believed this practice to be of the occult.

            The practice is controversial to say the least. Old school farmers and those following almanacs wouldn’t think of digging for water without witching first. Fundamentalist preachers will tell you it’s called witching for a reason and to avoid it at all costs.

            Popularized in Germany back in the 1500s, “dowsing” (as it’s also known) actually traces back thousands of years according to Egyptian hieroglyphics.  In 1362 Pope John XXII forbade it, calling it sorcery. 1518 Martin Luther preached that it violated the first commandment (“Thou shalt have no other gods before me.”) And a Jesuit scientist named Gaspar Schott declared it satanic in 1659. (Keep in mind this was also around the time they were burning witches in Salam, so engaging in anything supernatural or unexplainable could get you killed.)

To other side of this controversial subject “divination” (of which dowsing is one branch) comes from the Latin word, “divinare” meaning “inspired by God.” By this definition, those capable of finding water this way are believed to have a God-given gift like that of a prophet or a mystic. Some Bible scholars believe Moses was a diviner, citing the Numbers 20:11 wherein “… Moses lifted up his hand, and with his rod he smote the rock twice: and the water came out abundantly, and the congregation drank and their beasts also.” Leonardo Di Vinci was skilled in the art. Gen. George Patton had a willow tree flown to Morocco so that a dowser could use its branches to find water to replace the wells the German army had blown up. And though he couldn’t explain how or why it worked, Einstein too, believed there was something to it.

So while you ponder whether you’re a believer or not, let me tell you how it works…

You take a Y-shaped branch. (I’ve been told willow or peach are best; some use metal rods, known as “divining rods”. Personally, I’m a peachy kinda girl; I like branches.)You hold said branch on the ends of the “Y”, fists up. (Some do it fists down; but I found fists up to be more convincing, as it’s harder to fake it when your branch turns downward cause fists bending backwards are most unnatural and uncomfortable.) You start with the stem of your “Y” pointing straight up. Slowly you walk over the targeted area (in my case looking for water, though dowsing has also been used for finding metals, and even human remains). When the stem of your branch starts to twitch, you’re getting near. If you’re lucky, the entire branch will take a nose dive, assumedly when picking up the vibration of the water (stream) below the earth’s surface. It is mysterious to say the least, fascinating to observe, and some will tell you it’s a bunch of bunk. I, on the other hand, believe in it and will be calling on my water witching friend to come back when my well digger is ready to drill, to have him repeat what I watched him do a few months back. (For the record, the journalist in me yes, wanted a second diviner’s opinion. I called on another gentleman, whose branch turned downward in the very same spot as the first. One had a peach branch; one had a willow. )

But here’s where things got interesting…

After confirming to the second gentlemen that he had indeed landed on the same spot as the first, he turns to me and hands me his branch. Personally, I have always believed this art to be doable only by those who have the gift…like psychics or those who can wish warts away (another subject for another blog). But this too, divides the sheep from the goats…Opinions are split on just who can witch for water.

I take the branch in my hands sincerely hoping to prove that I am right in that only those with this gift can master the art, because I haven’t a clue what I’m doing and it’s very awkward when your fists bend backwards. (Keep in mind, I also know where they’ve spotted water, so I’m hardly a valid scientific experiment here.)

But I will tell you this.

I was holding this branch with all my might (fists up; “Y” stem, straight up)…and when approaching the zone, I could not stop the stem from turning down. As God is my witness, there was something tugging on the stick.

It did not take this to make me a believer. I believed in dowsing going in, as I do many other metaphysical things, proof for which isn’t always available. Years of producing a metaphysical talk show like Beyond Reason has convinced me there is a lot more to life than meets the eye.

But when it came to dowsing, it was no longer “seeing is believing” for me. In my experience, “feeling was believing” (but of course, nothing is for certain til we actually start to drill).

The proof, as they say, will be in the pudding. In a couple of weeks we’ll know for sure.

Of course I’m hoping I’m right. (Not just to prove it so, but also because it's rather costly when you drill and miss.) But I promise to report back either way, even if I’m wrong.

Here’s to life in the country. One thing’s for certain, it’s never boring.

All's Well That Ends Well ("Well" Being the Operative Word)

A number of political leaders have predicted that future wars won’t be fought over land or oil, but over water. From Ben Franklin to Kofi Anan, visionaries who’ve cared to look beyond petty politics into things we should seriously consider for our future, recognize our complacency when it comes to water. But it only takes one tragedy to remind us we should not take this of all resources, for granted.

While going an evening with a shut off valve was annoying and frightening, the positive outcome and spiritual take-away was a wake up call to me to get moving on things I had been contemplating, which is to say, digging my own well.

Irony of ironies and God’s honest truth, I had been on the phone earlier that very same day (before I knew I was coming home to no water) scheduling a second bid with a well-digger, to satisfy my own mind that I’d be paying the going rate for something that yes, can be a bit costly on the front end.

It’s a brand new proposition for me and when things are brand new, my journalistic nature is to "Go to the source," which for me, means a call to my local Ag Extension. I started by asking what requirements exist, what programs might you offer and what licensed professionals might you have on an “approved” list for having properly dug a well before? You can be pretty darned certain that if you’re implementing something of this nature, there’s a governmental agency to consult, with regulations to adhere to and quite often a program to help get you started.

This office is now on my speed dial, as it’s been an endless wealth of information on everything from goat fencing to soil testing to now, well-digging, a subject that just moved front and center on my priority list.

Reasons for having your own well are numerous and varied (and no, mine wasn’t because I was ticked at the water company). When you plant gardens, raise livestock, consider future irrigation systems and self-watering devices, wells are as common as a Pyrenees pup in these parts.

 Beyond practical farming reasons, others now look to wells as a sustainability measure, after all, if gasoline and propane can be rationed, imagine the panic should they ever ration our water supply. Or consider the tragedy in West Virginia this past January wherein 300,000 residents found themselves with contaminated water coming out of their taps, owing to a company that failed to report a leak of the toxic chemical, MCHM, used to wash coal in the plant upstream. Neither the coal company nor the water company brought this issue to light, btw. Investigations were triggered when repeated calls to the EPA (Environmental Protection Agency) cited licorice-smelling water and nauseating fumes filling the homes of trusting citizens throughout the community.

While the “Do Not Use” orders are now lifted, folks are still fearful for their safety and not trusting of their leaders, and who can blame them? It’s another sad commentary of finger-pointing and name-blaming between high paid, high ranking CEOs and government officials who’d rather lie to save an office than to save a human life.  Somehow bottled water and hand sanitizer by the busloads were but a bandaid on the blight of the cancerous, toxic hazard this created. On top of schools shutting down, restaurants forced to close, hospitals in emergency mode rationing what water they were allotted, the locals' faith is now shot….their worst fears, lived…their suspicions, forever high. It will be curious to see how many well applications will be applied for after this, or if the government will ration those too (that is, for the percentage who could afford this option to start with.)

My microcosmic, self-induced experience of no water for a few hours served to sear in my brain and heart just how much I take water for granted, and for this, I am both sorry and humbled.  Goats and pups are one thing (and a huge thing to me). My own concerns for what I would drink or wash teeth with, was another. But the thought of going for more than a day, much less a week, a month or an indeterminable period of time sent me into deep reflection. I tried to imagine how long I could go without a shower…without washing my hair… How long could I wear those jeans? As crazy as this sounds, the thought of intentionally NOT hugging the pups for trying to stretch out a wash cycle actually crossed my mind. But other minuscule, water-using scenarios also surfaced. I take for granted how often I wash dog bowls, or my own bowls for that matter. Ever think about how often you clean a countertop or pull out a mop? While these are petty things when the focus is survival, they still surfaced in my mind just the same, reminding me just how mindlessly complacent I’d become. My prayers for West Virginians and those in 3^rd world countries netted them their own candle. My news intake came with a heightened awareness …all over one mishap on an auto pay, which was remedied with a phone call and a credit card the next morning. But the impact this one little experience had on my thinking overall, brought about a great gift as the shift in my awareness lingers with me still . Somewhere along the way, my guilt for having blundered and my angst for having to pay a late fee vanished, as these things paled in comparison to the people whose water tragedies I was watching.

So over the next few, get ready to hear a lot about wells. My purpose in writing this blog is to share what one first time farmer runs into when starting things she’s never done before. For starters, yes, I have had my land “witched” (“water witching” deserves a blog all its own, given its history and the reason we call it “witching” in the first place). I’m bringing out cameras to capture what the process looks like, for I am utterly amazed with this tactic that some scoff at as superstition. (I guess we’ll know once the well-digger takes over.) So far the well-diggers I’ve talked to take the concept with a grain of salt, but since I’m the paying customer, I can do whatever I want to when it comes to making suggestions, so I say "Let's test it!"  You’d think by now there’d be some form of land seismometer to let you know right off the bat, yes or no, if there’s water underneath, but it appears no such testing is readily available. It’s a calculated guess and could take several costly stabs before getting it right, which is something I'd like to minimize, but does mean another bunch of info I can share.

What I do know (as a very preliminary stage of research thus far) is that wells being dug must all be reported; in my county, even the "hit and miss" drillings are filed. I’ve already asked to see the map of where neighbors’ wells exist (some of the older ones, dug by farm families generations ago, are not on the record books, as laws on this were passed later). In short, you’re gonna get a play-by-play by a novice, now fascinated and motivated like she’s never been before, to dig for alternative approaches to this universal, life-sustaining thing called water.  

As they say on TV, “Stay tuned.”

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

For the sake of calming down before I blog, I hold this space for tomorrow, as writing about tonight's reality will not a pleasant blog make~

I'm reminded of the advice "You can view life's events as a tragedy…or as a comedy."

Here's thinking if I write it tomorrow, we'll be leanin' toward the latter.

(Right now…Not feelin' it so much…So I shall sleep first…write later.)

But may I just say, You really can't make this stuff up~

The Morning Report:

            For all I boast of country living…helpful neighbors, mentoring farmers, charming children who come love your goats, etc..etc..there is a dark side to every sunbeam, and I fell into it head first when I came home last night to find that I had no water. Why, you ask, might this fate befall me? Well, it seems I did not pay my bill. In my newfound quest to simplify my life, I merged and purged two checking accounts a couple of weeks back and inadvertently overlooked an autopay that, to put it nicely, will get your water shut off quicker than you can say “Bob’s-your-uncle”~

            Yep. My bad. My clerical oversight put me on the 15-day-late list and it turns out there’s a zero tolerance policy on this matter. With zero warning, no phone call, no notice, those Laguardo folks will cut you off for the $22 you owe them. And don’t even try to argue.

            Of course, I DID try to argue…

            I called the main line only to find the nice automated voice that gave me the number to call in an emergency. (At this stage, I had no clue why I had no water. That discovery came later.) I dial the emergency number only to get a recording that this man’s voice mailbox is full. I call the main line again. I call the emergency number again. This time I get the man (and a very rude man he was). I explain my plight asking if the lines are being worked on at this hour. NOOo. He says most judgmentally.You don’t pay your bill, this is what you get. Clearly, I was one of many whose water he’d cut off this day. Try explaining to a man who cuts off people’s water for a living (from 8 to 5, he bragged), who then gets to spend the rest of his evening fielding panicked and angry phone calls and you start to get a feel for JUST how this conversation was going.

 “But I have critters!” I plead. Forget me. Haul me to debtor’s prison if you must, but don’t take it out on my babies. This nets me no sympathy whatsoever. To the contrary, it only adds to his power play as he now chides me further with “You shoulda thought about that when you didn’t pay your bill.”

            In case you’ve ever wondered what you’d do in times like these, let me share …for while I can live without a bath here and there, you cut off my critter’s water supply and you’re gonna have a battle on your hands. (Even if it was, again, I admit, my fault.)

            Before leaving home yesterday I noticed my water pressure was low. No biggie.  This happens quite often with this company. They’re forever working on a line here, dredging a pump there. In moments like these I pause to consider life in a third world country where low pressure is better than no pressure. I thank God I live in America and I move on.

            Fortunately, since my critter-lovin’ life is a never-ending cycle of cleaning food bowls and rotating water buckets, I never step foot outside my door without toting one or two fresh water pails to the goat pen, where I switch them for dirty water buckets, which I bring back in for cleaning. These I’ll scrub, fill and place back beside the front door for when next I step outside. (It’s both exercise and efficient! You learn to think in cycles when you live on a farm.)

            Double fortunate for me, it’s now started to rain. So I gather up anything I can find…a water can, a trash can, slop jars, etc…and set these on the front porch in true country living style, after all, I’m only assuming the water company will have me back on by morning…But what if they don’t?

From the two “stand by” buckets at the door, cleaned and filled from the morning’s dribble, I fill water bowls for Boo and Minks and scoop enough to fill my Brita water pitcher in the frig. (Are you getting this? I’m taking water from a goat pail. I’m stealing from my kids! I feel awful in so doing but after all it IS raining outside. Right now I’m anticipating every possible need I could have between now and whenever, from the water I’ll drink to the teeth I’ll brush.)

            Next up: supper for 6 dogs, 1 cat and 17 pygmy goats, bowls for which were NOT cleaned before I dashed out the door to meetings this morning, but bowls that shall now be used unscrubbed for serving dinner to goats and dogs who (it turns out) don’t care. (The cat got a new, fresh clean one from the cupboard, for the cat does care.) I choose the dirtiest 3 dog bowls for the puppies’ food as they are remarkably good at licking things clean. If the water’s not back on by breakfast, I shall choose the NEXT dirtiest three, and rotate. I Do have a back up dishwasher in these pups and am not afraid to use it. Everyone around here has to pull their weight in times of emergency.)

            I toss on my slicker…head outdoors, where my unconditionally loving family has nary a clue there’s any problem whatsoever. They are just happy to see me… happy it’s supper-time.

            I spot check their buckets (not that there’s a dang thing I can do about it) and thank God for the rain. Before heading back in I squat to hug everybody goodnight, as is our ritual, when the stress and guilt take tearful hold. I nuzzle the babies and cry. “Mommy’s SO sorry! I’m So sorry you have to drink through twigs. Mommy promises you’ll have fresh, clean water by tomorrow. Mommy will do better…” at which point a goat jumps on my back and Hiccups starts to hiccup.

            I leave their bowls outside in the rain. (After all, we may need the water) and head back in. Given my day, the hour I got home and the Tylenol PM I had at my fingertips, I decided Alan Alda was right -“Comedies are tragedy plus time”. And my dad was also right --I DID need a nap. So I unplugged and I’m glad I did. The person I get to speak to in another hour and 14 minutes is going to have a much more pleasant girl on her hands as a result.