We welcomed 2 new goats to the farm.. Sam, the yearling buck, and a yet to be named year-old female who happens to be Faith Hill’s daughter.
Any suggestions on names for the new gal? She has one white side, two black circles on the other side, a black neck and head with fawn-brown legs.
Buckling Jim Cantore went to be a growing stud on the farm where he was conceived.
“Get out of my henhouse you crazy chicken! I’m bleeding!”
I screamed at the chicken after she pecked my leg and drew blood.
“You can’t hatch these eggs, they’re not all yours!”
The Dominique hen’s neck feathers stood out from her neck like a dragon as she squawked loudly. I grabbed a piece of metal and said, “Flog me again and I’ll chop your head off! You’ll be chicken dumplings for my vegetarian husband! Get out!”
She flew toward me and ran into the flat square of metal that I held as a shield, then ran out of the henhouse. I was mad. I just wanted to gather eggs.
I stomped back to the house and sprayed the first thing I could find on my bleeding thigh. It turned purplish-blue…”what the?!” I turned the bottle to read, “Blue-Kote…veterinary germicide fungicide spray for wounds.” Well, if it’s good enough for the goats, it’s good enough for me.
The blue will wear off my hands and thigh in a few days.
Crazy chicken.
For ten weeks during the summer of 1989, I lived and breathed 4-H Camp as a staff member. The summer ended abruptly with the news of my mother’s fatal car accident. I was coming home the next day. I was in shock, and I left my fellow staffers and my summer home a different person.
Today, I traveled back to Millstone 4-H Camp for a staff reunion. Uncertain of what I would find, I drove over 2 hours to arrive in the Sandhills of North Carolina. Stepping out of the car, the smell of fallen pine needles and the sound of the wind blowing through the pine trees, transported me back 27 years.
Weather-worn buildings appeared exactly the same, except for the addition of air conditioning in the cabins, staff house and dining hall kitchen. No longer do the cooks have to fight squirrels and possums through the screened windows that have have been replaced with energy -efficient double panes.
In the oldest running camp of North Carolina, an interactive history of 4-H is memorialized in the new learning center and museum. Complete with auditorium and a 6 foot tall stained-glass window, I silently padded through the space which represents my three generations of pledging “My head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to larger service and my health to better living”..
As I walked through the sandy camp, I reflected on how would my life be different if…and then I saw the barn where I kept a sheep and a goat that summer so that I could teach campers about farm animals. I thought, “did I feed them everyday?” Well, I must have because they were healthy when Daddy and Mama came to pick them up the week prior to my departure at the end of camp.
Most of my memories from that summer are of the barn area and less of the lake. My photo album from that summer is filled with pictures of my fellow staffers in the Recreation Hall, of skits and singing silly camp songs.
Along the wall in the staff house, photos of camp counselors from years past offer gentle reminders of the souls who called that house a home.
And then I saw it, a wooden “Millstone 89” sign and our names. I didn’t cry, but I gingerly touched the board and my own name. 
Seeing the names of those whom I called my family for that summer, I could hear their laughter in the silent hallway. I walked to my old room, empty, yet the same.
After stopping for a quick potty break, I headed back to the lake where children of former staffers splashed in the lake, paddled canoes and boards. The old path to the dam is not accessible, and the rifle range is now a public range managed by the wildlife commission. The swinging bridge was removed a few years ago after it was deemed unsafe. The lake seems smaller now or maybe I’m just older.
Time marches on, and for a moment I was a teenager again. As I dangled my feet in the water, a former staffer’s daughter lost her paddle board. So, I donned a life jacket and paddled a canoe to help retrieve it. Just like riding a bike, some skills come back quickly. As I stepped into that warm lake water, the icky-muck of the lake bottom squished on my toes. But a few minutes later, I glided easily through the water and retrieved a wayward board. I marveled at the water and at how I’ve turned out ok.
Mr. L.R. Harrill was right, we do leave Millstone 4-H Camp different people. I am better for the experiences. Even though I only saw two people who vaguely remembered me, those ten weeks from 1989 are forever part of who I am today.
“Which two are ours?” I asked.
“All 5 of them.” Sue replied.
“No, which two?”
“All of them. Mama, Soot, Tink, Tortuga, and Wu-Ting. They’re a family.”
I backed away from the van and ran to the house, “Jim! I need you!”
Jim walked out of the house and into the driveway where Sue, a kind-hearted lady, stood in front of her 1980s model van filled with five cat carriers, and five scared hissing feral cats peered at us.
Sue looked at Jim and said, “thank you so much for opening your home to these cats. I found them I a parking lot last winter. They’ve been fixed, but no one wants them since they’re not kittens.”
Jim quizzically looked at the caged animals and asked, “so which two are we taking?”
“All of them.” Sue repeated as she swept her hand in the air like a hostess on ‘The Price is Right’. Jim shook his head and said, “so you just want to let them out now?”
“Oh no. We’ll set them up in the barn, and I’ll feed them each day for two weeks so that they know where home is. Then, we’ll release them so they won’t run away. They’ll be frightened. And I brought 50 pounds of cat food.”
Jim said, “ok, we’ll see.” Sue drove to the barn to set-up these hissing cats in the tack room as I stood outside the barn in shock. We agree to take two…and we were looking at five.
Each day, for two weeks, Sue stopped by and fed the hissing, growling felines. They hated me. On the 14th day, Jim and Sue opened the cages, and the cats ran into the woods. At night, I saw 5 pairs of eyes in the woods, watching me. Then I only saw 4…and three…until finally, a year later, Soot and Tink are the only remaining feral cats who will stay in the barn, catch mice and wait for feeding time.
Wu-Ting tried to drive a firetruck and Tortuga lost a fight with a coyote. Mama-cat appears once a month, but after a year, we have two barn cats. And Mia isn’t happy.
“My girls are on strike” I replied to a coworker when they asked about eggs. M replied, “that’s ok. I just love seeing the smiling goat pictures.”
A guest in the meeting looked at me puzzled and asked, “goat? Is that slang?” “Oh my apologies, I own a farm…and the 98 degree heat has caused my chickens to slow egg production. Either that or there’s a pile of eggs somewhere in the pasture.”
These are typical conversations at the office for me, but they must sound completely foreign to those who don’t know me. In fact, my doctor even said that it is simply odd to see me in person as a patient where I’m dressed professionally, but my Facebook posts center around life on the farm. Like the children’s song, “one of these things is not like the other…” I am often the anomaly of the group. That’s typical for me.
Now, holding a basket of 12 eggs, I say to my 21 laying hens, “ladies, several of you have slacked off production. Please restart your services or we will be forced to rehome and replace you…with the exception of Henny-Penny.” That golden comet is probably 4 years old and lays a double -yolk egg once a month; but she’s friendly and she’s special.
The good news is that my hand isn’t broken…just bruised in a little hand-to-goat-horn contact. As I wrapped my hand in an ice compress, I realized that teaching the goats to stand on their hind legs for treats wasn’t such a good idea after all. Now, when I walk into the pasture, they think I have treats and when I don’t give them out fast enough, Rita Rudner stands on her hind legs and puts her front hooves on my back.
Yesterday, I pushed her away and she stood up again. I pused her again and my hand caught her horn instead of her shoulder.
Goats head-butt each other at full speed, and my attempts to brush her away did little to deter her advances. Rita Rudner is the same goat who smiles at us when prompted. It’s a strange little quirk that she started last week.
My hand will feel better in a few days.
It’s just another day on the farm.
In the 1984, the Wendy’s fast food commercial made Clara Peller a household name and iconic symbol with her line, “Where’s the beef?” In March 2015, I traveled to Cambodia as a short term missionary team member with the United Methodist Women Ubuntu Journey program. It was 98 degrees in March! That’s not a normal, comfortable temperature for that time of year. Now, it’s June and we’re experiencing a drought, with temperatures rising to 100 degrees each day. Again, this is not quite the normal comfortable upper 80s that we usually have in June. Last year, it rained nearly every week and the temperatures stayed in the 70s and 80s. Friends complained that they did not think it was actually summer. I graduated with my Masters degree in August on a beautiful summer day without the weather being scorching hot. This year, it’s a different story. It’s June and we have not had rain in over two weeks. The corn looks like the tops of pineapples and the chickens are panting; I never knew that chickens could pant like dogs. How often do we pray for rain, cooler weather, warmer weather, sun, a cool breeze, or a cloud?
Just now, a bolt of lightning filled the sky, and I counted, “One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four…” and a clap of thunder filled the night air. The dog suddenly wants to sit in my lap for consolation from that loud thunder. And there it is, the sound of a Corinthian wind chime holding long the melodious tone as it sways in the long-awaited breeze bringing drops of ground-thirsty rain. The temperature outside has already started to drop and the night promises to be cooler than the last two weeks. It’s funny how we will pray for wind, like a soft breeze, not too much that will mess my hairstyle or cause a house to suddenly fly from Kansas to Oz.
This weather reminds me of Cambodia, where I rode on the front deck of a boat along the Tonle Sap River to see the floating village. As the wind blew on my face and the river water splashed along the sides of the boat, the sun’s rays beat down on my arms and face. My head was covered with a traditional karma in order to stay cool and I gazed at the dry season of this foreign landscape. I prayed for peace, understanding and hope. We are not called to be prosecutors or judges handing down sentences for inadequacies. We are called to be witnesses. That means that we are called to give first-hand accounts of how God works in our lives. That we provide the narratives to God’s actions within our daily walk. Does this mean that we are perfect and have all of the answers? Of course not, this means that we are reaching out to others at the places where they are and sharing our stories, our narratives, our eye-witness testimony.
Two years ago, while visiting my aunt and uncle, I had the pleasure of sitting with my uncle and we watched YouTube videos of Il Divo. I love men’s harmonic voices and this foursome won my heart.
My uncle passed away a few months after that visit due to a massive heart attack. His love of music and those times we spent talking are memories I carry with me. He gave me a glimpse of my late mother that I never knew by sharing stories from his childhood.
Tonight, my commute home was longer than normal due to heavy traffic. Someone loaned a few CDs to me and one happened to be Il Divo. She claimed Il Divorce to be an acquired taste and seemed surprised when I told her that I happen to love the quartet. During the traffic jam, I heard the song You’ll Never Walk Alone. Tears sprang to my eyes and I saw my uncle sitting at the computer saying, “Listen to the words. Do you know how true they are?”
Last night, I spoke to a group of ladies about the Ubuntu Explorer Journeys with the United Methodist Women and our trip last year to the Philippines. Afterward, I sat with few of the women and one of them asked, “weren’t you ever afraid?” I replied, “sure, there were times of uncertainty. Oddly enough, I was most afraid that they would leave me.” She asked, “What would you have done? Seriously, what would you have done?” I said, “They were never going to leave me. We were never alone.” In that moment, when I spoke those words, I believed that I truly understood the truth: God never leaves us and we are never alone. Sometimes doubt, fear and racing thoughts invade our psyche to the point of breaking. And then, like a candle in the darkness, light fills the space and hope begins to grow.
To my uncle, thank you for the memory of a song of hope.
~Janet
It’s almost fall. Graduate School is in full swing having completed 2/5 of the fall semester. Upon my return home from the class weekend, Jim proudly showed-off the first two mushrooms from the shitake mushroom patch. This is indeed exciting because it’s been over 5 months since cutting the tree and inoculating the freshly cut logs.
Birdhouse Gourds have reached their maximum size and have been harvested, set out for their 6-month drying time and labeled with the harvest date.
Mia the Cat has even volunteered her services as “Gourd Guard Cat”. She states that it’s the least she can do as repayment for a warm bed, ample varmint chasing opportunities and canned food.
It’s also important to sweep the chimney…
Next weekend, we’re (my brother and I) walking in our 6th 5k of the year.
So, now you’re caught up. Here’s the question to ponder until my next post: How do you describe the blue of the ocean to a blind man?
If you’ve driven Interstate 85 on a section of road where the traffic merges from four lanes to threw lanes, you know that’s it’s the section where a lot of wrecks happen.
Traffic goes into a bottleneck and it’s a slow commute for everyone. Tonight, I waited for the traffic to dissipate before heading home for the weekend. Sure enough, at the bottleneck, there was an accident and as I passed it, began to accelerate, my car stopped accelerating. . Like it went into a lowered gear, but would not go faster… I changed to the right lane… Then to the shoulder and slowly inched to a wider section of shoulder near an exit ramp. And… Near where I get my car serviced. I just had the oil changed last week. They said everything looked fine. I’m up to date on my maintenance schedule, but why was the car rough idling and flashing dash lights?
Cars and tractor-trailers sped by me at 65 miles per hour and I called the dealership (where I get it serviced) because I was one mile away. The service department called the towing company and the service manager said they’d look at the car tomorrow..
Scared and panicked, I yelled, “tomorrow? How in the h#!! am I supposed to get home? I live 30 miles from here!” My rational mind was not working. I was sitting on the side of a major highway, alone, in 95 degree heat and suddenly, I was upset that something is wrong with my mode of transportation when it shouldn’t be.
Mr. F. kept his composure when I did not. He assured me that they would do something. I was so upset, a tear slid down my cheek.. Not 5 minutes earlier, I was listening to an audio book titled “The Last Good Man” and looking forward to mowing grass when I got home. And here I was stuck in a car that sputtered and shook and then stopped. Lights lit up on my dash that I’d never seen, in places they’d never been.
I hung up with the patient service manager and called my husband, 30 miles away. With trembling voice, I told him that I was waiting for a tow truck and would try to get a rental car. Or I’d call someone local to ask for a ride. He asked, “you’re okay? Don’t cry about it. I’ll be there to pick you up.”
This thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I didn’t want to impose on him to drive 30 miles each way. He asked “why wouldn’t I pick you up?”
We celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary over the weekend and I’m still as stubborn as ever and don’t want to ask for help.
So, there I stood, on an embankment of the interstate, watching cars go by, waiting. Knees shaking and I sent a text to my brother. He made me laugh saying, “the next hour will go by quickly if you count cars”. At least there was a breeze from the speeding cars.
A bearded, rough looking man on a motorcycle pulled up next to me and asked “ma’am, are you okay? I’m heading to the house and wanted to see if I could do anything.”
Cars honked, a few truckers hit their jake-brakes and pointed a knowing finger to me.
A local cop stopped and asked how long I’d been standing here. He saw me pull over and had to respond to another wreck and had enough time to check on me. He said he’d stay with me until the wrecker arrived since I was all alone. To my shock, it had been an hour. I thought about playing ‘Candy Crush’ or ‘Words with Friends’. Instead, I pressed the icon for my Bible app and the verse of the day appeared:
Acts of the Apostles 1:8 CEB
Rather, you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.”
Nothing about angels or wings of protection… But something more. The reminder the God gives us peace in a storm sitting in the middle of a busy interstate. And keeps us safe by sending kind people to check on us. And to remind us that we’re not alone. Sure, scholars may say this verse is about something else… But for me, it was powerful and peaceful at the same time.
The tow truck driver appeared about 2 minutes later. He loaded my car on the rollback and I rode with him to deliver my car. My husband arrived at the same time and I apologized profusely to the service manager who stayed after his shift ended to wait on me.
Hours later, now, I’m calm. I’m okay. I’m safe. I know lots of people in the area where I was stuck who could have given me a ride home if I’d needed it. In fact, there was a service tech willing to drive me home if necessary.
Sometime tomorrow, I’ll receive a call from this same man who witnessed me yelling, crying and apologizing within a 30 minute window, and tomorrow, he will tell me the diagnosis for my car. I’ll probably apologize again for yelling at him in my moment of fear, lashing out like a frightened animal.
Oh, that just reminded me… I left the cat’s food in the trunk of the car. .. I’ll get that tomorrow too. Tonight, I’ll rest in our bed, and thank the good Lord for my guardian angels who guided my car safely off the highway, on to a wide shoulder and stood with me in my time of fear. Maybe that’s why the officer thought there was someone else with me. Maybe, he saw my angels before I did.
Lisa Batten Kunkleman
Life, Llamas, and Everything
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