Archives for April 2015

friday 5 at the farm: cravings

April 17, 2015

Happy Friday! Are you landing once again at the cusp of a hard earned weekend, equal parts exhausted and exhilarated? We sure are. What a week it has been at the W and in the worlds surrounding us. Whew!

Today I have some cravings that just won’t be shaken. So I’m gonna stir them, Friday 5 style:

Running: Marathon tapering is in full effect and I feel restless to the max. I am up to date on all my training miles and actually grabbed my last 8 mile run on Wednesday, anticipating nasty weather this weekend, but other local runners are still looking forward to ten miles on Saturday. So now what? I feel weird. Really super duper weird. Like, am I off schedule now? Will my energy be weird until the race in 9 days? So, because at this point in my life running is the answer to every problem, I snuck outside in the soft rain for three easy miles on hills then wrapped it up with 20 minutes on the elliptical. Feeling good. Excited. But still craving a few long, stretched out hours of running!
Tex Mex food: Like, as if that’s ever not the case. But rainy weather makes this craving stronger. I could really go for a massive steak fajita salad with warm tortilla chips, pico de gallo, guacamole, lime juice on black beans, freezing cold Diet Coke, and lots of sombreros hanging on the plaster walls. Maybe some mariachi music too.
The Beach: Hot, abundant sunshine, limited clothing, and new books by Aimee Bender and Dean Koontz. Plus snacks and my husband sleeping next to me or swimming in the clear, salty water, watching birds and fish. No electronics.
Fun: To laugh until it hurts with my favorite people. To stay up late by the bonfire, trading stories and screaming at imagined ghosts. To give and receive countless hugs and high fives. Games. Jokes. Connection. Yes to all the fun!!
My babies: To have my girls here with us. Or at least to have continued assurance that they are happy and well. I have been dreaming of them so vividly this past week, very much along the same vein as those dreams I had right before Joc came home. It’s encouraging and thrilling. I crave the real thing.

What are you craving? Tell me everything.

XOXOXOXO

how not to fight with your loving husband if you are tapering during PMS

April 15, 2015

Or, this could be titled, “how not to fight with your loving husband if you are experiencing PMS during your taper week.” However you look at it. Is a zebra back with white stripes, or white with black stripes?

Either way, for the second year in a row, I am tapering for the marathon during the exact days my body is, shall we say, waning toward its new moon? Yes, let’s say it like that. I am about to be depleted in every conceivable way (no pun intended) (not that we’re conceiving), and if I’m not careful things could get dicey on the home front. Normally during these few days I’m not a total nightmare, but I do cry easily at Geico commercials, and here is the general sum of my personality: I am highly suspect of all politeness, assuming it must be a fearful if silent comment on what a bad mood I’m in.

Seriously, if Handsome and I ever engage in marital battle, it is almost exclusively during those few days of PMS, and it is almost always because I was so fed up with him being so careful with my feelings.

LOL. His wife is such a peach.

So, throw some bouncy legs and an anxious mind into the mix, and we have ourselves an interesting situation. Here’s my 5-step plan to keep the peace:

Eat Healthfully. No last minute extreme dieting, but also no emotional binge eating to soothe my nerves. I’m gonna eat right, stay hydrated, and continue taking iron, vitamins, and if necessary, Midol. (“Do you mean the bitchy pills, Ray?”)
Gentle Exercise. Since my running (the obvious stress buster) has to be slashed down to a bare minimum, I’ll spend the next ten days walking plenty, and I’ll do it outdoors for the best mood lifting results. I’ll also spend time with my favorite yoga videos.
So much reading. I am up to my splintless (thank-you-baby-jesus) shins in really good books right now, and with all this spare time on my hands (what with the not running) I plan to zen out with great food for thought. One is Sydney Portier’s spiritual memoir. Another is a new release piece of fiction by Dean Koontz (haven’t read him since probably my twenties, got a sudden craving for his language). And then there’s our book club’s current selection, which is another memoir: this one is by a female photojournalist who spent most of her career in war-torn countries. Hhmm. Okay, so maybe I’ll save that last one for after the race. Book club is exactly one week following, anyway. Plenty of time later.
Reality Check. I will remind myself as often as needed that this whole situation is completely voluntary and that it was me, not him, who volunteered for it. Moreover, that along the way he has been incredibly supportive of me and brags about me constantly for no reason, so I really have no right to make him pay an even higher price for my pent up adrenaline by fighting with him. No matter how many weird little moments of rub we may experience, I am resolved to not over-thinking a single word or facial expression.
Among other sweet gestures, he makes sure my shoes are the bomb.
Fingers Crossed and Dark Chocolate in the Pantry Just in Case. Because you can’t be too careful.

I hope this is useful to at least one other woman out there who has such similar good fortune as me to taper during PMS. It is so awesome and I really hope this happens every time I run a marathon!! Can you hear me gritting my teeth as I say that?

Now share with us your own wisdom. Have you ever tapered at an already difficult time? How did you cope? Are you local and will you come rescue my sweet, wonderful husband?

The struggle.
It’s real.
XOXOXO

to translate or not to translate

April 11, 2015

Several weeks ago I ran across a really interesting website called Smartling. Some of their work is to translate websites into other languages; more of their work is to share classic pieces of literature with wider audiences than just those enjoyed by the work’s language of origin. Interesting, right?

Have you ever read something that has been translated to your language? Do you ever wonder what was lost, what essence was maybe missing? My biggest experience with this has been Russian fiction translated to English. Still beautiful! Addictive even. But I always wonder… what must it be like to read it undiluted? Unaltered? What is a Russian-speaking woman enjoying that I’m not? So this cool project by Smartling got me thinking about some of my own favorite books and what might happen to them if translated to a different language. What would I really want to remain consistent, and how does the original language bring the piece to life?

Oh man. This is a difficult question, much harder to answer in fact than I first thought it would be.

First of all, I simply do not have one favorite book. My reading tastes are wide and various, and at any given moment my “favorite” is just whatever is open on my coffee table right then.

More importantly, though, why would we want to limit translation? I have always wished I had studied harder in high school and landed at adulthood with a few extra languages in my brain. Words are beautiful and meaningful, and verbal communication is so vital to our wellness as people. The complex nuances of well crafted sentences are just delicious to me. And I feel so strongly about most books I read that why wouldn’t I want everyone around this blue planet to have a shot at devouring them? So, translate everything! And while you’re at it, teach me all the languages.

More, more, more.

Still, yes, things are lost in translation. Great things. Most everything I read and love has an element that would suffer from a language change. How best to preserve those special elements?

What a fascinating and thought-provoking question this is. So I thought and thought.

My hard wrought answer, finally, is Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. You can read my original (amateurish) book review here. Our Oklahoma book club discussed it way back in June, 2012. Doesn’t this seem like yesterday, ladies?

To my mind, this book stands out as one that deserves some special treatment.

As you probably know, the story follows an Oklahoma family through the spirit-testing landscape of the Dust Bowl and Depression of the early twentieth century. The Joad family endures one hardship after another in search of stability and on their journey west from Oklahoma. Steinbeck offers raw storytelling as well as timeless, lyrical wisdom that could apply to any slice of humanity. It’s definitely a story for the ages and for all people, even if Oklahomans hold it with special reverence.

The main reason I feel like The Grapes of Wrath would lose some of its strength if translated is that so much of the story is grown up from uniquely Oklahoman roots. The physical landscape might be described just fine in other languages, and I’d love to know for myself, but please read this…

“A large drop of sun lingered on the horizon and then dripped over and was gone, and the sky was brilliant over the spot where it had gone, and a torn cloud, like a bloody rag, hung over the spot of its going. And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon, and darkness crept over the land from the east.”

If you’ve ever seen a sunset in Oklahoma then you know this exactly nails it. Beautiful.

And the vernacular! Of course, nearly a century later, this isn’t exactly what you’d hear from most of us, but it’s still so illustrative:

“Why, Tom – us people will go on livin’ when all them people is gone. Why, Tom, we’re the people that live. They ain’t gonna wipe us out. Why, we’re the people – we go on.’

‘We take a beatin’ all the time.’

‘I know.’ Ma chuckled. ‘Maybe that makes us tough. Rich fellas come up an’ they die, an’ their kids ain’t no good, an’ they die out. But, Tom, we keep a-comin’. Don’ you fret none, Tom. A different time’s comin’.”

This second passage here is echoed today in what we know as “The Oklahoma Standard,” something modern day Okies will acknowledge with tempered pride and great affection. The term was coined following the 1995 Murrah Building bombing. Our state’s former Governor Brad Henry said this: “Something called ‘the Oklahoma Standard’ became known throughout the world. It means resilience in the face of adversity. It means a strength and compassion that will not be defeated.” Perfect. How much better could the spirit that carried our great-grandparents’ families through the Depression be articulated now, a century later? And to reflect on this in April, the very month of the anniversary, is stilling.

I could continue justifying my hope that this book is never diluted by translation to a language that might not do it justice, but then I’d just regret that so many people who don’t read English would miss out on such a powerful story.

Also, there’s the very honest fact that I am partial to this book simply because of heritage. There’s something special about saying you were born and raised in a certain place, and for that place to be Oklahoma, the land of both rejection and opportunity, agriculture and overcoming, is central to me. It’s undeniably part of my heart.

What about you? What pieces of literature do you think would lose something in translation, and how would you preserve those precious elements? Where are you from? Is that part of you, that heritage?

Thanks for joining me on this thought train, friends! Check out the website and do some thinking and tell me your own ideas.

It’s okay to call us Okies now.
Okie is a term of endearment.
XOXOXOXO

this wonderful day was for the birds

April 9, 2015

What a day it has been for the birds! From early morning till afternoon I have enjoyed one feathered pleasure after another, and something tells me the evening will bring still more.

The earliest avian beauty happened while waking up with Handsome slowly, ever so slowly, during Hot Tub Summit. The sky was dark and moody and the farm was dead quiet. Then gradually, as if some unseen person was slowly turning up the volume on the world’s most charming soundtrack, birdsong filled the foggy south yard. From tree to tree, from cloud to grass, in perfect proportion to the growing daybreak, a delicate symphony. We started our day with who knows how many species of happy, peaceful, life-grabbing melodies. Divine. This really helped us carpe the diem with love and optimism.

After Perfect Coffee and halfway through Chores Round One, I noticed Pacino’s cage (out on the front lawn) was open (it was my fault; I’d left it closed but unlocked while doing some cleaning) and he had let himself out. His wings are not clipped so he can fly, although it rarely happens. Thankfully he stayed on top of his cage, just perched there all business like calling to me.

Maaaammmaaaaa!!!

I watched carefully and in a minute or so he climbed down the side of his cage to visit Fancy Louise, our sweet, cuddly hen who was convalescing in a smaller sheltering cage nearby. He really loves her so much. Everyone does! The whole scene was so sweet I put chores on hold to sit on the sun-baked driveway and just watch.

As soon as I sat down, Pacino promptly waddled over to me and then Mia joined us and there was much bird competition happening between the two, and so of course that all needed to be captured on video. The commotion drew the attention of llamas and cats and other geese, and eventually (though the video does not show this) the buffalo.

Later in the day I had the very magical pleasure of taking two chickens to visit my friend Mrs. Robinson’s first grade classroom! This is the second time we have done this, and in fact the first time (last Spring) one of our feathered passengers (Ethel, one of the fancy Polish hens) was just a new little chick. The other one actually wasn’t a Lazy W resident yet. Frageelay (as we call him now) was hatched from an incubator in one of the second grade classrooms at Sky Ranch Elementary in OKC, so technically today was not so much a visit for him as a homecoming.

So I loaded a roomy, hay-lined cage into the front seat of my Jeep and drove to town. What a gorgeous afternoon, by the way! Perfect for being chicken ambassadors.

The chickens and I stopped at the school’s front desk to sign in and say hello to all the nice office people. Suddenly Frageelay started crowing. LOUDLY. Do you remember when your kids were little and they did something slightly disruptive in public but it was so cute you couldn’t help but love every second of it?? That’s how it feels when your rooster crows extra loud in a pin-drop-silent grade school. I scolded him gently and then whispered promises of so many apple cores when we got home. My good, loud, pretty boy.

We visited the teacher’s lounge first and made lots of friends. A few wonderful ladies were eating lunch, but no poultry dishes. And I don’t know how we are so lucky, but Mrs. Robinson’s blouse today was just spot-on for holding Ethel. I loved it!!

You almost can’t tell where Ethel ends and her blouse begins. So fun! Then Frageelay made his hot displeasure known again. I accidentally got a snapshot of Mrs. Robinson’s expression. I told you, this rooster is not quiet. This afternoon at Sky Ranch Elementary, his voice drew a crowd several times.

This is his serious face.
It basically always looks like this, but sometimes it’s just extra serious.

Then we started making the rounds through the cafeteria and hallways, attracting sweet little hands and sing-song voices the whole way. I was thrilled by how many students remembered our chicken day last year! They even remembered the white rooster having hatched there, though they named him something else. I still can’t remember his original name! That’s horrible. Only one little boy asked if he could eat the chickens. Ha!

Mrs. Robinson cuddled Ethel in her arms pretty much the entire afternoon, which put that fancy little hen into a state of pure bliss. She napped and relaxed and as far as I know never pooped on anyone. It was the most precious thing.

And just look at this sweet young teacher loving on Frageelay! She absolutely made my day. I told her how much this adopted rooster loves to be held, and she nodded appreciatively, saying that well, that makes sense, because she held him a lot when he was a baby. (xoxoxo!!) I almost cried, not kidding.

Another lucky and magical detail of the day is that earlier Mrs. Robinson had hosted another classroom visitor who was presenting to the kids a book about a polka-dotted chicken. Isn’t that great? It was all complete good fortune, barely planned at all.

The students were all so gentle and sweet and fun with the chickens. They asked both silly and smart questions. I really wish I had a tape recorder to capture the flurry of affection and inquisition. They petted the mostly unfamiliar creatures. They worried over Frageelay’s claws but also overcame that worry. They really wanted to know whether the two chickens were in love, married, having babies, etcetera, and I had to arrest my normally speedy answers and let Mrs. Robinson handle the delicate life-issues stuff. You never know which kids are able to cope with the idea that we eat liquid baby chickens (eggs). I also realize that not everyone is familiar with the idea of chicken husbands (roosters) having more than one wife (Ethel is part of a set with Lucy, you may recall). Life is complicated.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mrs. Robinson and Sky Ranch Elementary!! What a fun afternoon we had. The Lazy W would be thrilled to visit your happy, loving school anytime. And of course it’s always the best thing ever to hug the neck of a woman from the past, when our young ladies were babies together. xoxo Sure seems like yesterday.

Not five minutes into our half hour drive back to the farm, these two feathery children of mine were passed out cold. They wrapped up in each other like a yin-yang symbol and slept hard while I listened to the radio and made sure Rascal Flatts never played (Frageelay can’t stand that group and I agree).

And when I got home, guess who was out in the sun waiting for me? Pacino and Mia. Pacino was safely locked up, of course, but Mia was right there. Bothering the heck out of him. They both greeted me warmly. I returned Frageelay and Ethel to their love nest where Lucy was waiting impatiently. And I came inside to prepare our dinner.

Quiche. Made with fresh farm eggs, also known as liquid baby chickens.

Birds of different feathers can flock together
and sometimes they go to school.
XOXOXOXO

early april garden update

April 9, 2015

On Tuesday the weather was balmy. Warm enough to send the llamas for several dips in the pond (which is blessedly high right now) and humid enough to keep my braided hair feeling tangled and matted. I could forgive that small discomfort, though, because my arms and legs were so happy to bake in the open air, soaking up the glorious, energizing sunshine. I wore running shorts and a flimsy tank top and walked everywhere barefoot or with only flip flops and played in the dirt glove-less, touching and massaging the perfect earth until it became part of me. Everywhere I looked, new life was surging forth, growing aggressively, far beyond those first unbelievable sprouts early in March. Now, those plants that had only just broken dormancy are taking shape and boasting new blooms, coming into their own despite whatever doubts I had while they were sleeping beneath the ground all of the long, cold winter.

I worked over one empty raised bed, destined for growing who knows what? and thought to myself that this must be what my firstborn daughter feels like when she stares at a blank canvas or a new sheet of drawing paper. Possibility and thrill. I know from experience it’s how my youngest daughter must feel when she sits with a fresh, unadulterated notebook, an empty vessel begging for her words, making her fingers twitchy to write.

The clean, warm, perfect square of earth was transfixing. I sifted the dirt over and over again, letting it run warm and silky through each of my hands and between my toes, then raking meaningless patterns into the surface, visualizing the colors, textures, and flavors that would soon be appearing there.

At some point on Tuesday I wandered away from the gardens to tidy up the abandoned bee yard. I had intense mixed feelings about how many wild honeybees were at that exact moment visiting the painted hives. I could still smell the old honeycomb, as could they I suppose. The feeling of loss was very real, so I turned back to the gardens where all I could see was life.

Peony divisions my Mom gave me a few years ago are bigger every day. The leaves are lush, green, and healthy. The tight pink buds are numerous. And in my imagination their soon-coming Mother’s Day fragrance is already divine. Behind the peony here you can see a broken clay pot which has become a chalked up plant marker for horseradish, which I only just planted. Both of these developments are so exciting!

The wild Virginia creeper is as old and elegant as ever. If this vine were a lady, she would of course be from the Deep South. She would drink sweet tea and serve unsweetened shortbread. She would read Russian literature but not discuss it openly. Virginia creeper, were she a lady, would preside over the world from her front porch with the blue ceiling and she would bless your heart. It’s possible she’d wear Youth Dew perfume by Estee Lauder.

I realize that in this season before the garden is completely unfurled, most of my photos are extreme close ups. It’s not to hide anything; it’s just that the beginnings are so amazing. The smallest details are incredibly beautiful, and to see them actually happen and then really take hold, well, it makes the bigger picture too much for a while. The secretive thrills make the wide view almost irrelevant.

For the sake of honesty, here are a few snapshots proving that lots of work remains to be done. Things are still overall a bit messy, but to me they are still magical. Mostly because of so many small beginnings.

Lots of leaves to rake, plenty of crabgrass to remove, and bare spots everywhere pleading for riotous color. Oh, and rusty milk cans that need a new home and a sidewalk owned fully by free range chickens. But already the 2015 gardens are outperforming last year’s, and we haven’t even hit tax day yet. Soon I’ll share what’s going on in Seedling Town. I have tried new stuff this year and am super excited to tell you about it!

I hope you connect with us on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, too. I have lots of readers and friends sharing their garden developments daily, and it makes me so happy! Often you remind me to try something new or revisit something old. Between us all, the wide range of climates and specialty plants amazes me; but the common passion for growing things is what binds us. It’s just wonderful.

Okay, that has been my early April garden update. Thank you for joining me here!! Happy growing!

“Won’t you come into my garden?
I would like my roses to see you.”
~Richard Brinsley Sheridan
XOXOXOXO

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