Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

after the full moon

Monday delivered another unseasonably cool August daybreak. Walking from the kitchen door across the south lawn, two steaming mugs of perfect coffee in hand, I first noticed the humidity and then alternating pockets of warm and cool air. My eyesight was still blurry and dreamlike, barely awake, so in those stumbly moments, the brackish air around me seemed to manifest blue and pink, puffy handfuls of varying temperatures. It was an illusion, I knew that, but a gorgeous one.

To my left, of course, the sky actually was colorful. Oklahoma sun rises are surpassed in kaleidoscope beauty only by Oklahoma sunsets. Monday was no exception. Blues, pinks, and oranges. Silver and gold.

Later that day, after an easy run and half a day’s work, I walked back through this same space, west this time, downhill toward the shade garden. The sky had lowered and turned a suede gray. Still humid, but the air was stirred up now, all blended into one smooth, mellow flavor. Birds called from every side the way they often do only at dawn. Tree frogs and locusts raised the volume.

Full moon singing.

I spent some time cutting back sunflowers that were damaged from weekend thunderstorms. Thinking the whole time about Jessica turning twenty, I gathered enough for a hefty bouquet, set aside lots of dried seedheads for next year’s garden, and donated the rest to the horses and chickens.

(Besides sunflowers, did you know our horses will also eat arugula? Weirdos.)

Klaus kept me company most of the time, but he was often distracted by Meh splashing in the pond or crickets burrowing in the soft earth. My loyal pup appeared at my side half a dozen times with a muddy snoot and spiky-wet legs, belly, and tail. Little-boy happiness pulsing off of him.

I continued on emptying the raised beds of weeds and bolted leafy greens.

It’s a wonderful full moon task, this garden clean up. Right now is the perfect time for culling dead things, releasing what is damaged, and then letting everything rest. Since Monday I have grabbed an hour or two here and there, cleaning flower beds and working over exhausted vegetable plots, trying to help the farm catch its breath at this special time of the moon phase. Soon we will get another deep drink of rain, and more August heat, so this rest will be put to good use for new growth.

Just like in life, you know?

Wednesday night we drove to nearby Harrah to purchase a few round bales of hay for the bachelors.

Klaus accompanied us and smiled literally the entire time. I swear he puts of a certain kind of heat from his abundant joy. He loves truck rides so much.

When we arrived back at the farm and pulled through the barn to unload, Chanta, Dusty, and Meh thundered uphill and found us pretty quickly. They nibbled at a hay bale that was still wedged in the truck bed while Handsome wrestled, rolled, shoved, and pulleyed the other three behemoths into the barn. (We will eventually invest in a tractor with a hay spike; until then, it’s my husband’s brute strength that keeps things happening around here.)

We later dropped that delicious contraband over near the bonfire pit and deck yard, beneath some oak trees. I walked-rolled the big aluminum hay ring across the farm to encircle the feast.

I love fresh hay. Fragrant, tender, all shades of grassy neutrals and some green threads too. I love massive, dense bales that seem to be concrete blocks wrapped up in a flaky layer of goodness. Being stocked up makes me deeply content.

Early this morning, we took another walk south with perfect coffee in hand. Our Hot Tub Summit ritual continues. The farm was half wet from gentle overnight rain. The clouds were dappled, this daybreak as colorful as Monday’s but much warmer. The horses were standing at the new bale of hay, beneath the oak trees, eating breakfast (which actually appeared to be the end of a midnight snack). Sunlight from the east stabbed right through the steamy darkness and landed on the scene, illuminating all of it. Chanta’s hindquarters especially were glowing. Dusty took a deep breath and folded his legs to lay down. His big head lowered until his chin touched the wet leaves, and he fell asleep. Just as the farm was waking up.

Happiest of Thursdays to you, friends!
XOXOXOXO

 

a much happier storm season blowing through us

When the farm has just emptied of kids, evidence is plenty. The deck, pool, and surrounding lawns are all festooned with brightly colored plastics: Water guns and leaky swim masks, half-inflated floats, sun-crunchy pirate beach towels, and orphaned flip flops and hair ties. They are all scattered like confetti across the calm, green expanse. We discover an empty juice box here and there, a chewed-to-nothing melon rind, a discarded (hopefully used up) bottle of sunblock.

The chairs and chaise lounges are all askew, abandoned and resting happily like exhausted chaperones after a late night middle school dance.

When we bought these nine acres in 2007, our dream and vision was to give our girls, then 10 and 12, a second half of childhood, a healthy, wholesome coming of age with lots of space for deep breathing and long-leg stretching, animals to love and learn from, and much more.

The seeds of that vision had barely germinated when some destructive life storms blew through our family and changed everything for a season. We hung on, everyone survived, and eventually the sun came out again, brighter than ever. But that’s another story for another day.

Now I sit outside soaking up the cheerful debris of a happier storm, one of so many like it, each one important. “Cousin-Palooza 2017” came and went in a flash, leaving in its wake all this color and all these good vibrations. I sit here taking note of how much love and joy have actually grown here in the midst of that other storm.

Despite it? Or because of it?

For all the years that storm took from our family, has it actually nourished our foundation?

I think so.

I think, I feel in my bones, that the culling and strengthening and the deep watering from both tears and sweat have all contributed to an ongoing beautification. Not just a bigger deck or prettier gardens, not just faster internet, better food and more artwork on the walls- although yes to all of that!

But really, more trusting hearts for my husband and me. Freer minds. Effervescent joy that is actually pretty difficult to flatten.

We are blessed beyond reason. Thankful for adult siblings who trust us with their children so we can share these nine acres in some of the ways we always imagined. Happy to cultivate memories and bonds with our nieces and nephews that, despite inevitable storms headed our way in the future (that’s just how life goes), will last a lifetime and anchor us all.

Chloe, Kenzie, & Greg. July 2017 xoxo
Daybreak in Fort City, upstairs in the Apartment. They slept hard for almost 7 hours then sprang awake at full power, ready for chocolate chip pancakes and more fun.
Little fishes doing tricks all day long.

I always resist the hurry to clean up after a party. I am in no hurry to see it all wiped away, all the colorful debris that kids especially leave behind.

Except that other good stuff is on its way, and we need to make room. Every day, every moment, holds a new promise and a host of surprises. The whole big, beautiful, equally colorful future is about to happen.

I’m ready.

XOXOXOXO

 

friday 5 at the farm: early summer joys

Friday already? Yes, it’s Friday! Wow. We just accomplished another full-to-bursting work week and are sliding fast and furious toward the weekend. I couldn’t be happier. Actually, Handsome and I were just reflecting on how these past couple of weeks have been particularly satisfying. Filled with all sorts of boxes checked, obstacles demolished, attitudes refreshed. Prayers answered, too, let’s not forget that. We sure can’t take all the credit for being in a place of peace and contentment. Thankfully, the goodness around us far exceeds what we are capable of drumming up ourselves.

Real quick, how about a Friday 5 at the Farm?

Here are some things bringing me total and utter joy this week.

#1: Baby chicks are growing! Mama Hen and her little flock of six are happy and energetic. We love them.

#2: Some foot TLC, including new stretches and a topical anti-inflammatory. After a break that felt much longer than 3 days, I finally logged 8.2 glorious, humid miles between Thursday evening and Friday morning and am super grateful to be back at it.

#3: Homegrown salads! Every big bowl is layered with a variety of lettuces and greens, raw veggies, and farm fresh eggs. I could live on this meal. Actually, I kind of do.

#4: This overflowing trough garden and our new flat deck make me happy every single day. In the early morning hours, the light is lavender and pink and the birdsong is orchestral. By midday the dragonflies are buzzing low and I crave my best lawn chair and a good book for soaking up the sun in privacy. Early evening brings cooler temperatures and lacy shadows from those oak trees. And if we are lucky enough to step outside at night, we are rewarded with velvet black, diamond-crusted skies and lots of frog song. At any hour, I love to brush my hand across the globe basil planted here and bring the fragrance with me. Even my husband notices.

#5: An evening at Vacation Bible School with our Jedi OKC friends! Man that was fun. So many happy kids and so many stellar people making good things happen for them.

 

And with that, we are off to the next chapter. What daily gifts have brought you loads of utter and complete joy this week?

Carpe those diems, friends, they are rare and beautiful.

“I promise if you keep searching for everything
rare and beautiful in this world,
eventually you will become it.”
~T.K. White
XOXOXOXO

 

 

looking around to improve your perspective

Yesterday afternoon I stumbled into the weirdest funky mood. It lasted maybe 90 seconds and had the effect of a low, dark cloud crawling meanly across an otherwise brilliant sky. It was so distinct and forceful that it literally stopped me in my tracks. I was walking downhill toward the vegetable garden and paused, looked around like maybe I heard something behind me? Klaus stopped too and crooked his head to wait for my next step. His face and the green lawn and a few other beautiful things reminded me that I was home. That the moment was good and the context was magical. 

I’m grateful for awareness when my perspective is shifted negatively and for the power to bring it back to center. It’s often just a small exercise of noticing physical beauty, then maybe indulging in the quiet, inner messages some of them bring:

Fallen tree branches that resemble antlers. I cannot resist collecting them and inserting them into every flower pot, and it gets me thinking of the hundreds of patterns in nature, in the universal patterns of the human experience, from one generation to the next.

A stout gray and white horse who loves to scratch the hollow of his chin against every T-post on the farm. Oh Dusty, I love you.

That weird but pleasant summertime fragrance combination of latex paint, sweet clover, and manure, all warmed by the sun and stirred by the breeze. It’s just nice.

Watching our German Shepherd (I can no longer in good conscience call him a puppy) and our llama play together like little boys. Remembering the girls when they were little and prone to indulging in “Mud Monster” afternoons. Dreaming of their futures. Watching the dog and llama again, best friends on the muddy edge of the pond. 

The pond is still so high! Exceeding its banks, our own small lake, all these weeks after the heavy rain. Grace is abundant. We are fattened by it.

Walking around the bee hives, seeing the Honeymakers float and parade near their respective porches. Each colony is so unique, and all three of them are so entrancing. This is an endless metaphor.

Raking up great, thick, heavy clods of crabgrass, recently tilled, and shaking loose the dirt. Looking up just enough to visualize the food that will soon be growing here.

Checking for the day’s newly laid eggs, having to gently lift each hen to find them. Feeling the warm, sticky film on eggs that stay in the nests, waiting to hatch. Learning to trust the life cycle without counting chicks too early.

The lingering smell of marigold blossoms and arugula, the rough texture of kale, the jewel toned petunias and geraniums near the kitchen door. Oh man I had the best Grandpa…xoxo

Neatly pruned trees that had once been a chaotic black jack grove. Peace and strength that have brought some order to a fearful heart. Order and more beauty.

Frozen things are long thawed, mountains are moving, fear is losing once again to Love.

“Most people think it takes a long time to change. It doesn’t. Change is immediate! Instantaneous! It may take a long time to decide to change…but change happens in a heartbeat!”
~Andy Andrews in The Noticer
XOXOXOXO

lazy w honey maker update

You guys, this is gonna be “the year” for beekeeping at the W. I feel it. I feel it in my belly and my bones, and the stinging ladies whisper it to me every time I walk downhill. They dance in the sunshine and crawl between the clover blooms and beat their wings in a furious but happy Morse code message that says, “We like it here. We will stay. And if you get your hobby farming act together we will even make you some honey.”

I think that’s what they’re saying, anyway.

They’re probably Italian bees, and I barely remember my Spanish lessons from high school.

Let me introduce you to our three royal majesties who are each overseeing a completely unique colony, each acquired in a very different way too:

At the far left, nearest the pond, we have Princess Grace. She and her bees are building up their population at an incredible rate since last Spring, when my friend and fellow beekeeper Terry brought that swarm to the Lazy W. With Grace we enjoy gentleness, calm, and elegance, plus important lessons about leaving too much space in the hives, lest industry takes over and the bees one day explode with burr comb. Ahem.

Princess Grace, from a captured swarm… xoxo

Near the center of the middle field is Queen Shakira: So named because she and her ginormous family literally never stop dancing. Ever. And she can be a little spicy, but oh how beautiful! How dangerous and mesmerizing! I want to draw your attention to Shakira’s upper box, painted as a tribute to the 1980’s. Here we have Mr. T as well as a “Bee Box” instead of a beat box. Ha! Get it? There’s even more on the unseen sides. I have my talented and hilarious husband to thank for this treasure.

This was a “package” of bees I purchased at the 2016 spring conference, delivered from the vendor a couple of months later while I was visiting Jocelyn in Colorado. In my absence, my friend and mentor Maribeth and our (now mutual) friend Amber cared for this small group of stingers until I returned home. Handsome took charge of assembling and painting the wooden ware, and by the way he is the best hive artist ever.

Since then, month by month, Shakira and her fuzzy humming clan have grown like gangbusters. They have more than filled up the first deep box, overflowing out of it really, to the point that I recently added that second box you see. The concern was that the bees were so overcrowded they might swarm out on a warm spring day. I waited until winter weather had passed (specifically, until we had 24+ hours of temps above 55 degrees) then supplied them with new frames sprayed down with sugar-water (to encourage them to draw out the comb) and am continuing to feed them heavy syrup infused with drops of “Honey Bee Healthy” for their guts and immune systems. So far so good! They are still here, and they are voracious.

So, Shakira now has an upper story and deserves it. She has a bottom deep stocked with brood and honey and pollen, and I could not be happier. She and her bees seem to be draining their syrup supply faster than the other two hives. I suppose all that dancing? No pests yet, hallelujah.

Queen Shakira on the left (a purchased bee package one year old) and Queen Anne of the Damned with her Las Diablas on the right (cut out colony from this spring). That is my running trail in the back ground.

Nearest the Pine Forest you see the new home of Queen Anne of the Damned, matriarch to all of her Las Diablas: This queen got her cool name because the kids in charge of naming her originally suggested “El Diablo,” the translation and literary connection for which was too good to resist. Shout out to our fellow Anne Rice fans! Her drones, of course, shall henceforth be known as Los Diablos. Love it. Ha!

This is my brand new colony, the result of my first “cut out” supervised and assisted greatly by Maribeth. An old friend of my husband’s (my friend now too) contacted me several weeks ago reporting that while cleaning out a shed, he and his brother discovered honeybees. He asked whether I might want them then sent photos. It was an established hive, tons of gorgeous comb, not a swarm, so we were in less of a rush than we might have been.

This is me painting the shed with mouthwash, where we had removed honeycomb. It is supposed to discourage bees from returning to that spot.

I basically could not say yes!! fast enough and scrambled together a plan. About a week later (holding our breath through some risky wintry weather) Maribeth and I performed the cut out, photographed almost the entire time by our friend’s brother Eric. LOL He was super chill!

Thank you for documenting the fun, Eric!

He wore an extra bee jacket but no gloves and was right up there with us, just quietly admiring nature. I had the best afternoon! Then Maribeth and I installed the bees here at the farm, with a classic Oklahoma sunset lighting it all up. Magical. 

Since that exciting afternoon, things have gone remarkably well. Queen Anne and her Diablas have acclimated to their new surroundings, happy I am sure to still have so much of their native comb. These bees came with loads and I mean loads of capped brood, dozens of baby bees already hatching, pollen in colors ranging from pale yellow to crimson, and a little honey. Maybe enough to feed on during the dry weeks ahead of nectar flow.

I am so very thankful to our friends for thinking of us and letting us wait a week to fetch the bees safely! Eric and Erin’s mom Lynn gets first dibs on Anne’s honey harvest!

The only hurdle I have so far noticed for Queen Anne is that Meh the llama, or possibly my horse Chanta, has been happy to knock the lid off in search of that sweet syrup. Which is so dumb! Because often we have looked outside to see one or more of the three bachelors running away and rodeo kicking in objection to (most likely) a sting.  They were doing this to both Anne and Shakira.

Dumb, the narrator said darkly, shaking her head.

Anyway. A few strips of duct tape and two ratchet straps later, the problem seems to be solved. I am just so thankful that at each disruption, the bees were nonplussed. 

Maribeth answers my questions tirelessly and offers complicated but useful guidance every time something changes. I love and appreciate her so much for this. Beekeeping is nuanced, and my learning curve has been a roller coaster for sure. I also love that she makes a point to ask about my Papa Neiberding often. I also also like that my bees tend to sting her a lot more than they sting me. That’s funny. I’m sorry but it is. 

Okay, that’s it for now! I could talk about this cool stuff all day, but I don’t really know what you guys think of beekeeping, or how much you want to read about it, ha! So if you have any questions feel free to send em!

“Plumbers get wet
and beekeepers get stung.”
~Maribeth Snapp
XOXOXOXO