Lazy W Marie

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

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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

 

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

home sweet home

That last morning we rose to a gentle cell phone alarm, dressed quickly in still wet swim suits and cover ups, and scrambled across to the beach for an even gentler sunrise.

It’s the exact opposite of a mountain-enclosed sunrise, in that it begins ahead of schedule and is far from shy. That far south, dawn illuminates everything with concentric rings of glowing pastels, not unlike what we love so much at home.

The sky above us was ice blue, and the sky that drew our gaze- all the way to the razor edge horizon- was now stacked with intense pink and lilac, no longer stormy grays from the day before. The moon still hung smooth and silver over the fishing pier. Just barely less than half full.

The waters were evenly choppy, calmish, a brilliant metallic blue. Sparkling. Again, not unlike our pond at home lately. What few waves cropped up in little crescendos managed to strike flashing moments of gold in the blooming daylight.

We fed the birds again and walked barefoot once more on the damp, pliable sand. We inhaled the salty air and scanned the bay for our shark friend. I felt that familiar mix of emotions tied to leaving a place you love to return to a place you love. We had just done this a few days before.

A little while later, dispensing hotel coffee into my Styrofoam cup, I thought of buttered grits with salt and pepper, of dense, creamy scrambled eggs and warm watermelon. Chicory coffee and the smell of powdered sugar and fresh pralines. Spicy shrimp scattered over excellent salad greens and sub-tropical potted greens exploding from every iron balcony. Live music and unbridled artistic expression, crooked sidewalks and smooth carved statues, some of them now removed.

Then I thought of our beautiful farm and even better coffee. And my own wild gardens and that upstairs closet full of recently edited artwork that wants to see the light of day again. I thought of our animals and our family, of Mother’s Day and summertime and new adventures on the horizon.

I thought of Colorado sunrises and a certain artist who enjoys them.

This morning I woke to the strong fragrance and gurgling sounds of my own coffee machine. I felt my big, muscular, silky dog nuzzling my feet and growling in that early morning, contended way he does. We crept outside together to see the shimmering daybreak and feed the horses and chickens, explore the gardens again, and play an early round of fetch.

Our own Big Easy, our own beachy sky, our own home base thrumming with all the Love we have cultivated.

And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
XOXOXOXO

 

monday may first

How fun to begin a fresh, new month on a Monday. And what a gift that our Oklahoma skies are (at least temporarily) clear and blue, warm and friendly. This has been an auspicious beginning.

I spent most of today setting up for the rest of the week. It’s an easy-rhythm thing around the farm, every Monday, and I like it. Plenty from my list of good intentions remains unfinished, but I feel content and even a little drunk on tiny pleasures.

Honeybees exploring tomato blossoms near the kitchen door. Pacino chittering to the wild songbirds. Klaus, black and shining, panting, catching his breath after several exhaustive romps with Meh.

Our pond is higher than we’ve ever seen it, rippled by the stout afternoon breeze and glittering, really truly glittering and navy blue instead of muddied by clay It’s a welcome sight, as are the rolling green hills and soft, lush pine trees. 

Having neglected to collect eggs yesterday, today I found twenty-six! They are scrubbed clean and drying now on a thick towel on the kitchen counter. The smell of soap. I have this ever-expanding vision of supplying fresh edibles at a local market. A detail of this vision is inviting people to select their own eggs, taking home only the shell colors they like best. I have a large powder-coated basket and stack of empty cartons perfect for this fun. Until then I mix them up, tan and green and dark brown. ($3 per dozen, locals!)

As Handsome was driving home from the City, I sat on the kitchen patio and wrote and played some easy fetch with Klaus. The breeze was mostly cool, but sitting still in the afternoon sun baked my jeans against my shins and melted away some tension. Like a massage for my bones and my emotions. I stood up, stretched, and planted a new rose bush he had gifted me before bedtime last night.

I feel full and empty all at once, and I have stories stacking up inside me like hurried, disgruntled train passengers desperate to disembark at the perfect destination, heck any destination; but I can’t slow the train to let them exit safely.

Things I hope to tell you wonderful people this week:

  • All about the Listen to Your Mother event on Sunday. Wow. 
  • Some exciting running accomplishments from a few of my favorite humans.
  • The easiest non-recipe I have ever shared. I made it by accident last Friday.
  • My own running lately and a plan for May and June
  • Two books I read recently that you just might LOVE. Or hate. Your choice.
  • Bliss Lists!!
  • Even more about LTYM because I just had no idea what it would really be like. 

As we go about the first few days of this gorgeous new month, let’s urge each other to be grateful for the gifts we have and gentle to everyone who crosses our path. Let’s work really hard at our goals (more focus, smarter ingenuity) but also rest more often and luxuriate in what we have already accomplished. Best of all let’s take time (and help me remember this ok?) to sometimes not even think about those things. Just love our men and our dogs and our horses and gardens. Once in a while that has to be enough. And, because life is truly magical, it will make us stronger for the things we can’t do much about, after all.

See you soon, magical hard-working people.
XOXOXOXO