Lazy W Marie

early season pleasures

April 1, 2015

Since the fresh new season is in full swing, we are spending more and more time outdoors. From sun to sun, the farm offers more work and more fun than ever. Actually my work is more fun this time of year! I love it. Cleaning animal habitats, collecting dried manure, filling troughs, watering and doting on plants, just (as my Grandpa Rex would say) puttering around… None of it is difficult in this season. Physical and spiritual pleasures abound.

Right now, upstairs in a sunny window seat in our bedroom hallway, dozens of seedling containers are growing all kinds of tiny crops, not the least of which is basil. You heard me right, friends, basil. The king of herbs. Now sprouted into fluffy little leaf-topped groves, less than a week after touching that sexy black soil you see there, baby basil is a soul-deep pleasure. It awakens everything culinary and horticultural in me. Several times per day I walk slowly past this nursery of miniatures and gently scan the pads of my fingers across those verdant ruffles. I dare to lean down, pinch a leaf bud or two, and inhale the nearly imperceptible perfume. And the fragrance of all that moist peat is intoxicating, too. I just adore it. This productive collection of seedling trays promises me food and flowers all season long.

Fortunately, while we wait for the new herbs, a few stalwart specimens overwintered very well outdoors and are now fresh and green again, offering me perfect little bundles of bright flavor for all kinds of recipes. It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of walking barefoot out to the herb garden to clip just the right amount of herbs for dinner. And what a true pleasure it is! Soon the sage, rosemary, and oregano already producing will be joined by so much more. Gardening for the sake of cooking more than doubles the pleasure. These endeavors are far more than the sum of their parts.

The vegetable garden is renewing herself slowly but surely, too, and just watching the gentle evolution is a total pleasure. Spinach, mesclun, kale, snow peas, radishes, two kinds of cabbage (different varieties than what I’ve grown in the past), and these fluffy red sail lettuces you see, which were gifts from the Will Rogers Garden after a recent work day. Everything is still small and perfect. I am enamored by the petite sprouts of spinach and kale and by the rounded, optimistic faces of snow peas when they break ground and timidly unfurl that first pair of leaves. They say, “Surprise! I’m here!” And then an angel’s harp chimes once.

A half dozen tomato plants are sitting out there too, also gifts from Will Rogers. This is exciting if a bit risky, considering the last frosts we often get. A few days ago I scattered some extra basil seeds among the first tomato plants. Because, you know, Caprese. And adjacent to the edibles out there are so many perennial flowers and bulbs that come up on their own every spring. This year I can already tell they have multiplied like crazy. Clematis, day-lilies, bleeding heart, thornless blackberries, caladium, so much. A slow, easy meandering walk down toward the vegetable beds is worth doing any time of day. It quiets me. And excites me. I am quietly excited. Or excitedly calm. Both.

Whenever possible I have been venturing out around town here and there, exploring different garden centers and spending all the money I make selling eggs. Ha! This is its own kind of pleasure. Exploratory. Stimulating. The garden centers get me thinking of how things look together and of what my eyes are craving this year.

I’ve been to the big box and hardware stores when other farm errands require it, a fancy schmancy place way out north I keep hearing good things about (it’s drop dead gorgeous but expensive), and finally and with the greatest affection… Earl’s Nursery about ten minutes east of here. I love that place. They know me and I know them and we love each other. (Or at least, I love their plants and they love my money. This is a healthy arrangement.)

All the colorful displays are dizzying, you know? A kaleidoscope of color and texture unlike anything else. I walked through their greenhouses yesterday in a thin cotton sundress and straw cowboy hat and nearly sweated to death. That would have been a wonderful way to go.

More on this soon, but the curved flower bed and flagstone patio near our hot tub is getting a makeover. Yesterday I cleaned out most of that ocean of dried leaves, pulled what few weeds straggled up, celebrated the flowers emerging on their own, added composted horse and buffalo manure, and planted more pretty stuff, both edible and ornamental. So fun! I’ll share more photos and ideas from this project as it look better.

And as always, Mia the overly attached gander is right there ready to help. He provides unlimited cuddles and an unflinching goose soundtrack. “Hooooonnnk…” xoxoxo

After spending so many weeks planning and daydreaming about the new year’s garden, it is such a physical pleasure and mental relief to actually got outside and work. Move things. Affect change. Improve your surroundings. How divine to end a day sweaty and caked with dirt, decidedly in need of a second or third shower before cooking dinner.

Please share with me some details about your gardening so far! I so love hearing about what other people grow, how they do it, what plants they love best, and more. This personal exchange is one of my favorite parts of answering phones for the Country Extension, too.

Okay that’s it for today! Enjoy your outdoor spaces, friends. Move stuff around. Touch, smell, watch, love. Abandon yourself to the constant river of miracles. It will take you to good places.

Oh! And use manure and compost. If you are local and want some, drop me a line. We have a lot. Cheap.

“Gardens are not made by singing ‘Oh, how beautiful!’
and sitting in the shade.”
~Rudyard Kipling, Complete Verse
XOXOXOXO

a sight for sore eyes, welcome spring

March 26, 2015

First the “Builder Bradfords,” then an errant fruit orchard or wild sand plum tree here and there along a creek, maybe a dogwood or two, certainly the magnolias… Now today the Redbuds, Forsythia, and Roses of Sharon are waking up. Slowly but surely our Oklahoma hills and forests are breaking dormancy and taking on the gentle blush of springtime. Daffodils, tulips, pansies, the earliest shoots of day-lilies and cool-season veggies, so many delicate splashes of color everywhere. The muted browns and grays of winter will soon be forgotten, and we don’t even care if half the flat green we see is from weeds.

Almost every year I forget how powerful the surge of new life is, how thrilling that first glimpse of a sprouted seed can be (I almost cried yesterday when my indoor marigold seeds had grown a centimeter in a few hours!) or how exciting it is when forgotten perennials reappear without my help. Science now proudly declares that skin contact with warm earth is good for us physically, too, that healthy soil contains depression-fighting microbes or some such? That, plus the undeniable deep bliss we get from the close-approaching sun this time of year… Friends, we are about to shed all those winter doldrums for good. Or at least for a good long while. Hang in there, okay?

Electric yellow forsythia blooming at the Will Rogers garden in Oklahoma City.

white magnolia — White magnolia tree blooming, tall and elegant, at the Will Rogers garden in Oklahoma City.

Whether you’re an avid and experienced gardener or you just crave to grow a thing or seven, dive in. Dive in now, with both feet wearing flip flops and both hands, un-gloved, fingernails ready to scrape up some dirt. Do not waste time changing clothes or making a fancy list and plan; just start. Ignore your housework for an hour. This is the perfect time. Seize the sun and all his energy. Use whatever quarters and dollar bills you can find under the couch cushions and go buy the first seeds you find (lettuce and spinach are excellent things to start in March). Scratch up some soil. Plant those tiny babies. Tuck them in lovingly, with exactly the same native soil as you just scratched up. Water them gently.

Know that you have just become part of a miracle. Savor that idea.

My gosh. It’s only seeds, right? It’s only food that we eat all the time anyway, cheap and easy enough to buy at the grocery store, ready for dinner. But it’s actually the biggest miracle ever. It’s new life, the stuff of energy and motion and health, all from this tiny, inconspicuous fleck of brown that when touched by the right elements at the right time are brought into the fullness of all those promises imprinted by the Maker. He said this will become lettuce, and this kale, and this spinach. He said so, and it always happens that way.

Do you know what else He said? He said, “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.” ~Jeremiah 29:11

How truly stunning, that while gardening we have this opportunity to participate in so many little (but huge!) miracles. How amazing to see His plan worked out over and over again, so many promises fulfilled that at first we are shocked by it all; then eventually we are so surrounded by lushness that maybe we take it for granted.

Of course, the biggest, strongest, most long lasting treasures, like maybe oak trees? They take a lot longer to grow. You really have to be willing to wait. I have to remind myself of this when I ache for the biggest prayers to be answered. It will be worth the wait. It will be strong and beautiful when it finally happens. These words echo in my ribs and belly.

Life is so beautiful, friends. Winter is hard and sometimes ugly, and it’s dangerous and it breaks our spirits a little. But springtime always, always, without exception, returns. The sun warms us. The earth thaws and breaks open with abundance. Color and texture explode, sometimes to feed us and other times just to delight our senses.

The Will Rogers gardens in Oklahoma City are filled with tulips right now! Go see if you’re local. They are just beautiful.

God loves you. He loves you so much and He wants your prayers to be answered. He wants you to live a happy, peaceful, successful, fulfilling life. There are hidden meanings to the wintry seasons we all endure, but they are only seasons. And He works it all out. Then He comforts us with seeds and sprouts and new life. (And we get veggies! And tulips!)

Are you interested in some slightly more practical gardening ideas this year? Something beyond “find spare change and throw down the first seeds you find?” haha Please stay tuned. I have lots of fun ideas for us. In the mean time, stay hopeful. Keep planting seeds. Keep trusting. And enjoy the slow parade of color. It’s about to get out of control. As always, thanks so much for visiting.

“Grace doesn’t depend on suffering to exist,
but where there is suffering you will find grace
in many facets and colors.”
~William Paul Young, The Shack
XOXOXOXO

dreams come true

March 17, 2015

When I was pregnant with her, I was only a couple of years older than she is today. That is a weird thought process all by itself. Month by month I dreamed of her face, sight unseen, and fell in love with her and all of her carefree somersaults and even my widening belly. She consumed my thoughts then, just as she does today. I was blessed with a truly healthy, happy, comfortable pregnancy, something I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.

I was in such a hurry to meet her that my doctor had no trouble convincing me to induce labor around our actual due date. He suggested it not for any particular medical reason; it just seemed to be a fad at the time. A practice of convenience. We both were healthy and she was full weight and well developed. He scheduled it, I prepared for it, and she was born without incident after a really easy labor. Still healthy and happy, and yet again I didn’t fully appreciate these blessings.

When she was finally born on a bright and cool afternoon in September, I was not at all surprised to see her wide ebony eyes, her tiny rosebud mouth, her profile, her perfect olive skin. Everything about her was exactly as I had seen in those sleeping dreams. She was a beautiful baby then, just as she is beautiful young woman now. I am still so grateful for those dreams that showed me her face ahead of time. She was imprinted on my heart in a million silent, priceless ways.

Looking back, so many parts of me wish I had allowed her birth to happen naturally, to experience unmedicated labor pains and the thrilling surprise, the curious timing of the miracle of life.

I wish I had let her arrive in her own way, at her own time.

Then this precious girl was gone for a while, for too many years, for reasons we are just beginning to fully understand. But she was never removed from my heart. Not even for one minute.

For a second time in our life together as mother and daughter, I found myself literally dreaming of her when I couldn’t see her. When I couldn’t touch her, hear her voice, or smell her vanilla-shampooed hair. In her long, sad absence these past years, I would sleep roughly but often catch phantom glimpses of her face in my dreams. Those same ebony eyes, her same small rosebud mouth, that same perfect olive skin that just glows. In this new set of dreams, instead of appearing as the infant I’d not yet held, she was appearing as her grown self or sometimes as a ten year old version of herself, whispering to me the secret that she was soon coming home. She was not just happy in these prophecied moments; she was giddy. Effervescent with joy. I would try so hard to stay asleep and whisper back to her all my love and longing, to cling to those stolen moments. But every time of course I’d wake up to the raw reality that she was still gone.

I Saw You Last Night

My baby in kindergarten. I remember thinking then how grown up she was.

Do you know how wonderful God is? How far-reaching His Love is? He has seen into my heart all these nineteen years, the regret I have harbored over planning her birth and missing out on the dazzling unknown of His design. He took her away from me for a while only to bring her home, in surprising and unpredictable ways. During her absence He showed me when to push and when to rest; He taught me how to breathe deeply and fruitfully and when to wait. He showed me through those waiting years how constant and powerful Love is. He forced me (kicking and screaming at first) into a place of trust and kept me there until I wanted to trust, until that was my genuine and natural position. In time I became both vulnerable and strong.

It turns out He was working this complex miracle in her as well.

(Have you followed my discipline with the Worry Door?)

Then one day she finally arrived (again). Quite out of the blue, in the surprising, thrilling, somewhat terrifying way she might have been born the first time had I allowed it to happen naturally. One day this past September (almost exactly nineteen years since her first birth) I got the overwhelming phone call that was very much like a rebirth. She was free, and she was coming home.

She showed her pretty face for the second time in my life, exactly as I had been dreaming of her while she was away.

This strong, beautiful girl has possessed a slice of my heart and soul for almost twenty years now, and that will never change. This is just the beginning. I am once more living every promise of motherhood and every hope. We are seeing that not only is time elastic; Love is sovereign.

It’s mid-March now. Six months after her rebirth when she finally arrived in her own way, at her own time. She is peeling away from me and pressing close again, over and over, this time in the best possible, most natural ways. Finding her own legs and learning to walk (again). Squeezing me tight and boring into my eyes with hers (again). Letting me feed her mightily because it satisfies us both (again).

Making me proud beyond description. Always.

Thank you, friends, for every single prayer and every positive thought and word of encouragement you’ve offered, especially when you didn’t really know what was happening. She amazes us daily. She is on a good, strong path today, chasing her own joy and pursuing her own dreams, just exactly like a nineteen year old girl should do. And because of this she continues to benefit from prayer and Loving energy, so please keep it up.

Love is so real. Prayer absolutely changes things. And natural processes best. Don’t force it.

Fear knocked at the door.
Faith answered.
And lo, no one was there.
~Author Unknown
XOXOXOXO

every day magic

February 26, 2015

I am not a fan of top hat magic, the kind that disappears women or reappears bunnies and doves. I really could not care less about from whence silk scarves come or whether you can guess which card I picked. I do know one weird illusion that claims to rub a quarter into my forearm. Unfortunately I laugh so hard from nervousness that every attempt gets ruined anyway.

But real magic? The kind of magic that lights up your eyes and adds sparkle and heat to the air? I love that. I am a sucker for real, pulsing, powerful magic. And it’s all around me.

I sense magic at dawn when the sky above the bachelors’ field changes from inky black with diamond stars to fiery, ridiculous shades of orange and purple. So much color some days it seizes up my throat and tightens my chest. A pleasure-pain. The roosters crowing can be magical, heralding another day I get to live on these strange and beautiful nine acres. Feeding the buffalo with his square, wet leathery nose and his poofy Afro and horns, cuddling and scruffing him as he reaches high for that bucket of sweet grain, yep, that’s magic. Releasing the frantic chickens to go roam free and then collecting their eggs, up to eleven per day lately, with those hard shells of greens and blues, rich mahogany brown and white, this is a gift and a bit of nutritional magic for me. Kissing Meh with his sweet, fuzzy little motherless lips, trading butterfly eyelashes with him, pure magic.

Every single time a seed germinates and sprouts, and then again when it grows tall and bursts out with one pair of tiny leaves after another, each of these stages is its own magic. When that seed becomes food that we eat, and then bolts and flowers and produces new seeds all over again, magic.

We’re about to be drenched in this, you know. Winter doesn’t stand a chance. Actually winter is magical, too. It draws us close, quiets us, urges us to shun lists and busyness and just be. Winter’s magic is togetherness and affection, inner warmth despite the cold outside.

Spending time with the horses and learning to speak their language has been an unexpected dose of magic lately. Feeling such a massive animal respond to the smallest squeeze of my thighs or the gentlest tug of reins is like nothing else. And the fact that I am on this adventure with my firstborn, this doe eyed young woman who was so recently my doe eyed baby, this is a magic for which I barely have words.

Maybe you frown on using the word magic in the realm of prayer, and that’s understandable because the connotation is historically so different, but to me it’s all the same. The amazing power of an intimate communication with my Creator, the results-getting influence of just talking to Him and asking for help and inspiration, guidance and then outright miracles, this is a magic without which I would really hate to live. This is a magic that has charmed my life and cracked open my imagination.

Magic can be found in the gleam of wood floors when the afternoon sun pours through that window and also in the sparkle of disco ball reflections on that ceiling. Magic is in the carpet on our stairs that we chose after the house fire, the same stairs the parrot sings in and climbs when he misses us. Magic is in the upright piano in our dining room that, although it is rarely played now, reminds me of my grandparents and how good childhood was. The piano also reminds me of Handsome’s Mom and the ache he must constantly feel without her. This remembrance is painful but important magic. I see magic in the estate sale black and white toille curtains I nailed up clumsily to flank our kitchen door, which leads to the south yard, where so many friends have gathered with us over these seven years.

Magic is in the smell of chicken roasting in the oven together with lemon, garlic, and fresh sage. Everyone likes the magic of chocolate chip cookies, soft and steaming, crispy on the edges, begging for cold milk. Magic is pasta night once every week when each of us gets exactly the sauce he or she likes best. Magic is perfect coffee together every single morning, even if it means a special drive to the truck stop late at night after a long road trip. Magic is homemade pizza when we feel like it and Little Caesar’s when we don’t. Magic is cooking twice as much food as we need and freezing the extras so our girl always has homemade meals to take with her. Even bigger, bolder magic is cooking with her and having her sit with us to eat.

Magic is watching a scary movie, knowing full well that Handsome will be in covert attack mode for the next three days, seeking after and relishing every blood curdling scream I offer. And me loving every second of it. Then it’s nothing short of magic when he gets up and goes to work day after day, week after week, all these years, despite the opposition, despite the imbalances in government, despite the lies and deceit and people who would be so thrilled for him to throw in the towel. Magic is in how much he loves and protects me, no matter how depleted he is.

I absolutely love the hours between chores and housework and then the evening, that little slice of afternoon when I am free to play in the garden or write or, most often, go for a long run. It’s a magical time of day for me. Running itself is a dose of magic for my mind as well as my body. I had to experience this for myself to believe it, but something bizarre really does happen to you in each stage of a long run, and it’s a gift. It’s worth exploring.

Magic is in the comfort of routine and the excitement of adventure. It’s in every part of our calendar, our friends and family, my book club, the thrumming life building up for the next generation. Magic is in legacy and tradition, dreams and departures.

Magic is the feel of paper and the smell of fresh laundry. The grumble of a strong car engine and the relief of not running out of gas when you’re late. Magic is found when your husband fixes your washing machine himself and also does the taxes.

Magic is in the sunset, too, brilliant over the llama field and the valley below it but somehow glowing against the hilltop bachelors’ field where we saw the sun rise this morning. More jaw-dropping color, more pleasure-pain from the kind of beauty we could never duplicate. Magic is in every wild heron that visits our pond and in the love we have found for Duck Duck, the wild goose who is now part of our farm-ily. Magic is in the way Duck Duck insists on being touched once on the back before allowing us to usher him to bed.

But he's so grown up now! — But he’s so grown up now!

And then magic is in wrapping up the farm at the end of a long day, setting coffee to brew at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow, clicking off the lights, locking the doors, kissing the parrot, ascending those carpeted stairs. Some of my very favorite magic is sliding between our silky soft, clean sheets and collapsing on our best pillows, braiding together physically to reinforce our silent unions. Magic is how we feel stronger instead of weaker, better instead of worse, night after night.

And then the impossibly beautiful, magical sunrise again.

Now tell me something about your magic.

XOXOXOXO

Mama Kat invited us to write about magic this week. Please visit some of the other writers too! And thank you so much for stopping here.

a girl and her horse

February 4, 2015

She loves him so much. I can see it in every movement, every word, every giggle. He loves her, too, like he loves no one else. They communicate in a secret, amazing way.

Her thin, muscular legs wrap around his belly, guiding him and loving him. Her hands brush and braid his mane or his tail. Her arms wrap greedily around his thick neck while her tiny feet endure hoof smashes and the occasional tap-kick. She pretends to scold him for this in a voice dripping with patience and understanding.

She leads him in circles and urges me to ride him, teaching me what she learned while she was gone. Such an incredible trade, an unexpected gift. She cleans his hooves and extends his legs forward to stretch and cuddle some more. She combs her fingers through his long, fuzzy, gray and white winter coat. She teaches him and loves him and needs him and is needed.

She shivers in the cool breeze but insists on keeping her skin (such a beautiful olive wrapping) exposed to the sun, she craves it so much. Then I bring her a blanket anyway so she can stay warm but also cuddle against him, warm on both sides now. She is as swaddled and kissed as when she was a baby, and watching her I feel every impulse in my body as before, everything in my heart and mind firing off with love and energy and hope for the future. Her future.

She holds his hoof and he holds her heart, and at this moment everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be. And I whisper thank you, thank you, thank you to the One who makes it possible.

XOXOXO

« Previous Page
1
…
7
8
9
10
11
…
13
Next Page »

M	T	W	T	F	S	S
						1
2	3	4	5	6	7	8
9	10	11	12	13	14	15
16	17	18	19	20	21	22
23	24	25	26	27	28	29
30

Looking for Something?