Lazy W Marie

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

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friday 5 at the farm, oct 20, 2023

Hooowwwww is it already Friday again? This week has been another one packed with joys, both big and small, just shouldered and layered together like sardines in a too small can, and I love it. But I am stunned by the passage of time. Again.

How about a quick Friday 5 post to remind our future selves that yes, life is full and beautiful even when it races past at lightspeed? Okay.

CONNECTION: We have been fortunate to spend lots Of quality time with loved ones lately. Last Friday (I know that is technically last week, but I have not documented this joy yet) I drove to the city and savored a three hour coffee date with Kellie. We had not had any appreciable time alone in probably a year, and I missed her terribly. It was a soul refresher! We also had a glorious, casual, festive weekend with our dear friends Rex and Cathy, hip-hoppin around a local fall festival and then spending an afternoon carving jack o’lanterns and eating chili by the bonfire. On Monday, I had a wonderful visit with my Aunt Marion, who I have not written much about here but who has been central to my formation. She is at a stage in life when I appreciate every hour with her and regret the ones I have avoided. The next night, Mom and I met at Oklahoma Christian University in Edmond to listen to the author of Killers of the Flower Moon. That evening has been soaking into my bones every waking minute since. So fascinating! Wednesday was my sweet Dad’s birthday, and the whole local gang descended onto one poor waitress’ table in Midwest City to celebrate. I took a batch of triple chocolate cupcakes and sparkling “66” candles, and we all had a great time. I sure hope he felt loved. Today we had surprise guests, Mickey and his new lady friend, and my running friend Jeff! This weekend we have a few more easy social plans, and our tanks will be full to overflowing. I really value packing in easy but meaningful connections like this before the holidays, before the weather turns, before chaos threatens to rush things even more.

ANIMALS: The Farm-ily is doing well. The chickens are cooped up right now, partly to give my fall seedlings a chance to establish, and partly because of recent reports of the Avian Flu. Chanta had one half day of diarrhea, but it resolved quickly, thank goodness. I hope it was as simple as eating a bit of mold or mushrooms. He is great now. Meh has been a cuddle bug this week, and Dusty thinks that every time he sees me walk outside I most likely have carrots in my pockets. We owe this development to Cathy, who got the horses hooked on carrots while they farm sat for us in September (hitherto to their treats were mostly peppermints and apples). All three of the bachelors are getting that early autumn fuzz now, and it’s beyond soft. It’s sweater weather for them too! Klaus is on a personal mission to either befriend or exterminate two particular squirrels who jet back and forth across the meditation path all day. It consumes all of his available physical stamina as well as most of his waking thoughts, I am pretty sure. An armadillo is dramatically renovating three lawns for us, no charge. Very generous. We do have a big, exciting Farm-ily announcement to make soon, but I am going to try and hold it in for a while. This will be a challenge for me.

DOMESTICITY & THOUGHTS: I spent some time in the Apartment this week, editing furniture and collections, squaring up my sewing supplies for winter projects, and generally cleaning and reordering things. I have moved my writing desk up here, too, which is both smart and luxurious. It is easier to stay focused on writing with a dedicated spot that keeps me from seeing half a million other tasks at arm’s length, or hearing the tv. We are decorated nice and spooky for Halloween and are already excited for Thanksgiving and Christmas. The whole family is going to be together again! Twice in one year, and I am so PUMPED!! My mind is buzzing, but in a calm and pleasant way. I could sit here and type out one blessing or miracle or answer to prayer and be here forever. You might not believe it all. The flow of goodness in our life right now, really always but maybe we are sometimes sloe to acknowledge it? is staggering. This flow of Love is a strong, nourishing, safe river of cold, mineral rich water that we need and love and treasure. I have been practicing a few mental exercises that keep me in the conduit frame of mind, so that I can receive and then share the goodness over and over again, letting it flow freely through me, without feeling the need to hoard any of it or reject it or let it leak out before my thirst is quenched. If this is interesting to you, message me and we will talk!

HEALTH: News on the health front here is great. Handsome’s stitches came out some time ago, and his wound is fully healed. We continue to be actively thankful for this. because that bizarre freak accident could have been life altering. Or life ending. Not to be dramatic; it’s just true. He also has been taking some chest pains seriously and sought more aggressive attention from his cardiologist. We are extremely happy to report that his physical self is thriving and safe. His mental load and overall stress levels are beyond the scope, though, so that is as serious as if we had received a scary medical report. As for me, all I can say is that a couple of days ago while running, I tripped over literally nothing and fell forward in a full speed, momentum-driven, cartwheel kind of way, straight to the sidewalk. I was so embarrassed, that I just laid there for a few seconds, hoping the ladies walking up to me would just leave me for dead and pretend they saw nothing. One hip bone, one elbow, and both knees and both hands were scraped up and bloody, and my left hand was bruised. I am thankful it was not worse, and I would like to give a shout out to the older gentlemen who witnessed my actual fall form grace, continued to speed walk past me, and called out, “SOMETIMES YOU GOTTA BLEED!” Thank you sir. Thank you indeed.

GARDENS: The farm gardens are still beautiful. Summer treasures are exhausted and changing but still producing too, which blows my mind. Tomatoes, peppers and fragrant herbs are the big show offs right now, but soon abut twenty brassica plants and several patches of salad greens will take center stage. I do not have the heart to tear out a single thing, not even the blackening Tithonia or zinnias with powdery mildew. I relish the crispy sepia shades, and I am happy to just keep things hydrated and delay the culling. We are still Grand Central Station for pollinators, anyway, so why rob them these final feasts? I have planted a few beds with fall treasures and swapped out the front door and kitchen door planters a little bit. Nothing too crazy, just small adjustments for the barely different weather and my shifting moods. I am in the market for more asparagus, two apple trees, more spring bulbs, and more wildflower seeds.

Okay friends, I hope your week was also packed with a variety of joys like sardines in a too small can. I hope you are approaching your weekend with full hearts and tired bodies and enough space for a couple of adventures, work worth doing well, and all the pleasures life can afford you. It is okay to be happy, even in the midst of tragedy. It is okay to enjoy your life. It is okay to choose to believe that the best is yet to come.

Be happy on purpose.
XOXOXO

an autumn afternoon in the garden with Kindergarten

We sat in the shade with half a dozen bright eyed Kindergarteners, just three women and six children that day. The October afternoon was warm and breezy, still more summer than fall, and I found myself wishing I had brought cold drinks for everyone.

The day’s lesson was about seeds and how they relate to flowers and, ultimately, the foods they become. I passed around a huge, heavy, bright orange pumpkin and several pumpkin blossoms, deep yellow and frilly, impossibly related to that massive fruit. The kids touched and sniffed and made sweet, cooing, observant sounds, their immense brown eyes fixed alternately on everything they held and then on me. I passed around stems of tomato plants, each loaded with tiny, yellow, star shaped flowers. I sliced open a few juicy tomatoes and showed them the almost imperceptible white seeds inside. We examined purple, leathery hyacinth bean pods, which they needed some encouragement to tear. The beans inside were reliably glossy black with perfect white spines. Gorgeous tuxedo gifts. I watched to make sure no one ate one, ha! But they only rolled the treasures around in their curious hands.

We scrunched the papery crumples of zinnia seed heads and shared a bouquet of those Technicolor flowers then moved on to tomatillos, which are so fun to de-husk. Tiny fingers are adept at peeling quietly, and they had fun doing it. One brave little boy volunteered to manage the Tithonia seed heads, which our fair reader may already know are famously stout and prickly when dried.

((autumn garden collection, 2023))

As the kids explored and absorbed the many details of seeing, touching, smelling, and weighing the various seeds and flowers and their final growing products, their teacher encouraged them to more fully describe everything. She asked them beautifully precise but open ended questions that produced long, effusive answers in broken, cheerful English. I almost cried a few times, and I am not sure why. Maybe it was just the pure joy of seeing such young, innocent children enjoying nature. Maybe it was the simple intimacy of so few people sitting quietly in the shade. Maybe it was the memory of being in the garden with my own girls, now twenty years past, or the possible future thrill of sitting with bilingual grandchildren, in the garden, talking about food and flowers and watching them learn everything about this immense, gorgeous world.

After a little while in the shade, we wandered over to a collection of raised beds to plant new seeds. The students used wooden Popsicle sticks to carve little furrows in the soil. They scattered the miniscule seeds, sometimes with impressive focus and sometimes with understandable abandon. Then they watered. Oh my heart. If we thought that trading roly-polies and earthworms was their favorite garden activity last week, it is only because last week we didn’t have time to do the watering. The plastic watering cans are almost half as big as many of their five year old selves. And filled with water, those had to be some of the heaviest burdens these cuties had ever carried. But not one of the kids shrank from the task. They heaved and tottered and limped from hose to bed, sploshing and sprinkling as they went. A few exclaimed and squealed about their wet school uniforms, but overall the soundtrack was giggling. Soft laughter backed by sunshine and new experiences.

We made our way through the tasks at hand and talked about how important water is for the plants and seeds to grow and be happy. The kids connected easily with the idea of being thirsty then feeling refreshed by a glass of water. One little girl named Stephanie promptly refilled her plastic can and struggled over to a kale leftover from last season. She said affectionately, almost in a whisper, “There now she’s having a drink.” The kale was taller than her, yet she insisted on watering it from as high up the green, ruffled tower as she could manage, not at ground level. She walked away soaking wet and smiling ear to ear.

We had time to marvel at some expired sunflowers, towering toward the clouds and nodding like they were asleep, dried stalks as thick as my wrist. I had the kids hold their hands out like bowls and scraped my thumbnails against the sunflowers’ sky bound faces. Dusty seeds poured out like a spell into their waiting hands, and because the lesson was all about seeds and seed planting, they knew exactly what to do. “I need my little stick!” Amy said with some urgency, her long black braids flying as she looked left and right, and when she found her tool she got right to work carving a place for those seeds. Then Stephanie watered them.

How beautiful it all is. The huge squash blossoms that become massive, flavorful, vitamin rich pumpkins. The clusters of tiny yellow flowers that, with some water and sunshine and time, become a string of versatile, delicious tomatoes. Beans! All that protein and beauty wrapped in such dense, hard little packages. Flowers for beautifying and feeding. Children for teaching and nurturing and loving.

I have been thinking more and more about the world of flowers and vegetables, all the same, fascinating photosynthesis and so much beauty and purpose. Food for the birds and pollinators, definitely, but also, beauty as a purpose in and of itself.

All kinds of flowers use their multi-faceted beauty to draw in their needed audiences. We know about the birds and the bees and how they are attracted to colors and flavors that suit them so they can get on with the business of pollination and propagation, etcetera. But this lovely afternoon with the Kindergarteners reminded me that people are included in this symbiosis, too. Plants draw us in with their beauty, whether we are conscious of it or not. Their colors and fragrances, the never ending variety of shapes and patterns and textures, all of it woos us and bring us close enough to see them face to face. Close enough to understand them better and tend to their needs so they can tend ours. What a miraculous relationship.

I believe that every time a young child experiences nature up close like that, the world is made better, safer, more aligned with its original design. Life for that boy or girl instantly gains potential for greater enjoyment, better mental and physical health, and deeper artistic experiences. And life for their entire future purview might now hold more balance, more attention, and saner systematic choices. They could grow into better stewards than we will ever be.

((circa 1978))

We take care of what we love, after all, and it is so easy to fall in love with Nature. She sees to that.

martha and henry

A funny song from my childhood has become a pretty good descriptor of two-person farm maintenance. Usually it’s still funny; sometimes it makes me, us, feel one half step away from crazy.

It’s a sing-songy conversation between husband and wife as they navigate never ending tasks:

“There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Martha dear Martha, there’s a hole in the bucket, dear Martha, a hole.
Well fix it, dear Henry, dear Henry, well fix it dear Henry, dear Henry fix it.
With what shall I fix it, dear Martha?
…
With a cork, dear Henry…
The cork is dry, dear Martha…
Well wet it, dear Henry…
With what shall I wet it, dear Martha?
With water! (her rage building)…
How shall I fetch it? …
With a bucket…
(extra long pause while Henry takes a deep breath, because we all know what’s coming)
There’s a hole in the bucket…”

So you see, of course, the never ending loop of repair and provision and discovery, and then repair and frustration and connection-between-all-things-broken and, again, discovery and repair. The ongoing consultation between husband and wife kills me.

Truthfully? I have always felt like Dear Martha was a bit cruel to her Dear Henry, with her exasperation at his inability to grasp obvious solutions, just as he seemed helpless and maybe vapid, not very manly traits to a girl who grew up with a Bob Vila Dad and then married Clark Griswold who is fond of chain-sawing all the newel posts.

After some years on these nine acres, though, I see Martha through a slightly more compassionate lens. She is just insane from all the never ending work, that’s all. She probably used to be a softer, sweeter, more helpful wife. The conveyor belt of projects that are never singular and independent of several other mandatory projects, well, they take their toll. That’s all. I also see Henry through a more protective lens. Maybe he always saw clearly the next five steps but was so overwhelmed he could barely speak it. All he could do was reach out to his Dear Martha and hope she would not kill the messenger.

In this house, for the song’s purposes, I am Henry and he is Martha.

Also, worth noting, for some weird reason, I remember being ten years old in Fort Towson, Oklahoma, and singing this song, imagining Martha and Henry living under water. All the way under water, like at the bottom of the ocean. In the blue-green dark. I get the symbolism now. Somehow, my little girl self knew.

One day I said to Handsome, hey babe let’s re-grout the upstairs bathroom. He said sure. I was probably ovulating, which bodes well for my powers of persuasion. That led to a full on shower stall redo in our master suite, which meant we needed to move our hygiene operations downstairs for a few days. This revealed some needed repair to that guest bath, and it seemed like a good time to also paint those walls and rearrange artwork and, sure, a new shower curtain and support bar and area rug. Also, man, we want a true piece of furniture in there, not rickety shelves, so let’s see what gorgeous sets we can find that would bring us some tables that look good with the leather couches. A month later, we have re-grouted the upstairs shower and do not recognize the formerly pink guest bath.

Similarly but much more dramatically, once upon a time something near our chimney was struck by lightning, which blah-blah-blah caused a serious water leak. It flooded our downstairs carpets and foam padded laminate flooring, inspiring us to rip it all up and live on concrete. Which we painted blue but did not seal. This caused a tidal wave (in keeping with the water theme) of interrelated projects, none of them small.

((walk through upon buying our farm, an unbelievable 16 years ago))

Then there was the time at the peak of summer heat and humidity when I needed one skinny little garden gate adjusted because it wasn’t shutting smoothly. Well, that turned into relocating a clothesline, reconfiguring the surrounding fences, eliminating one other wide gate, and, you know what? We need more concrete for parties.

New concrete means ripping up the decking, and that wood can be repurposed, so let’s sort it out into piles. Burn what is unusable. When the ashes are cool they go in the compost. But only once the compost bins have space. So empty those as soon as possible! And also make use of the contents, don’t waste it. Balance it all with green materials and manure, so it’s good for the gardens. Not pure ash. But if you add to the piles while the bachelors are watching, they will eat your okra so put up a protective rope or something. Quick.

And no, giving them a round bale of free choice hay will not, actually, keep them from breaking into the hay loft. So be ready to fix that gate soon.

Also, my sprinkler died (more with the water theme, in case you are keeping score).

Schedule some time for a pipe to burst in the attic (another score for the water gods). Because I secretly wanted the kitchen pantry a different color anyway, and this is an excellent time to repaint. But only after his stitches get removed from sitting on a power saw while making plumbing repairs. And, obviously, we can do all of this more easily once the pickup is working again, because we probably need something huge and unwieldy form Home Depot anyway. Or more hay. Or, something. It should work out just fine.

Babe, do we want goats?

Just fix it, Dear Henry, Dear Henry.
Just fix it, Dear Henry, Dear Henry fix it.

Whatever type of property you manage, I am confident you experience your own version of the hole in the bucket song, and I sincerely hope that most of the time you, together with your corresponding Martha or Henry, find ways to tackle it all. Peacefully.

Hang in there.
Please be kind to the messengers in your life.
Say no to goats.
XOXOXO

sir romulus, 2010-2023

I have delayed writing this because it is just so hard to accept as real. Early this past Friday morning, we unexpectedly lost a long time and much beloved farmily member, Sir Romulus, the King of Llamas.

Romulus, King of the Snow. Emperor of Ice. Purveyor of the Cold.

Just before daybreak on June 30, I walked to his pen to say good morning and offer breakfast to him and the cats. I found him already passed away, presumably in his sleep.

He had not been sick and was up to date on his wormer medication. He had a great appetite and was drinking lots of fresh water, and he had been as sociable and sweet as ever. The only irregularity I had noticed lately was that he was uninterested in the water sprinkler, even on the hottest afternoons. Llamas can handle almost any amount of cold, even ice, but they are susceptible to extreme heat; and Romulus in particular was opposed to being sheared. So I am worried that the heat was too much last week. I am also worried that he was heartbroken over losing Little Lady Marigold back in January. They were so bonded, after all, and we wondered then how much her death would affect him.

This unexpected loss has rocked us. I still can’t believe it.

We have known Romulus since before he came to live with us in 2011, and even during a short chapter when he lived again with Dean and Maribeth (during a season of particularly dangerous horse conflict) we visited him periodically and loved him entirely. We feel so lucky to have lived alongside this majestic creature for most of his life.

As a solitary male, Romulus was incredibly chill. He coexisted with the Bachelors beautifully.

But then he fell in love with a gorgeous white and caramel-colored llama named Yoko, who would come to be known as Seraphine, and they blessed our menagerie with gorgeous babies. Who remembers Dulcinea? She was her father’s spitting image, though neither of them was much for casual spitting, thank goodness. And of course, the indomitable Meh. Romulus produced this incredibly personable, scrappy little son who has spent the last nine years trying to impress and out-llama his dad.

Once Romulus became a family man, he tapped into his impressive protective nature. One day everything just flipped. He regularly tried to murder the horses if they grazed too close to his woman or their babies, and he even challenged the bison a few times for unknown trespasses. He would pin his ears back, bare his slobbery teeth, vocalize in a deep, guttural, grunting way, and charge forward, mostly on only two hind legs, his sharp front hooves flayed out like knives. It was, and this is no exaggeration, terrifying.

It was hard to be mad at him for these offenses, though, because he was so nobly engaging with perceived threats.

It also bears mentioning here that in the natural pecking order of powerful animals, Seraphine outranked her mate by plenty and had no problem putting him in his place.

Dulcie is annoyed at no longer being the darling of the farm. Seraphine is fussing with Romulus, who is easily cowed down by her. Meh is bright and chipper, oblivious to the conflict.

Despite his dangerous behavior toward the Bachelors, Romulus never once hurt a smaller animal or a person. In fact, he was serenely curious about children, puppies, chickens, and squirrels. Often while gardening I would notice him and Klaus watching squirrels like Wimbledon in the oak trees. And of course, he had the sweetest disposition toward LLM.

I love this photo of a first meeting with baby Laika, two summers ago.

“Hello, peasant.”

Because of his overall calm with us, we will never forget the day he almost accidentally tossed my husband. One day in the big barn, when Handsome had all the bachelors lined up for shots, he casually looped a lead rope around Rom’s shoulders, attempted to pierce the syringe needle into his massive neck, and experienced firsthand the explosive power of a full grown llama suddenly thrust upright onto his hind legs. Romulus yanked Handsome right up off the dirt floor, like a ragdoll into midair, one slack lead rope connecting them, and made his anti-vaccine wishes known in an instant.

That was the end of that.

Romulus was the very first animal who let me experience the sweet rewards of a long, slow acquaintance. The first few days he lived here, he had free range of the entire farm. He wandered anywhere he wanted and politely declined all attempts to touch him. He nibbled everything. He was quiet and studious and extremely stand offish.

I vividly remember the afternoon I took the photo below. Handsome was at work. I was alone at the farm, work caught up, doing very little except learning this new creature. He and I sat on the grass, about fifteen feet apart, just staring at each other. Staring and staring, Both of us sitting still with our legs crossed. He would tilt his enormous ears in twisty satellite directions, collecting data of his new surroundings, evaluating everything. I remember smiling or breathing in a new way and causing him to twitch, tense, and soften again.

Romulus could hold eye contact without blinking like it was his God given super power. Gradually I could scoot across the grass, just a few inches closer, every few minutes. That was not the day he let me touch him, but it was the day he stopped avoiding me.

Eventually, Romulus grew to love face petting and throat strokes, and of course he was never not hungry for graham crackers, chocolate chip cookies, etcetera. He had a special bond with Handsome and would come faithfully to his voice.

Unless he was holding a syringe.

I love that we never had to worry about Romulus hurting a guest. I love that so many people got to experience his strength and his gentleness.

Who remembers the llama soccer game with Rom, Seraphine, Dulcie, Meh, and all the twenty somethings who were visiting one day?

I will forever be grateful that just a few days before his passing, Romulus enjoyed lots of sweet visitors. Our big family was here for a reunion and anniversary party, and they showered him with attention and treats. Mellowed greatly in retirement, Rom was known as “the nice llama.” He always seemed content with just us over the years, but gosh he became beautifully social and thrived on face time even more than the horses.

We already miss seeing his elegant silhouette in the morning gloom. A few times since Friday, I thought I did see him. I miss scooping his sweet grain over the red gate and sometimes feeding him a little extra through an open cottage window. I miss how he could not resist a graham cracker or similar sweet treat. I miss his tip toe walking, his impossibly long, broomy eyelashes, and his eagle-like brow. I miss his shiny toe-talons and his dark brown, woolly fur. I miss the perfect white mask on his handsome face.

We chose to memorialize Romulus and Little Lady Marigold together.

One more heart felt thank you to Dean and Maribeth for entrusting him to us, and for so much advice and encouragement along the way. Romulus was a gift, a lesson, and a blessing in thousands of beautiful ways.

Goodbye Rom-Diddle,
our sweet Llama in the Middle,
XOXO

fathers day 2023

For a man whose nature demands that he take action and responsibility for every problem that enters his periphery, for a man who sees the world’s threats and pitfalls a split second before he sees its beauty, fatherhood is a natural fit. He is protective to a fault, and he is the most vicious troubleshooter you will meet. Anyone who lives under the wings of his protective reach is safe and well provided for.

I look at the examples of fatherhood in his life and see strength, a love of family and tradition, an immovable sense of responsibility, and passionate streaks. He exudes all these qualities and more.

I also see severe exhaustion, dutifulness that can lead to martyrdom, and maybe disappointment. He has experienced the richest gifts fatherhood can offer as well as some of the bitterest hurts. I worry about this. I already see these shadows casting long and dark in his legacy.

Life is like this, the brackish water always flowing. Sweet and bitter, mixed together, and every day we do our best to side with hope, live with Love, and choose joy.

He is completely trustworthy. He is perfectly reliable, able to foresee solutions to complex crises, able to maximize resources, and willing to take the back seat. Over and over again.

Since he agreed to take on the role of stepfather more than two decades ago, he accepted never being in the spotlight but always being the foundation, the back stop, the pillar.

He places a high price on fun and has over the years tried to carve out family adventures and daily silliness to lighten the heaviness of routine life. He has a desire to make dreams come true if possible, and he is painfully aware of how quickly time slips through our grasp. Sometimes it breaks my heart to watch him fight against the elements. It makes me want to protect him, for all the protecting he does.

His paternal instincts reach far beyond our home. Animals are always the first to enjoy his gifts. Then children in need. Children of friends. Employees and their children. Strangers. If someone crosses his path and activates his sense of guardianship, then nothing can stop him. I love this. I love that he is fulfilled by meeting the most fundamental needs in others.

((scarlett resting near the earliest daffodils))

I hope that in time his heart heals from these last several years’ shocks and injuries. I hope he begins to see his private fatherly investments yielding beauty and growth and absolute joy. I know he misses his dad. I know he misses Jocelyn. I know he loves every minute he gets with Jessica but wants something more. I know he wonders about other family relationships but keeps a light touch. I did not expect fatherhood at this stage in life to be so fraught with stormy emotions. But gosh it is. Fatherhood bears the weight of so much in this world. And it is embattled. Challenged. Watered down. Our best men are asked to do more and more with less and less acknowledgment and support.

Happy Father’s Day to the man who has more than earned celebration. May your resources be refilled. May your hope be renewed. May your own dreams come into focus and then come true. I love you always now and forever.

God knows everything
XOXOXO