Lazy W Marie

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

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5 Senses Tour, Contemplative Tuesday in January

   Since its earliest hours, today has felt serious and more quiet than normal. I am wonderfully free from external pressure and hurry, unlike my husband who is at the salt mines again. I feel like we’re on the brink of something special, but something quiet maybe, and I don’t want to miss it. The easiest observation to make is that the animals are cuddling each other a bit more, wrapping up in closeness and affection against the chilly air that swept in overnight. Also, the gardens are turning inward, funneling all of their energy streams toward cold, dry roots and springtime fantasies. Today is a good day to take inventory, to reflect, and to nourish from the inside out.
What I See: Indoor plants newly fertilized and outdoor garden plots gone dormant, sitting expectantly like blank canvases or empty lined pages. Grassy, manure-covered rectangles teasing me for new designs this year and promising bigger, lusher harvests if I get around to building those raised beds.
“The violets  the mountains have broken the rocks.” ~Tennessee Williams
What I’m Reading: Three books this week, though the first one more than the others because it’s the subject of our Book Club dinner, which is this Saturday! 
    Before I Go to Sleep by S. J. Watson. This is a page turner! Proper book review coming soon.
  Game Change, a behind-the-scenes account of the 2008 Presidential elections. Reads like a fiction, thoroughly enjoyable. 
   True Memoirs of Little K by Adrienne Sharp I’ve mentioned this one before, too long ago, and it is still unfinished because I didn’t read enough during the busy holidays. Review of this luscious book forthcoming too.

What I Hear: Very little apart from the gentle, sleepy murmurings of the animals. The guineas are free range now, all but four, and their songs pepper the farm from sun to sun.
What I Feel, What I’m Touching:  Lots of manure. My goal is to have the farm spotless by the end of the month or earlier and to have the gardens all spread with the rich, crumbly stuff well ahead of the spring rains.
This is a pile of chicken litter removed from our coop. 
See all the cool white shreddy stuff?
May I suggest if you have access to shredded paper, 
whether you use it as animal bedding or not, 
consider using it in your compost heap.
It retains moisture beautifully, lightens up our Oklahoma clay,
and keeps one more thing out of the landfills.

What I Smell: Cinnamon Scentsy, laundry soap, and my husband’s pillow while I write.


What I Taste: Orange juice, heavily buttered English muffin, and fried eggs.

   I can’t be sure exactly what’s on the horizon, friends, but I feel goodness all around us. I feel a surge of hope, an oceanic depth of love, and greater calm about our storms than I have felt in years. Happy Tuesday. Let me know if you see whatever it is I’m waiting on.

Feel Every Detail Today
xoxoxo
5 senses tour

Still Morning (Small Stone January 10th)

   At 6:38 this morning we creep outside for another Hot Tub Summit. The moon still rests high on her nighttime throne, gloriously full, casting brilliant silver light all over the hills and valleys and fields. I cannot detect the slightest breeze, no movement anywhere. Even the geese are quiet. The farm is still asleep.
   Oak, blackjack, red bud, and pine trees stretch their perfect, inky silhouettes out against the sky while we soak in the scalding water and unwind ourselves from the night.
   
   When the time finally comes to abandon the quiet, to begin a new day, that smooth gray canopy above us has clicked over to a deep shade of blue. The moon is politely receding into the western sky. And the guineas have started their morning song.

Chilly Sunday Afternoon (Small Stone January 8th)

   The air is cooler today than it’s been in a while, crisper and drier too. The sky is slate gray with only patches of blue here and there, and where the afternoon sun manages to scrape through the clouds, its light is a dull silver instead of the usual gold. The evocative fragrance of a bonfire mixes with the smells of hay, leather, and chicken litter, so that closing my eyes takes me back to our beloved Buffalo Mountain. 
   Out of nowhere a breeze kicks up, scattering a thousand fragile oak leaves and slicing through  my long but thin cotton sleeves. I am reminded gently that we’re still in the middle of January, that the sublime springtime fantasy these past weeks was exactly that.

Brushing Chanta (Small Stone January 7th)

   I drag the circular metal brush along his body, easily and gently sorting out the red dirt from his long winter hairs which have dried together in wavy, random peaks. He’s definitely been in the pond today. This boy smells of mud,  sunshine, and a little algae. 
   The longer I brush him the more he relaxes, until his left rear hoof cocks up nearly off the ground, transferring even more of his 1200 pounds forward. A good sign of sleepiness.
   He lets me smooth and clean his gorgeous neck, then every muscular part of his body, and then each of his four incredible legs, all the while listening to his deep, steady breathing, until all that remains uncombed are his belly and his throat. 
   His round belly is ticklish, so i have to be more careful here. Brushing it wakes him up a bit, and he bends that long, thick neck far to his left for a closer look at my progress. We Eskimo kiss peacefully and I continue. He exhales as if to surrender.
   Once his belly is clean and smooth again, liberated from that afternoon cloud of red dirt, I creep gingerly to kneel in front of this gentle giant. Brushing his throat, touching his feet, squeezing his knobby knees, inhaling his sweet, warm breath and noticing the halo of late day sun through the edge of his coat. So beautiful, this horse. His ankles, so strong and solid, are covered by tendrils of silver blond hair for winter.
   Now squatting in front of him, I rest my forehead on that plump, divided piece of flesh on his chest. Nuzzle him with my cheek. Kiss his furry shoulder. He returns the gesture by leaning way down and simply resting his chubby mouth on the top of my head. I am pretty sure he fell asleep again in this position, just for a couple of minutes. I sit very still and just accept it. Then without warning I feel him chewing sneakily on my ponytail. 
   I could stay here and do this all day. So could he, I think, because when I finally stand and walk reluctantly away he crosses my path and nudges my hands, insisting on more.